Page 17

S erenity was much buoyed by the evening so far.

She and Lord Thorpe had settled the question of the weather between them.

Were it only a misting, the dog walking would go forward.

She’d sent up a silent prayer that nature would hold off on raining for the next days.

Nature loved her rain so well, and it did such a lot of good, but if it could hold off just a little while, she would be most grateful.

She was beginning to not know what she thought of Lord Charles.

He seemed somehow younger than Lord Thorpe.

Of course, he was younger by a few years, but more than that.

He seemed more boyish, perhaps. Really, it had been foolish to claim he had played Fact or Fib at a house party.

It was the sort of thing Verity might do—claim to have knowledge she did not in fact have.

She supposed she must be lenient in forming her opinion, as certainly he’d said it to impress her and she could not condemn an effort at a compliment.

They had gone into the drawing room and arranged all the furniture in a wide circle with an ottoman in the middle.

Verity and Winsome had made the separate piles of yellow and blue tickets.

She was gratified to note that Lord Thorpe paid close attention to where she would sit and took the chair next to her with alacrity.

Winsome was on her other side, and that left Lord Charles between Lord Dashlend and Verity.

“Well, now,” the duke said, “Gentlemen, you’ll be asked questions and my daughters will decide if it is a fact or a fib.”

“That’s the main thing,” Dashlend said. “It does not matter if you tell the truth or not— they decide.”

“That’s why you cannot win,” the duke said. “Do not bother trying. We’ll all be drowning in blue tickets in no time at all.”

“Blue is for fibs and yellow is for facts, and a blue cancels out a yellow,” Winsome said.

“Valor has asked to go first,” the duke said. “She rightly reminded me that last season she got overtired and threw a fistful of blue tickets in Stanford’s face.”

“I do get tired,” Valor admitted. “If I get too tired, anything might happen. Now, Lord Charles, what is the first thing you noticed about our Serenity?”

Serenity looked down at her hands. It was no surprise that Lord Charles and Lord Thorpe would be interrogated ruthlessly. Though she knew it was coming, it was uncomfortable and thrilling at the same time.

“Oh, well I would say it must be her bright eyes,” Lord Charles said.

“Fibber!” Valor cried, hurling a blue ticket at him. “You noticed her hair—everybody knows it.”

“See?” the duke said laughing. “All right, who is next?”

“I am not done,” Valor said darkly.

Serenity was getting the idea that her youngest sister was fast on her way to being overtired. It was not surprising, she supposed, as her usual time for retiring had passed hours ago. Hopefully, there would not be a repeat of last season’s dramatics.

“Lord Thorpe,” Valor said, “what did you first notice about our Serenity?”

“How joyous she was to be out in the snow,” Lord Thorpe said. “Not everybody can appreciate the changing moods of nature. And then her hair was very charmingly escaping her bonnet.”

Serenity’s sisters all looked at one another in surprise. “Fact!” Valor cried, throwing him a yellow ticket.

What an answer! It was positively perfect. It was as if Lord Thorpe really understood her.

“Very good,” the duke said, laughing. “Now who will be next to interrogate our guests?

“I am not done,” Valor said, tears brimming in her eyes. “Nobody else can get married. No more weddings! Fact!” Then she took a pile of yellow tickets.

The duke motioned to Charlie, who understood it was time to retrieve Mrs. Right. “There now, my girl, you really are getting tired.”

“Yes, I know,” Valor said, sobbing into her father’s sleeve.

Rather than continue on with the game while Valor was in such distress, they waited on Mrs. Right to collect her before they proceeded.

Lord Thorpe very kindly said, “Lady Valor, I am much impressed that you have remained in the drawing room to play the game with us. It is exceedingly late for a youth of your years.”

As Valor wiped her tears with her father’s sleeve, she said, “It really is late and I am just a youth.”

Mrs. Right hurried in. “There you are, love. You’ll never guess who’s turned up—Mrs. Wendover has been returned and looks forward to a reunion.”

“Oh Nelson,” Valor said, climbing off the sofa, “you are very good to bring her home.”

Nelson could not be entirely sure of what he was being thanked for and would likely make off with Mrs. Wendover at the first opportunity, but he wagged his tail. For now, the stuffed rabbit was back with its rightful owner.

Before taking Mrs. Right’s hand, Valor gave a little curtsy.

“Lord Thorpe, Lord Charles, a pleasure to know you. Lord Dashlend, you’re wrong about what’s happening on the moors—it’s murder.

Mr. Stratton, we’ll all thank you to stop staring at Felicity while she’s sleeping.

You might sleep in another room if you cannot help yourself. ”

“I think that’s quite enough of an adieu, Poppet,” Mrs. Right said with a snort. She led Valor out of the room.

Serenity thought she’d at least better explain the comment about murder. “Valor is certain that when a fox screams, it is a woman being murdered on the moors. We cannot convince her otherwise.”

“Deuced inconvenient those foxes keep her up at night,” the duke said. “There is a bright spot, though—she accused my vicar of being involved in the murders. He’s still not over it!”

Once Valor had gone, they played the game for a while longer.

Winsome asked Lord Thorpe if he would be prone to Mr. Stratton’s habit of staring at his wife while she was sleeping.

He said not if she would not like it. This was deemed a fact, though Serenity had nearly gone through the floor with the embarrassment of prying so far into Lord Thorpe’s personal attitudes.

Verity was not the slightest embarrassed by it and said, “So you do plan to be in the same room all night, then?”

Lord Thorpe did indeed plan on it. It gave Serenity shivers just to think of it.

Grace asked Lord Charles if it was true that he’d bet Lord Waltondell last season regarding how many spots Lady Alvinia’s prize coach dog had.

Lord Charles admitted to it, which was deemed a fact.

He was further questioned on the nature of the bet by the duke and it seemed he’d lost one of his horses.

Serenity found herself horrified over the idea.

She could not imagine putting her Dales pony at such risk for any reason.

To play with her horse’s fate for a bet would be unconscionable.

She could not imagine how her dear Jupiter would feel to be taken away from her stablemates—they were her friends.

It would be a betrayal of the worst kind.

Mr. Stratton, who had probably heard enough of his habit of watching Felicity sleep, finally rose to signal an end to the party. Serenity supposed that, had it been another house, the ladies of the household would stay in the drawing room. The Nicolets did not care for such constraints, though.

They followed the guests out the doors and to the pavement. Felicity and Mr. Stratton climbed into their carriage and Grace and Lord Dashlend got into their own. With much waving, they were off in their different directions.

Lord Charles’ horse had been brought from the stables. Lord Thorpe had, naturally, walked over, as he was only two doors down. Serenity was pleased to note that he lingered.

Lord Charles noted it too. “Well, Thorpe, you have not forgotten which direction you travel?”

Serenity supposed that was a hint that Lord Thorpe should get going.

Winsome said, “It is such a fine night, I suppose it would do us good to walk with Lord Thorpe to his doorstep.”

Very clever, Winsome!

“Indeed,” Serenity said, “the night air is always good for one’s health.”

“Is it?” Lord Charles asked.

“Of course it is,” Lord Thorpe said, looking eager to jump on the idea.

“It is very commonly known,” Verity said.

“News to me,” the duke said, “but I’ll pretend to believe it.”

“Thank you for attending us, Lord Charles,” Serenity said. She did not wish to brush him off, but she did wish to walk with Lord Thorpe to his doorstep.

Seeing as he had no other recourse, Lord Charles tipped his hat. “Ladies, Your Grace.” He turned his horse and trotted down the street.

Lord Thorpe put out his arm and Serenity gently laid her hand upon it.

They proceeded, rather slowly, toward Lord Thorpe’s house.

The candlelight falling from behind window curtains along the square gently lit it with a soft romantic aura.

Perhaps less romantic was being followed by her father, Winsome, and Verity.

Her family were suspiciously quiet, and she felt put on the spot somehow.

They had reached Lord Thorpe’s doorstep. “I believe the weather will be fine on the morrow,” he said.

“Indeed, yes, it is sure to be fine. In the morning at least.”

“At eleven.”

“Yes, at eleven.”

“Well now, Thorpe,” the duke said, “I suppose you’d best get inside. Despite claims of night air being beneficial, I should not like my daughters to catch cold.”

Lord Thorpe nodded. “Thank you for the invitation to dine, Your Grace. Lady Verity and Lady Winsome, a pleasure. Lady Serenity, until tomorrow.”

Yes, Serenity thought. Until tomorrow.

*

Charles had pretended to set off for The Albany but had surreptitiously gone round the square until he was out of view and watched the proceedings from there. Why should they all walk Thorpe home as if he was too senile to find the place himself?

They’d walked with him and then lingered at his doorstep. They were probably talking about what they ought to do about the dog walking if it were misting again.