“Yes.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Goodnight, Mr. Holland.”
He stood with one foot on the stair above him, hand on the bannister. The concern on his brow was unexpected. Had my emotions really been so obvious? It was a silly game, that was all. The kiss didn’t matter. As mortifying as it was, no one would remember it tomorrow.
I hurried to my bedchamber and shut myself behind the door. When I glanced at the looking glass, I flinched.
At least Alexander hadn’t lied. There was indeed flour on my nose.
A few minutes later, I stared at the dark ceiling, struggling to fall asleep. Lady Tottenham’s words would haunt me all night.
Sleep well, for the games have only just begun.
Kiss your partner.
Kiss your partner.
I tore another slip of paper from the bowl, then another. All of them read the same.
Kiss your partner.
Kiss your partner.
Kiss your partner.
I dropped the slips into the bowl with a frustrated sigh. “That conniving woman,” I whispered to myself.
Despite the events of the evening before, I still hadn’t been able to sleep later than sunrise. Lady Tottenham had encouraged all her guests to be free to wander and explore Birch house, so I had taken the opportunity to sneak into the parlor before breakfast. The bowl of forfeits had been left on the sideboard.
So I wasn’t as unlucky as I thought.
It wouldn’t have mattered which slip of parchment I chose. Lady Tottenham had ensured that whoever drew out of that bowl would have to kiss their partner. It had been her plan all along—all part of her matchmaking scheme.
I shuddered at the thought of that kiss. I pushed the bowl back to the position I had found it in. The longcase clock in the corner chimed seven times as I sat on the edge of a black velvet chaise. Three large windows let in the grey morning light, washing out the vibrant hues of the green and pink wallpaper. The lofty ceiling displayed plasterwork, an intricate painting, and a stunning chandelier. The entire house was a display of wealth and status.
My widowhood hadn’t granted me the same security Lady Tottenham’s had. The late baron’s house was in Wiltshire. After he had died, his land and property were willed almost entirely to his brother, with just a small sum provided to me annually based upon the success of the land. I had lived in the dower house periodically ever since the baron’s death, but it didn’t feel like home. Nothing did. My annual sum was growing slimmer. The income of the land was deteriorating, as were the contents of my reticule. I could not obtain a loan, nor could I obtain a lease. Soon, I feared I would be destitute.
I hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone.
My sister, Henrietta, and her husband, Charlie had financial struggles of their own. They had married for love, even when Charlie desperately needed a fortune. If I grew desperate enough, I could call upon my friends, Timothy and Nora, the Duke and Duchess of Heywood, but that was a last resort.
Perhaps I had been a fool not to try to marry again sooner. I had been widowed at the age of twenty-five, and I had allowed four years to pass by, waiting, hoping. Waiting for Miles was all my heart allowed me to do. I felt imprisoned by the beautiful memories of love and security that I had felt with him. There were few men of wealth in London who would choose to marry a destitute widow of twenty-nine. The promises in Miles’s letter were the only thing that could save me.
I hadn’t known if he forgave me for marrying the baron. The emotions in his letters were difficult to interpret, and he had run off to the East India Company without a proper farewell. But now he had made his feelings known.
My stomach fluttered with a mixture of nerves and excitement. I stood and walked to one of the three large windows of the parlor. All I had to do was make it through the next four weeks at this untamed house party. Miles would laugh if he knew I was trapped in the company of his younger brother. I was sure he would also tell me Alexander was not to be trusted.
I squinted out the window, catching sight of movement in the courtyard. A man in a long black jacket and top hat made his way to a waiting carriage, valise in hand. I glimpsed the side of his face. He wore spectacles. Grey side whiskers peeked out from the collar of his jacket.
I hid halfway behind the drapes as he stepped into the carriage. Who could he be? A secret lover of Lady Tottenham’s? Nothing would surprise me in regard to her. She could have secret visitors, spies in France, anything was possible. I shook my head in bewilderment.
I still had nineteen days to go. That was far too many.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
I jumped, throwing the drapes over the window.
Standing in the doorway, one arm resting on the frame, was Lord Kirkham.
CHAPTER 4
