Chapter Six #2
“What future do they have? He is the younger son of a penniless family. She is the dowriless daughter of a bankrupt spendthrift.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She held more tightly to Edward’s hand, thinking of more than Tom and Henrietta’s predicament.
She and Edward were in a similar situation.
Though it was likely presumptuous of her to think along these lines, she knew herself to be well and truly attached to him, her tender feelings going beyond mere friendship.
But he was as penniless as his brother. And while her family’s circumstances were not the result of irresponsibility on the part of her father, the end result was the same.
“The river.” Edward spoke the two words as if he’d experienced a life-altering epiphany.
“The river?”
He turned to her with wide eyes. “The second item on the list. ‘Runs but doesn’t walk, mouth but doesn’t talk.’ It’s a river.”
He was right, of course. “How are we supposed to bring a river into the drawing room?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps there is something down there we are supposed to fetch?” He stood, his hand still in hers. “The least we can do is check.”
“Together. We can check together.”
Once more he kissed her hand. “I wouldn’t wish to spend the afternoon any other way.”
It seemed he was as fond of her as she was of him. But did he realize what a risk that was? “My family is destitute.”
“I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be at this party.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
She walked at his side. “My family is impoverished. Yours is penniless. It is rather like . . . like . . .”
“Tom and Henrietta,” he finished for her.
She realized in that moment how presumptuous her warning had been. He was fond of her, yes, but she had assumed he felt enough to need a reminder of their respective futures.
His arm slid free of hers and slipped across her back, pulling her against his side as they continued their ambling walk toward the back of the property. “I have every intention of enjoying the remainder of this party without letting myself think about pennilessness or spendthrifts or destitution.”
“That significantly limits our potential topics of conversation, leaving us with only the discomfort of various fabrics and listing the kingdom’s rivers in alphabetical order.”
“The Aire. The Avon. The Bann.” Edward counted off the rivers on his fingers. “The Clyde.”
She raised up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He turned a smoldering smile on her. “If I list four more rivers, will you kiss me again?”
“Anything can happen during a house party search game.”
He laughed. “That is very useful information.”
Tender feeling. Fondness. The words she’d been using to describe her feelings for him were proving inadequate. She missed him when he wasn’t nearby, looked for him when even the slightest chance existed of him arriving. A weight lifted off her shoulders and her heart when they were together.
Agatha Holmwood had done the unthinkable: she’d allowed herself to fall in love.
For twenty-one years, she’d been careful not to grow attached to a gentleman. There was so little chance of a happy ending, that she’d avoided even the beginnings of love.
“It seems we weren’t the only ones who realized the second clue referred to the river.” Edward motioned to the smattering of couples along the river. “But I don’t believe anyone yet knows what to do about it.”
She couldn’t bring herself to join in the banter. “We’ll simply pluck a leaf from one of the trees along the bank.”
Agatha wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away. With a moment’s effort, she might manage to settle her thoughts and calm her heart enough to keep a level head.
“Agatha?” He’d followed close on her heels. “What’s the matter, dear?”
Dear. She couldn’t be certain he meant anything by the word other than an offhand casual endearment. She was even less sure which she would prefer.
“I’ve had a rather miserable week, Edward.” It was true, though perhaps not the entire explanation for her depressed spirits.
He stepped around her, facing her once more. He set his hands on her arms. “One more miserable week, Agatha, and you need never see Mrs. Warrick again.”
“One week.” She could even smile. “I can survive another week.”
His arms slipped around her, and he clasped his hands behind her back. “You might even manage to enjoy the next week.”
“I might, at that.”
“We didn’t pluck a leaf from the riverbank,” he said, his expression one of theatrical concern. “We might lose this challenge.”
“I think we still have time.” Her smile only grew as she stood there in his arms. Things weren’t likely to end well between them, but, as he’d said, she could enjoy the next week. She intended to.
One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I don’t think you are dedicated enough to winning this search.”
“And I think this afternoon has been . . . nearly perfect.”
He took the tiniest step closer to her. “How would one go about removing the word nearly from that sentence?” His low voice rumbled in the sliver of space between them.
She knew exactly what would make the moment perfect. “I don’t believe it’s on your treasure list.”
He arched a single golden eyebrow. “‘A mouth, but not talking.’ That’s on my list.”
She forced back her growing grin. “Are you telling me I talk too much?”
He leaned in, a mere breath away, and whispered, “That is not at all what I am saying.”
His lips brushed over hers, the touch feather light. Her heart answered loudly, pounding and racing and dancing about. His hands spread against her back, pulling her flush with him. He kissed her again, more earnestly, more fervently.
She slid her arms around his neck and lost herself in the warmth of his affection. She had imagined such a moment, but had never truly believed it possible. A girl with no dowry, no family connections, lived her life knowing she was destined to be alone.
But this moment, this glorious moment, pushed all thoughts of loneliness from her mind, replacing the worry with hope.