Now, she observed Crispin as he prepared for the event, his demeanor sharp and commanding. Hewore his hosting duties as if they were a tailored suit, fitted and crafted to elicit a specific reaction. The silver bowl before him held neatly folded slips of paper, and his expression suggested he had shuffled them with meticulous care.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, his voice resonating across the lawn, "welcome to what I have modestly titled the Grand Oakford Treasure Hunt. The rules are simple, deceptively so, according to those who designed them."
Clara, perched near the terrace steps, beamed like a co-conspirator savoring the moment.
"Each pair will receive a sealed envelope containing your first riddle," Crispin continued, gesturing to a stack of cream-colored envelopes beside the bowl. "Solve the riddle, locate the designated token, and you will find your next clue attached. Five tokens in total, scattered throughout the gardens. The first pair to collect all five wins the honor, some might call it a burden, of leading the first dance at tonight's musicale."
A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd. The twin sisters exchanged eager glances while Mr. Davenant adjusted his cravat, anticipation etched on his face, and the baroness appeared ready to forfeit and retreat to her chair.
"Now, to the pairings." Crispin reached into thesilver bowl with a flourish. "I shall draw the ladies first, then their partners. Fate is unpredictable, as we all know, and I am merely its instrument."
Alice stifled a laugh into her lemonade, earning a disapproving glare from the dowager beside her.
The first slip revealed Miss Winters, who flushed with nerves, paired with the dark-haired gentleman who had spent most of the party feigning boredom. The second pairing matched one of the twin sisters with an elderly baron whose hearing was questionable. The announcements continued, each pairing met with varying degrees of enthusiasm and resignation.
Alice began to entertain the foolish hope of escaping selection entirely, though Crispin’s evident determination for amusement suggested otherwise, when her name rang out.
"Lady Alice Pickford," Crispin announced, his eyes locking onto hers with an innocence that was anything but convincing.
She stepped forward, glass still in hand, forcing her features into a mask of polite interest.
Crispin reached into the bowl once more. The pause that followed felt deliberate, and when he unfolded the paper, a knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Viscount Crewe."
Alice's pulse quickened. Not from surprise or anticipation but from the realization that fate had conspired once again to bring them together. She turned to see Crewe already approaching from his position near the fountain, his expression carefully blank.
He looked like a man calculating the safest way to dispose of a live serpent.
"How fortunate," she said as he came to stand beside her. "Destiny seems determined to educate us in each other's company."
"Destiny," he replied, his voice flat, "has poor judgment."
Yet something flickered behind his words. A memory, perhaps, of their walk through the rose arbor, mingled with roses, grief, and shared confessions. Alice noted it for later consideration.
Crispin distributed the sealed envelopes with the ceremony of a priest dispensing sacraments. When he reached Alice and Crewe, his smile sharpened into something knowing.
"Do try not to murder each other before the third riddle," he murmured. "Clara has worked hard on these clues, and I would hate to see them wasted on a corpse."
"Your concern for our welfare is touching," Alice replied.
"My concern is for the entertainment of my other guests." Crispin pressed the envelope into her hand with a wink. "Good hunting."
He moved on to the next pair, leaving Alice and Crewe standing together under the warm afternoon sun, the sealed envelope resting between them.
Alice wasted no time. She broke the seal with a decisive motion, unfolding the paper to reveal Clara's elegant handwriting.
Where stone lions guard their silent post,
And morning shadows fall at most,
Seek the tears that never dry,
Beneath the gaze of a watchful eye.
"The fountain," Alice declared immediately. "The east fountain has lion heads, and the water flows continuously."
Crewe remained silent, standing beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. She sensed his reluctance like heat from a forge, igniting something contrary in her chest. The urge to crack that composure and uncover the man she had glimpsed in the garden.
