Page 33 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

T he Ashby family was something else.

They were rabid fanatics of charades, a game Victor couldn’t stand, as it meant making a fool of himself in front of everyone when he preferred to be off to the side on his own.

Unfortunately for him, he’d accepted Anne’s invite to the dinner and now was in the middle of a heated game.

Even though as a widow, she didn’t require a chaperone and in fact was the chaperone for Mary, he knew she felt better having him there with her.

On the drive over, he’d tried asking about the nature of her relationship with Mr. Ashby.

It was something she had been tight-lipped about, but she’d finally confirmed his suspicion that Ashby was in fact actively pursuing her.

More pointedly than Victor had thought, or liked, in fact.

Apparently, the cad could be rather forward about it.

But she waved him off when he tried asking how forward Ashby had been. Tonight, he was watching the cad’s every move.

“Uncle Victor, it’s your turn.” Freddy nudged Victor’s side.

There were two teams: Victor’s team, which consisted of Freddy, Mr. Ralph Ashby, Mr. Joseph Ashby, and Mr. Martin Ashby, the last two of whom Victor had had little interaction with previously.

Anne’s team was Mary, Mrs. Ashby, the eldest Mr. Ashby, and Mr. Lucas Ashby.

The latter kept sneaking covert glances at Mary in a way Mary didn’t seem to notice.

It even got to the point that Ashby leaned over to the lad to say something low, though whatever he’d said caused the young man to stop, at least.

Anne’s team bowed their heads together and whispered. Ashby said, “Oh, I’ve a brilliant one,” and wrote it on a piece of paper.

Low voices, rapid with excitement, told Victor the other team had decided on the word he was meant to act out.

Ashby stood and Victor followed the movement. They met in the empty space of floor between the two teams.

The blond idiot had a cocky grin on his face and showed Victor the word he would act out: “dragonfly.”

The urge to scowl at this was fierce. Victor was going to have to flap his arms like a madman. Which, he suspected, was precisely why Ashby had chosen this word.

As Victor internally sighed at himself, he glanced over at Anne, only to find her watching him, her eyes sparkling with merriment and a flush rising on her cheeks. Anne and Mary had their hands up to their mouths, giggling and leaning together.

Anne looked beautiful, like a ray of sunshine with that smile of hers. Her eyes crinkled at him, full of joy.

And it was he who’d put that bright smile there. Himself! A warmth enveloped his heart.

Very well. He would act out this blasted dragonfly if it made her happy.

As Ashby returned to his team, he shooed his brother off from Mary’s side and took the young man’s place, pushing the round spectacles up his nose.

Victor was glad the lad had been chased away from Mary.

It seemed the second son also suffered from lack of tact, just like his older brother, but at least Ashby was putting a stop to the younger lad’s antics.

Victor put his attention on his team and held up three fingers.

“Three syllables!” his team shouted in unison.

Pausing, he tried to figure out how to mimic a dragonfly. He stuck his arms out to the side and began to flap them up and down.

“A bird!” Freddy shouted.

“But what kind of bird?” Mr. Ralph Ashby asked.

“Oh. A parrot?”

“That’s two syllables.”

Deciding there wasn’t another way to mimic a dragonfly, Victor stopped flapping and held up two fingers.

“First two syllables!” the team said.

Victor curved his fingers like monster claws and opened his mouth wide. Then he took one hand and tried to indicate fire shooting out of his mouth.

“Are you throwing up?” Mr. Joseph Ashby asked, his freckled nose wrinkled in disgust.

Victor shook his head amongst the giggling from the other team.

He then stuck his arms out to the side again and began “flying” around the room, and at intervals tried to show fire spewing from his mouth.

As he passed Anne, he winked at her and she gave him a bashful smile.

He was a simple man and, in a silly bout of pride mixed with chest-puffing jealousy, he looked at Ashby to see if he had caught the interaction.

But the cad was in conversation with Mary and hadn’t noticed.

Ah, well.

Mr. Martin Ashby jumped to his feet so quickly, it nearly knocked his spectacles off his face. He fixed them and shouted quite loudly, “I know, a dragon!”

Victor stopped to nod vehemently. He hurried back over to his team and held up three fingers and pointed to his third finger.

His team responded, “Third syllable!”

He nodded once and then flapped his arms again.

“Not a bird.” Mr. Ralph Ashby tapped at his cheek.

“Well, what else flies?” asked Mr. Martin Ashby.

“What about a butterfly?”

“What does a butterfly have to do with dragons?”

“Oh! Dragonfly! Dragonfly!” Freddy had jumped to his feet and held two triumphant fists in front of himself, his eyes wide with anticipation.

“Yes!” Victor shouted back. The team whooped and whistled as if they had just won a football match, and they all patted Victor hard on the back as he sat back down. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all.

Mrs. Ashby got to her feet and was laughing along with them. “Oh, what utter fun that was! Excellent work, Mr. McNab. I thought that would take much longer!”

He nodded at her in thanks.

“I think it’s time to end charades, however. We’ve been playing for an hour. Perhaps we mingle amongst ourselves for the rest of the evening. Felton, would you tell Gerald to fill drinks for the adults?”

Oh, thank God. Victor released a puff of air.

As Ashby went to the footman, who stood quietly near the door, Victor went over to Anne, who stood to meet him. “That was quite a lark, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Did you enjoy my dragonfly? I tried not to humiliate myself too badly.”

Anne laughed and her eyes crinkled again. It warmed Victor’s insides so much that, in a rare moment, he smiled, too.

Anne’s laughter died and her eyes went wide. “Why, I’ve won a grin from you, Victor. Those are few and far between!”

Victor bowed his head in acknowledgment, though he was feeling a bit embarrassed. Was a mere smile from him really such a big deal? He couldn’t help but wonder at such a discovery.

Ever since the Summerwood ball, Victor had tried to become bolder regarding his feelings for Anne.

He had accepted the fact that he cared for her more than a friend and had hoped to warm her up to the idea by admiring her from afar.

At first, he’d done this by sending her little drawings.

As he didn’t know how to explain who he was or what he felt for her by using words, and in a way that wouldn’t make her run away, he hoped the drawings would do that for him.

He had sent her two drawings. Given her safe but intimate touches that went beyond friendship.

A kiss on the cheek, a few lingering touches on her arm or hands while walking together down the beach or promenading on the pier.

She seemed to not think much of any of those moments, yet he swore each time her cheeks had pinked ever so slightly. He took this as an encouraging sign.

For now, however, she remained ignorant to him being the man behind the little drawings.

In fact, no one in the family had any idea he possessed that talent.

It was one he had been born with but had perfected over his life.

It had begun as a boy by visiting the school library and thumbing through art books, copying what he’d seen as best he could.

Now, he enjoyed sketching when he was alone before and after work at the pub, but he had no interest in letting anyone see his creations.

He had kept them secret his entire life.

Thus, neither Ollie nor Dantes would be able to give up his identity through the mystery sketches.

He had heard the family discuss on several occasions that Anne had a secret admirer she referred to as her “Phantom.” Oddly, she had yet to bring it up to him on her own outside of familial discussion.

The times the family had brought it up at breakfast or dinner, he had caught all of the women watching him with slight, contemplative frowns, but Anne looked the most unsure.

A few times, he had even caught her shaking her head, as if telling herself there was no way Victor was the Phantom.

Or admirer. Or whoever it was sending drawings.

She seemed to not realize they were all one and the same.

But the spark of suspicion was there. Which was good.

However, he wasn’t ready to reveal his identity just yet. Now that he had sent her the drawings, captured her attention with the cheek kiss and the lingering touches to plant the seed of something more in her mind, he was ready to move on to words.

Words, admittedly, were far more terrifying.

Victor leaned down to Anne’s ear, his heart racing with fear. But he pushed through it. “While it may be true I am not one to often smile, every smile in these past years has been won solely by you. And between every smile, I am happy in the moments you are with me.”

As he pulled back, he found her looking up at him, her mouth gently parted, her pale-blue eyes searching his face. Uncertainty reflected in them, reinforcing his theory he would have to take all of this quite slow.

“Victor…I…” But before Anne had finished her thought, that blasted Ashby interrupted. He stepped up to them without a care, his arm looped with Mary’s. “Lady Litchfield, Lady Mary was telling me you are an accomplished pianist. Is that true?”

“I—yes, I play well enough.” Anne’s voice was strained. And now, she wouldn’t look at Victor. Something had been just about to happen between them, he’d felt the shift. But the moment was gone. And he wasn’t sure he would ever get it back.