A Heart's Treasure Read online

  Penelope lifted a dismissive hand. “Mama will not mind, as I’m useless in helping her as a hostess in this warmth. And Papa won’t say nay if she does not. As for Lord Galton, he has allowed Genevieve to travel with me before. Recall our journey to Kent last fall when Aunt Ophelia took ill and Genny came along to help me. And you must own no-one attempts to tell Michael what he may or may not do, nor where he may go.”

  Instead of appearing insulted at the revelation Penelope thought his parent incapable of controlling his behavior, Michael nodded his agreement. “Just so.”

  “Haddy is the head of his household,” she went on, “and if he wishes to travel and Summer wishes to accompany him, there is none to stand in their way.” She nodded when Haddy shrugged agreement, and turned to Kenneth, her gaze direct and seemingly unmarked by any ache that might have lingered between them. “But what of you and Laura, Kenneth?” She’d known him too long to have reverted to calling him “Mr. Manning” after that squashed proposal, not least because it would have stood out to the others. Xavier could only admire her eternal poise. “Would Sir Roger approve such a scheme?”

  At this, all eyes turned back to Kenneth, whose ears colored a bright red. There was no escaping the fact his father was a tyrant in their household.

  “Don’t concern yourselves with what my father will say,” he said. “After all, we only mean to travel to one of our own estates. There is nothing shocking or particularly unusual in that.” He hesitated, then continued, “I shall find a way to see my plans go forward—that is, if everyone agrees we desire to make this journey?”

  Xavier refrained from asking if Kenneth merely meant to leave without obtaining any form of permission at all. Still, if that was the case, it was Kenneth’s decision and not his to make. Instead he turned back to his sister. “Nellie,” he used the old pet name, “You must consider that dusty, hot, miserable travel is mainly what you ladies would get for your trouble,” he warned, trying to give her a chance to change her mind.

  “As if I would get anything better here in London,” she replied, tossing her needlework aside with a firmness that showed her mind was decided. She proved this by announcing, “In fact, I shall inform the other ladies we mean to do this.”

  Xavier watched her move toward the garden, even as he noted the unavoidable line of perspiration that had left a trail down the center of the back of her bodice, to match the one that caused his own fine lawn shirt to stick to his back. It was very like her to make such an instantaneous decision—but he feared she’d not taken a few moments to think it through. What of the presence of the forbidden would-be groom, ever at hand as they traveled? She was resilient and clever and stout of heart…but Xavier feared Penelope might come to regret this impulsive choice.

  He moved to position himself to see out the garden door, propped open against the dim hopes of a breeze. He was half of a mind to go and persuade her otherwise, but instead he watched as she approached the shade of a leafy birch tree. It was surrounded by a circular bench, where the two other ladies sat, their faces and pastel gowns dabbled by errant bits of light that had slipped past the tree’s leaf-shade. He saw they’d abandoned their slippers and stockings, their delicate white feet peeping shamelessly from beneath the hems of their gowns.

  There was Laura, Kenneth’s older sister, in palest rose, with brown hair that tended toward red in the sunlight, even as it did now. And, in white with yellow embroidery at the sleeves and hems, was Genevieve, Michael’s only sister. Her hair, lashes, and brows were a deep brunette, quite the coloring to make the most of her gown and put one in mind of a wood nymph. Though it must be said hers was no slender, lithe form; she’d the peachy skin and ample hips and bosom of a milkmaid. Xavier felt a flutter, not at all unfamiliar, and allowed himself to observe Genevieve’s excellent gifts a moment longer, but then guiltily moved away to dissuade any others from joining him at such an ungentlemanly endeavor. However, he didn’t turn away before seeing the two ladies nod their heads and clap their hands at Penelope’s proposal.

  “It seems we are committed, lads,” he said over his shoulder to the room.

  Haddy made a sound half-affirming, half-bothered. He was brother to the only missing sister: Lady Summer. Her Christian name was actually Rose, but Summer Rose was the phrase that had stuck in babyhood because it fit her dainty beauty and white-blonde hair. So she’d become Summer, no matter what her family Bible stated. She would agree to come on their adventure for Haddy’s sake, yes—but everyone knew it would really be for Michael. Her fiancé would expect it, and they all knew she’d do anything her would-be groom asked of her.

  It was as clear as the delicate nose beneath Summer’s sky-blue eyes that she was madly in love with the nonchalant fellow, and just as clear that if he was half so much in love with her, he hid it well. A pity, that. Hers was the kind of personality that created a desire even in the stoniest heart to build her a castle turret that she might live within, beyond the reach of the various ogres and dragons and insults the world invariably threw into any life. Such delicate, sweet-natured creatures as Summer had been the cause of the origins of chivalry, Xavier had no doubt.

  He’d no passion for the girl himself, she was too much a piece of eiderdown for such a one as he, but he sighed to think Michael seemingly had no such passion either. Six months since, Xavier had tried to suggest that either a wedding or a release ought to be declared soon—and Michael had risen to so vigorous a denouncement of the idea of crying off, that despite a sense of confusion as to his intentions, none of their circle had offered any such advice since.

  “What is to be our plan then, Manning?” Xavier asked, calling himself back to the moment. Just as he spoke the three ladies entered, returned from the garden, bubbling with enthusiasm for the proposal Penelope had carried to them.

  “Ladies,” Kenneth said, giving them a small bow and directing his comments toward them. “As to our journey, the clue hunt is rather simple, actually. You know of my studies—”

  Haddy and Michael groaned.

  “Please,” Kenneth said coolly, silencing them.“You know of my studies concerning the folklore of the many counties of England. I have taken clues from those tales, and made up a hunt of sorts. At first I thought it should also be a race, but in truth, what pleasure is there in that? A man—and oh, his sister—” he bowed again to the ladies, acknowledging their fledgling inclusion, “tearing across the countryside, parted from his companions? No, I propose we travel as a group, locating the clues together.”

  “I’m confused,” Haddy interjected, the last of the four men to rise to his feet. “We find or take a clue, and all guess at it at once?”

  “No, no, not so complicated as that. We’ll take turns, and work to earn a token. If the first team cannot supply the answer, then they receive no token and must pay a forfeit. Then the next team in order will have a go, you see? That’s how we may all be part of a hunt without having to separate. Of course, the team that avoids the most penalties and collects the most tokens, wins.”

  “And what do they get for winning?” Laura asked. Being the eldest among the eight, it often fell to her to ask the practical questions.

  “I thought perhaps the losing teams must sport the blunt for an exquisite new fan for the winning lady and an equally desirable new snuffbox for the lucky gentleman.”

  The ladies nodded, well pleased, quite aware they would not be truly expected to extend anything from their pin money, for their brothers would settle any portion of the wager that could be called theirs.

  “But you will know all the answers,” Michael, frowning, pointed out to Kenneth.

  “So my partner shall be the only one of us to guess. So if there’s to be a forfeit it must be mine alone, not Laura’s,” he said, naming his sister.

  “We play at this hunt with our siblings?” Michael asked at once, frown deepening. “But siblings might think too much alike. Or, worse, bicker like magpies. No, we must stir the pot, by drawing names. One gentleman, one
lady.” Looking to the three other gentlemen, he added, “For I certainly don’t care to have any of you simpletons as my partners, so I must insist it be a man-woman pairing.”

  Despite some demurring, the four ladies’ names were written on bits of paper, folded, and slipped into a vase suddenly pressed into service. Kenneth shook the vase to toss the papers about. “We shall do this alphabetically, I think,” he declared.

  “Last again.” Xavier gave a mock sigh.

  Haddy was first to draw, and it was seen his partner was to be Laura, Kenneth’s sister. The latter eyed Haddy as if to measure if he were worthy of her partnership. No outcome was pronounced, unless one counted that she made no protest.

  Kenneth stared for a long moment down at the paper he’d then drawn. His ears turned red again, but then he shook himself, and smiled politely. He held the paper aloft, as though to prove what he’d drawn. “My partner is to be Penelope.”

  It was her turn to redden, two bright spots on her cheeks, but after a long moment wherein she appeared calm if unsmiling, she nodded.

  Laura frowned a little, glancing between the newly named partners, perhaps sensing that for some reason the combination was not a comfortable one. Xavier wanted to slap a hand to his forehead; anyone but Kenneth ought to have drawn Penelope’s name. He should have thought about that. Ought he now volunteer to take her on in Kenneth’s stead? Or would that make the moment even more awkward?

  Before Xavier could decide, the vase was thrust his way by Kenneth. Xavier’s hand rose, paused as he glanced to Penelope, but then it dipped into the vase, the moment to declare a partner switch lost under the very steady, very stoic stare she aimed his way. For a certainty, it would be just that more painful for Penelope if the strain between her and Kenneth was allowed to be known by the larger group. The two of them had kept their division well hidden these four months past.

  Afraid he reddened as well—knowing part of his sister’s silence was for his sake, since he would be perhaps the worst wounded if their small, safe circle fell apart—Xavier fought back a grimace, and pulled forth the absent Summer’s name.

  Michael, as soon as Xavier read his partner’s name aloud, thrust his hand into the vase as well. He unfolded the last piece of paper, confirming what he’d clearly already figured: “Genevieve” was written across it.

  “For pity’s sake. The whole idea was not to have one’s sister as a partner,” he protested.

  “You didn’t state any such rule prior to the drawing,” Haddy pointed out. “You merely implied it.”

  “No, but seriously.” Michael looked to his sister and now hunt partner, but Genevieve only shrugged at him, perhaps amused to see him thwarted for once. He scowled at her, then spun back to his fellows. “I ought to be allowed to name an alternate. Your older sister perhaps, Moreland? Her husband wouldn’t mind a few weeks’ absence, I suppose? Make the heart grow fonder and—?”

  “She’s increasing,” was Haddy’s dampening reply.

  Michael gave an exasperated sound.

  “No, good sir,” Kenneth declared. “No more fussing. The selections stand.”

  Manning, Xavier thought, exasperated, your pronouncement just made it that much harder for you and me to trade partners.

  As Michael persisted in grumbling, the men pulled on their jackets and sent for their hats and canes, and the sisters their shawls and bonnets.

  “So how does all this foolishness start?” Haddy asked, pulling a face as he drew his coat over his sweat-damp shirt.

  “I tell you our first location, and once we arrive there, you will be given a further clue or two to figure out where we go next.”

  “And our first location is…?”

  “We only go so far as Wycombe Marsh. Perhaps you know the place, it used to be known as Haveringdon?”

  “I know it. Only, you say? That’s some thirty miles from here, Manning. I’ll tell you now that Summer’s not up to long, frantic days of travel.”

  “No, of course not. Nor should we care to discomfort any of the ladies.” Kenneth considered, his hand dashing through his hair. “But surely thirty’s not so far, with fresh horses? But, yes, I may have to change a plan or two… But mostly my hunt will serve as set, I think.” He nodded, first to himself, then to Haddy. “The ladies ought not be too inconvenienced.”

  “It’s not too late to make off without ’em…?” Haddy leaned in to not-quite-whisper hopefully.

  “No, no,” the other man quietly said at once. He must have felt Xavier’s gaze on him, but he didn’t look back, instead clearing his throat and adding, “At this point, it would be churlish to disappoint them.”

  “Suppose so,” Haddy agreed reluctantly.

  “Presuming on Summer’s agreement and others’ parental approval,” Kenneth raised his voice so all could hear, “is tomorrow at ten too soon to begin, ladies? Gentlemen?”

  Laura looked alarmed at the haste, but when the two younger ladies didn’t object, she nodded her assent as well. She snatched up her parasol, as if she needed to be home and begin packing at once.

  “Very good. I shall leave my home at ten, with two coaches, one for the ladies and one for our portmanteaux, and take all of us up.” He didn’t need to say the men must crowd in among the bags and boxes, or else ride their own horse; no doubt they’d all opt for the latter. Xavier wasn’t sure whether to hope the weather held or not, for baking under the sun would prove as unpleasant as would being mounted in rain; the only thing more disagreeable might be riding inside a coach stuffed full with baggage. However, he was loath to suggest Kenneth must supply a third vehicle, since his friend might well be thin of pocket to pay for such a hire.

  “Well then, I must away,” the same said, “if I’m to send my man before us, to set our clues.”

  “Of course. We should hate to overtake him before he can complete his tasks.” Spontaneously, and quite unsure if Penelope would prefer it or not, Xavier took a chance and leaned forward to whisper quickly to Kenneth, “I know it might be awkward, but would you care to trade partners with me—?”

  “No, no, it’s quite all right,” Kenneth said, shaking his head and pressing his lips together, his voice pitched quite low. He looked up from under lashes, finally letting Xavier see his eyes, which were touched with melancholy. “It will be a kind of mending time, do you see?” he murmured with a chagrined twist of the mouth. “She and… We need to get past any lingering awkwardness, you understand?”

  “Quite,” Xavier said, nodding, even as he hoped it might prove so.

  Give the man his due, though, for Kenneth had taken Papa’s rejection with a determined grace and had refused to break up the long-standing circle of eight by bemoaning his loss of a bride. Not many men could have borne rejection with such poise. With the possible exception of Laura—herself sensitive to dashed hopes because her soon-to-declare swain, Lieutenant Lark, had been lost to a Frenchman’s bullet two years past and she’d no new offers since that tragedy—the others had missed that a connection so close at hand had been asked for and refused.

  Besides himself, who would come out the worse should the Penelope-Kenneth truce all fall to messy pieces on the road? For a certainty, Kenneth’s connection had been a true one: he yet pined, if one but bothered to see the longing gazes he sometimes couldn’t help but throw Nellie’s way.

  But there was naught the poor man could do to alter the refusal; Xavier and Penelope’s papa had been clear enough on the matter. Kenneth—be damned to riches that’d one day he his—wasn’t good enough for an earl’s daughter.

  And for the lady herself? What had been her feelings on the matter? Xavier was less sure in that quarter. In many ways, Penelope seemed her usual self—but perhaps to his shame, Xavier couldn’t say just how deeply her own feelings toward Kenneth had run. Was she hiding lingering pain? Was she heartbroken? But surely heartbroken females wept and pouted and wrote long poems about love lost? They didn’t smile, and laugh, and attend dances, and mostly go about as if all was at it
had been—did they?

  Had Xavier seen anything in her that spoke of affection beyond that of a friend? Any particular preference for Kenneth’s company, months ago? Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. It disturbed Xavier that he couldn’t say for sure, just as it bothered him that sometimes he found her staring out a window, or wandering the halls aimlessly, or denying tears he thought she’d just quickly brushed away.

  And…when her name had been drawn by her one-time suitor, she’d blushed. Only blushed. She’d not looked pleased, or protested, or stammered, or demanded a redraw.

  There had been her stoic stare, too. Had it meant for Xavier to remain clear of her affairs? Or had he missed her point entirely and failed to provide a rescue?

  Yet… Nellie could teach steel how not to bend if she was of a mind to be obstinate. She certainly wouldn’t have wanted any action on his part to call attention to a proposal that was void and behind them. Not in front of this circle of friends, particularly. It didn’t speak well of Xavier that he vacillated between relief she and Kenneth had chosen silence, and the occasional nagging notion that it had all ended too neatly. She’d only spoken of the proposal to him once, and had remained determinedly mute on the subject thereafter. He’d been too relieved that the ring of eight friends had survived, to push her to say more on the matter.

  I am a coward.

  It was the thing he liked least about himself, this admittedly ridiculous sensitivity over his lost eye, the long scar, the perfectly understandable curiosity others evinced over the imperfection he could little hide from the world. He’d carried the mark and the burden for years, and even learned to seem sanguine about it most of the time—but the scar went much deeper than the flesh. Xavier was reminded almost daily by some stranger’s stare that he was maimed. The outer wound was long healed into a scar, the inner one never less than raw. Not just a coward, but a fool.