Page 7

M arjory exhaled. Her expression shifted from playful amusement to a trace of lingering frustration as her husband disappeared down the hall. “Men,” she muttered with a sigh. “They always seem to think that with enough patience, every problem will sort itself out.”

“We still have one more lady than gentleman for the weekend, and he’s content to leave it to fate. I’d rather not begin the house party with an imbalance that sets tongues wagging.”

Marjory took a deep breath and turned to Bridget as she lifted the teapot with practiced ease. “Did you sleep well? I know you had an awful experience last night.” She poured the tea slowly, her movements composed and careful.

Bridget nodded. “Yes, thank you. I was warm and dry before I knew it.” But her shoulders hadn’t yet eased. The memory of the rain and the mud clung to her skin, no matter how she tried to forget it.

Marjory offered her the teacup. Steam rose in delicate curls, fragrant and comforting. Bridget inhaled it, but her thoughts had already begun to wander elsewhere.

The rain. The road. The captain with the steady blue eyes.

She had spent half the night trying to forget him and the other half wondering why she couldn’t. It was foolish, she knew. He was likely no more than a soldier passing through, and yet the memory clung to her like damp wool.

“And thank you for sending breakfast up this morning.” Bridget accepted the cup with a small, grateful smile. “It was a bit decadent, but I enjoyed the sunshine, and the view of the garden made it a delightful treat.” She paused to savor the tea, adding, “And thank goodness for no rain.”

Setting her cup aside, she glanced at the papers scattered before Marjory. “Now, where shall we begin?”

Marjory sighed and ran a hand over the guest list. “I thought I’d arranged everything perfectly, but with one less gentleman, the balance is thrown into disarray, assuming Mark’s friend doesn’t cancel as well.

” Her gaze drifted toward the door. “Mark may have a solution, though his mind has been elsewhere of late. I suppose we’ll just have to plan around it. ”

“We can review what you have and see where we need to make adjustments,” Bridget offered as she leaned in and studied the list.

Several heartbeats later, Bridget raised her head. “I hadn’t realized Lord Byron Davenport was attending.”

“Indeed, he was one of the first to respond.” Marjory rolled her eyes. “He’s quite the chatterbox, especially about horses.”

Bridget smiled slyly. “Perhaps we should seat him next to Lady Carlisle. From what I recall from your soiree in London, they are two of a kind. Besides her fascination with horses, I’m not sure which one of them can out-chatter the other.”

Marjory let out an unladylike snort and waved a hand at the list. “I’m not sure you’ve met everyone yet.

Lord Barrington and his ever-gracious companion, Mrs. Bainbridge will be joining us.

They never fail to brighten a room. Then there’s my dear friend, Miss Penelope Hathaway, who has agreed to delight us with a few rousing tunes on the pianoforte.

As for Miss Arabella Gray, she’s a veritable butterfly, vivacious and flitting from one sparkling conversation to the next.

And finally, there’s Sir Frederick Townsend, a quiet, down-to-earth man with a keen mind.

I daresay his company will be most engaging. ”

“It looks like Lord Blackwood and Lady Worthington complete your list,” Bridget observed, lifting her head. “But it’s a bit uneven, seven women and only five men. Besides the one gentleman who sent his regrets, who’s the other missing mystery man?”

“A friend of Mark’s,” Marjory replied with a dismissive flick of her hand. “I prefer not to write him off until I get his response. Perhaps Mark can persuade him to bring a companion.”

Bridget only half-listened. The house party was a world unto itself, intriguing, yes, but hardly what occupied her thoughts. Still, she conceded that the evening might pass quicker with good company, and after all, even the most meticulously arranged gatherings held their share of surprises.

Alastair returned to the drawing room with a casual, triumphant smile playing on his lips.

“That was rather quick. What was all that about?” Marjory asked.

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Fortune has smiled upon us, my dear. We are no longer short a gentleman.”

Marjory raised an eyebrow, skepticism lacing her tone. “Indeed? And who is to be our savior?”

Stepping closer, he poured himself a cup before answering. “Edgar Tresham, a historian of some renown, well-versed in rare texts. He came to discuss matters concerning my library.”

Marjory’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you invited him to stay?”

“He showed great interest in the collection. It seemed only logical,” he replied, looking quite proud of himself. “And as luck would have it, he was not opposed to an extended visit.”

“A historian? Attending a house party?” Bridget mused.

Alastair chuckled. “Not every guest need be preoccupied with fashion and frivolity, or Whist for that matter. Besides, Lady Worthington might find him interesting. Her father, Lord Kerrington, was quite the scholar.”

“Are we playing Whist?” Bridget glanced at Marjory.

“Indeed. Marjory firmly believes that a well-matched partnership brings out the best in both players. Two minds in concert make victories all the sweeter. Whoever heard of a solo triumph?” Alastair teased, glancing at his wife with playful amusement, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you for evening out our table, but that doesn’t help me with the plans for the card room.” Marjory returned to studying the guest list.

“I would enjoy being your partner. However, you will be darting about. I might as well be playing alone.” Alastair let his words rest. “I shall see that Tresham participates in our other entertainments. Is that satisfactory?”

Marjory pursed her lips, then let out a slow breath. “I suppose it is better than enduring an uneven table.”

Alastair reached for her hand, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “You wound me, my love. A perfectly balanced guest list and not a hint of gratitude?”

Marjory sighed, though a mischievous twinkle softened her words. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you married me.”

Bridget smothered a laugh behind her hand as Marjory sighed with exaggerated suffering.

“Very well, then. I shall have a place set for Mr. Tresham.”

He gave a satisfied nod. “Then all is settled.”

Marjory turned to Bridget with a bemused expression. “A historian at our house party. What do you make of that?”

Bridget tapped her fingers thoughtfully against the rim of her teacup. “I think this party will be more intriguing than anyone expected.”

“Let’s hope the professor finds something to amuse him,” Marjory said. “We wouldn’t want him asking too many questions.”

Bridget arched a brow. “Questions? What might he ask?”

“Only about old books and older stories. Now, if you will excuse me,” Alastair said with a lazy smile as he moved toward the door.

“Bridget.” Marjory put the papers aside. “I want to have one last look at the blooms. The hydrangeas and lavender will be a perfect addition to the vases for the dining room.”

The invitation lightened the moment. Bridget followed as Marjory led her toward the garden. Along the winding path, manicured hedges gave way to bursts of color from the flowering bushes in full bloom.

Pausing before a particularly vibrant cluster of hydrangeas, Marjory gently brushed her fingertips over the petals. “These are stunning. Just imagine how they’ll bring life to our table. I’ll have the gardener bring some to Mrs. Simmons. We can add them to the floral arrangements.”

They strolled quietly, enjoying the gentle breeze that carried the delicate scent of roses and honeysuckle. “You seem more at ease today,” Marjory said to Bridget.

Bridget nodded thoughtfully. “There’s a certain comfort in being useful. Keeping busy helps to take my mind off…things.”

Marjory gave her a knowing look as they reached the garden wall. “I’m grateful for your help.” She glanced toward the house. “Come along. There is still much to prepare. I had the staff bring the vases into the drawing room to finish the arrangements.”

Bridget followed her back through the garden. “You’ve planned the perfect weekend,” she said with a small approving smile.

“Planned, yes,” Marjory said, though her smile faltered as they entered the drawing room. “Yet Mark has been… preoccupied lately.” She smoothed an invisible crease on her skirt.

“Excuse me, my lady.” Drummund, the footman, approached with a slight bow, a silver tray in hand.

Marjory glanced at her writing desk, where an array of open invitations and neatly penned responses lay in careful order. She accepted the morning post with a quiet nod, sorting through the letters briefly, until Drummond, handed her a final sealed missive.

She paused, then took it from Drummund with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Bridget, seated nearby, sipped her tea, observing with mild amusement as Marjory methodically sorted through the correspondence, the rhythm of her movements precise and practiced.

House parties required an artful balance of matching personalities, avoiding known feuds, and ensuring that no guest felt slighted in their placement.

It was a task Marjory handled with remarkable skill, though even she could not mask the occasional flicker of exasperation when dealing with the more demanding guests.

Marjory broke the wax seal of the latest letter, her eyes scanning the contents before a satisfied smile curved her lips. Setting it aside, she reached for her quill and adjusted the seating arrangements yet again.