"I am attempting to tolerate it.” He replied. “Enjoyment seems excessive."
Yet something lighter crept into his voice now, a hint of humor beneath the severity. Alice caught it and felt her smile sharpen into something genuine.
The lily pond spread before them, its surface scattered with pale blooms, the marble Neptune presiding over it all with stone-faced dignity. In the shadows cast by a cluster of carved naiads lay the glint of brass.
Fourth token secured. One remained.
The fifth riddle lay between them, its words obscured by the dappled shade of a willow whose branches trailed toward the pond's surface like fingers seeking water. Alice studied the paper with narrowed eyes, too aware of Crewe's shoulder near hers, the warmth radiating from him despite the cool breeze off the water.
Where Grecian forms in silence stand,
And earthen vessels hold the land,
The highest reaches guard the prize,
For those who dare to seek the skies.
"Urns," Alice murmured. "The decorative urns along the terrace. Some are mounted on columns."
"That covers considerable ground." Crewe's voice was thoughtful rather than dismissive. "We need to narrow it further."
They had been working together for nearly an hour, and something had shifted in the space between them. The clipped exchanges had given way to collaboration, the antagonism softening into a rhythm that felt almost natural. Alice was not certain she approved of this development. Natural was dangerous.
"Clara!"
The voice came from behind them, and Alice turned to see her friend approaching along the garden path, parasol tilted against the sun. Clara moved with the ease of a hostess who knew her surroundings well, her smile carrying a familiarity that Alice recognized with caution.
"How marvelous," Clara said, linking her arm through Alice's effortlessly. “You are ahead of all the other pairs. Crispin will be quite smug about his pairing."
"Crispin's instincts are self-serving," Alice replied. "As we both know."
"Naturally." Clara guided Aliceslightly away from Crewe, toward the pavilion where guests had gathered for refreshments. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "Lieutenant Harrington has been watching you all morning. Perhaps you might offer him a smile?"
Alice followed Clara's discreet glance toward the pavilion. The lieutenant stood near the refreshment table, a tall officer in uniform, his posture straight, his features unremarkable. He was focused on her, the kind of attention that suggested he hoped to catch her eye.
Such gazes were nothing new. Alice had faced them since her debut, collecting admirers as others collected ribbons, more from habit than desire. But today felt different. The weight of Crewe's presence behind her made the prospect of flirtation feel less like a game and more like a duty.
Still, she was Alice Pickford. Performance was second nature.
"A smile is easily given," she said lightly. "What do you want in return?"
Clara's dimple appeared. "I want you to enjoy yourself. Is that so terrible?"
"Depends on your definition of enjoyment."
Yet, she found herself moving toward the pavilion, her stride confident from years of practice. Lieutenant Harrington straightened as sheapproached, his expression shifting from hope to delight.
"Lieutenant." Alice extended her hand warmly. "I understand you have just returned from the Peninsula. You must have seen extraordinary things."
He bowed over her fingers with precision. "Nothing so extraordinary as the company at Oakford Hall, I assure you."
"Flatterer." She withdrew her hand with a laugh. "Tell me about the cavalry. I hear the charges are quite spectacular, all thunder and glory."
The lieutenant needed little encouragement. He launched into an animated account of a recent skirmish, his gestures expansive and his voice rich with enthusiasm. Alice listened with feigned interest, asking questions at appropriate intervals and tilting her head to suggest fascination.
All the while, her gaze drifted past his shoulder to where Crewe stood by the lily pond, waiting.
He still held the riddle, his head bent over the paper as if deciphering it required his full concentration. But Alice knew better. She saw the tension in his shoulders—rigid and braced for impact. His fingers tightened on the paper, creasing it. He glanced up, then away, then up again, watching her with lowered lashes.
