Chapter Seven
The Warricks proved oddly specific in their required items. A scone, which apparently was the first arrival of morning. A cup of water from the river. An unburned candle. A badly burned twig. And a cabbage.
No one arrived with even a single correct item.
Tom and Henrietta were noticeably disappointed, but took it in stride, spending a great deal of time smiling at one another, utterly content in one another’s company.
Isley and most of the other guests looked fit to be tied, speaking curtly with one another and quickly losing their friendly edge.
Edward, however, considered himself the victor. Three days passed without that kiss leaving his thoughts. It had been the impulse of a moment, a passing fancy. But everything had changed.
He’d told himself again and again that he felt nothing but fondness for Agatha. Until he’d held her in his arms, until he’d kissed her, he’d managed to believe it. But he had to admit that she wasn’t merely a friend. He loved her.
He, who had nothing to offer, no means of providing for the two of them, was in love with a lady who had even less to her name than he did and even less hope of changing her circumstances. He’d bemoaned Tom’s impossible love, but he himself was in no better a position than his brother.
A nudge from that brother brought him back into the present. His woolgathering had distracted him so much he’d not noticed their hosts had risen and were addressing the assembly.
“As I am certain you have all realized, only a few days remain of this house party.” Mr. Warrick gave them all a pitying, commiserating look.
“Mrs. Warrick and I are not yet firmly decided on who among you will be named the beneficiaries of our estate. As such, this evening we will be undertaking a more pointed attempt to make that decision.”
The entire room was silent, hanging on every word he spoke.
For the first time, Edward felt tempted to really make a push for himself.
He had, as he’d promised Agatha, participated in the many activities the Warricks had thus far used to sort them all, but he hadn’t made any eager attempts to capture their interest or approval.
She sat in the seat beside the one Mrs. Warrick had vacated.
How her father had arranged it, Edward couldn’t say, but Agatha hadn’t left her hostess’s side in more than a week.
Mrs. Warrick seemed pleased with the arrangement, taking full advantage of a young lady who was more or less required to do or fetch or say anything Mrs. Warrick required. Agatha barely concealed her misery.
“Our final request from all of you, and then we promise you can spend the rest of this house party filling your days with whatever suits your fancy, is this—” Mr. Warrick paused, letting his gaze slowly take them all in.
Edward leaned forward, wondering if there was any chance of winning their approval this late in the effort.
“We will invite each of you, one at a time, to join us in the small sitting room in the east wing of the house, where we mean to ask you a few questions.”
That was surprisingly reasonable. Indeed, if they had taken this approach from the beginning, the entire affair would not have been so distasteful.
He met Tom’s eye, and they exchanged looks of shocked approval.
Tom, Edward knew perfectly well, was quite personable and easy to talk with.
This latest would-be heir challenge ought to be a relatively easy one.
“We will begin,” Mr. Warrick said, eyeing a piece of parchment in his hand, “with Miss Henrietta Sumner.”
At the sound of her name, Henrietta, who sat on Tom’s other side, lost every drop of color in her face.
Tom offered her a reassuring smile, and she seemed to rally a little.
Across the room, where many of the ladies had gathered to fawn over their hostess, Mrs. Sumner rose and motioned her daughter anxiously toward the door to the drawing room.
The Sumner ladies left, every eye in the room watching them.
The Warricks departed close on their heels.
Not a single word was said. Edward wasn’t certain anyone was even breathing.
Tonight was to be their final opportunity to escape the nightmare of their own poverty.
It would not be the lighthearted gathering most house parties were.
The moment the door closed behind their hosts, the room erupted. The guests turned to each other, frantically discussing this new development. Futures hinged on that night’s events. Dreams and lives and hopes were at stake.
Edward quickly checked on Mr. Holmwood. Finding him distracted in earnest conversation with Isley, of all people, Edward slipped across the room into the empty chair next to Agatha.
She spoke first. “What do you suppose the Warricks mean to ask everyone?”
“No doubt something invasive and demeaning.” Edward wished he could believe something better of them, but the past three weeks had taught him otherwise. “How are you? I cannot help but notice you don’t look happy.”
“I’m tired. My father spent most of the morning lecturing me. Apparently, I’m not living up to expectations.”
Edward slipped his hand in hers. It was still too bold, considering they were not alone, but he couldn’t help himself. He cared about her. He cared deeply. And he couldn’t bear to see her unhappy. “He does not appreciate you as he ought.”
She smiled a tiny bit. “At the very least, I ought to be given tremendous credit for spending so many endless hours with Mrs. Warrick.”
“You are down to only three days,” he reminded her.
“I know. Counting down has been the one thing that has saved my sanity.” Her expression turned contemplative. “Do you suppose the heir they choose will be forced to live with them the remainder of their lives?”
Edward hadn’t thought of that terrible possibility. “That seems a steep price to pay for a mere fortune.”
With relief, he watched some of the burden leave her eyes. She was tired, that much was clear. But underneath the exhaustion and the worry, she was still the happy, witty, lighthearted lady he had come to cherish.
“Does your father seem less determined to toss you from the family home?” Edward asked. He had hoped Mr. Holmwood would come to his senses, but far too much worry had lingered in the gentleman’s eyes for Edward’s mind to be at all at ease.
“I cannot say with any certainty,” Agatha said. “If tonight really is the last challenge the Warricks mean to give us, I suppose I will know before morning what my father’s intentions are.”
He squeezed her fingers, hoping the show of support was understood. Her tiny smile was not the least bit confident. If only the Downys had any prospects. If only he were in a position to actually help.
She slipped her hand from his, though he knew it was not out of displeasure.
They were in a crowded drawing room, and there was no understanding between them.
He remained at her side as, one by one, the guests were called from the room to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Warrick.
No one who had already been summoned had returned.
It seemed the topic of discussion was meant to be kept secret.
When but a small handful remained, the footman who had been charged with announcing the next chosen for their tête-à-tête with the Warricks entered once more, cleared his throat, and said, “Mr. Edward Downy.”
“The best of luck to you,” Agatha whispered.
Edward gave a quick nod with what he hoped was an expression of calmness.
He followed the footman’s rigid back down the corridor to the sitting room.
He entered to find Mr. and Mrs. Warrick sitting in matching armchairs, facing him.
They put him in mind of a king and queen holding court and accepting petitions from the peasants. How fitting.
“Mr. Downy.” Mr. Warrick motioned him inside. “We spoke with your brother only a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, I know.” Did they think he hadn’t noticed his brother’s departure?
“He seems a good sort of gentleman,” Mrs. Warrick observed. “But he is the younger son, is he not?”
“It is the oddest thing,” Edward responded, not bothering to hide his dry tone, “but I have often noticed that even a younger son can be a good sort of gentleman.”
Mrs. Warrick responded with nothing beyond the slightest tightening of her lips. “Shall we begin?”
“I would prefer that we did.” Edward had contemplated the possibility of making one final attempt at winning the fortune they offered, but he simply couldn’t force himself to participate in their farce.
Mrs. Warrick folded her hands on her lap and watched him with a beatific look. Edward wasn’t fooled. He’d come to realize that both halves of this couple were equally shrewd.
“We will ask you what we have asked everyone else,” Mr. Warrick said. “Why, Edward Downy, should we choose you, and not any of the other guests, as our heir?”
For a moment, he couldn’t respond. They were asking him to plead his case? Not only that, but to argue against the others? “You must know my situation already, otherwise I would not have been invited.”
“We know what is generally known,” Mr. Warrick said. “We wish for more. Why are you in particular the best choice? Do you need this more than anyone else? Are you more deserving?”
He shook his head in astonishment. This was every bit as bad as he had feared. Edward squared his shoulders. “No.”
“No?” Mrs. Warrick broke from her usual pattern and spoke over her husband.
He simply inclined his head. “No,” he repeated. “I will not lay bare my family’s struggles for your entertainment.”
“This is not a matter of entertainment,” Mr. Warrick insisted.
“That is precisely what this is.” Edward didn’t shrink from their disapproving gazes.
“Your charity comes with quite a price. You want it known far and wide how generous you are. You wish to be the savior in someone’s sad story.
Setting a house full of the desperate and destitute against one another makes that story all the more intriguing. ”
At the end of his speech, the smile disappeared from Mrs. Warrick’s face. Censure filled the lines of her face, even as her gaze narrowed in reproof. “We are doing good. We are helping people.”
“Your ‘help’ comes at too steep a cost, and I, for one, refuse to continue paying it.” He offered an abbreviated bow.
“I thank you for your hospitality, such as it was, but it is time and past that I returned home, where the resident family may not have much by way of material possessions, but we have our dignity and our decency, and I value that more highly than any estate.”
Mr. and Mrs. Warrick turned their heads in each other’s direction and exchanged knowing looks.
“He doesn’t have his brother’s diplomacy,” Mr. Warrick said, “but they clearly share similar sentiments.”
“Tom objected as well?” He was both relieved and concerned to hear it.
“He did not refuse to explain why an inheritance would be helpful in his situation,” Mr. Warrick said, “but he did quite vehemently decline to speak about anyone other than himself.”
“Our parents will be pleased to hear that.”
Mrs. Warrick’s gaze narrowed on him. “Do you feel, then, that your brother deserves this bequest more than the others who have spoken harshly of the other guests?”
Edward would not be pulled into this trap. He offered no reply, but simply stood, silent and waiting. The Warricks slowly but surely transformed back into the picture of benevolence they’d assumed the past weeks.
“It seems, Mr. Downy, that there is little left for any of us to say.” Mr. Warrick spoke calmly and clearly. “We do not require that you leave—we are not so inhospitable—but if you feel you must go, we will not stop you.”
“I understand.” One more brief bow and he left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Agatha had clearly been chosen as the next to face the interrogators. She and her father stood in the corridor. Mr. Holmwood took only the slightest notice of Edward. Agatha, however, watched his every step and, when he passed, moved away from her father to keep pace with him.
“Edward? What happened? Why are you so upset?”
He swallowed down his first response, to simply spew out every bit of frustration and disillusionment he’d felt over the past weeks. But she looked nervous enough already. “They irritate me.”
“I know.” Her gaze searched his face. “There is something more. I can see that there is.”
“I have been invited to leave.”
“No. There are three days yet. Edward?” She clasped his forearm, her expression one of near panic.
“Agatha.” Mr. Holmwood spoke insistently.
“One moment, Father.” She didn’t look away from Edward. “You are leaving?”
He set his hand on hers where it rested on his arm. “I intend to pack, take my leave of my brother, and begin my journey home by five o’clock this evening.”
“That is so soon.”
“Agatha,” Mr. Holmwood repeated more pointedly.
“Will I be permitted to say goodbye before you go?”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I will wait until five, but then I must be on my way.”
“Five o’clock.” She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek.
“Agatha Elizabeth Holmwood.” Her father barked out her name.
She obeyed the summons, but with repeated backward glances. “Five o’clock,” she mouthed in the moment before her father pulled her into the sitting room.
But five o’clock came and went. Then a quarter past five. Edward delayed until five thirty.
She never came.