“Modisteandcouturier, of course.Both designers of fashionable clothes.”
“A dress,” Mx.Hillcrest and Lady Imogen Fitzhugh guessed in unison.
“A gown,” Mr.Thompson put in.“It speaks of expense.”
“The use of both designers leads me to believe otherwise,” Wyndham said sedately, unbothered by the competitive edge that both Ladies Fitzhugh were determined to incorporate into the game.“If it were one or the other, we could assume it was something more specific, such as a gown.I think it is vague on purpose.”
“An outfit, then?”Lady Anthea Fitzhugh’s brows shot up in the direction of Miss Thackeray.“Is that correct?”
“You’re moving in the right direction,” Miss Thackeray confirmed.
Lady Anthea turned to her wife.“So the second part is some type of clothing.”
“Fineclothing,” Mr.Thompson added helpfully.
“Yes, all right,fineclothing,” Lady Anthea repeated with a roll of her eyes that one could only get away with to someone who was a close friend.Mr.Thompson smiled in response.“What of the first part?”
Lady Imogen turned to Keelan.“Any other helpful clues?”
“Oh,” Keelan said.“Well…”
“Certainly it is not referring to London,” Wyndham muttered.
Roger angled his head to look up at where Wyndham was standing behind his chair.“We do have the Park.I find it rather beautiful.”
Wyndham’s answering grin was soft.
“Wyndham is correct,” Torquil said easily from Emrys’ lap.“Bucolicimplies somewhere not in London, or any city.”
“A pristine expanse.”Lady Anthea tapped a finger against her lips.“The countryside, then.Pasture?Meadow?Grass?”
Miss Thackeray shook her head at all of the guesses.
“I cannot imagine who would be offended by life outside of London and fine clothes,” Mr.Thompson said.“Delicate sensibilities beware?”
Sage worked over the puzzle in his mind as the group continued to do the same together.He closed his eyes and thought of his trip out to the Wrenwhistle estate—hours upon hours of staring out the carriage window at nothing.Not a city, Torquil had said, not a town or a village.Just the endless stretch of rolling hills, the occasional stand of trees, and fields full of sheep, a blemish of white to mar such an abundance of green.Verdant.Green.
Green outfit.Green clothing.Green…
Sage’s eyes opened and he snorted out a laugh.
“Miss Thackeray,” he said.“Wherever did you find this book?”
Everyone stopped talking and whipped their heads to look at him.
Miss Thackeray chuckled.“Have you got an answer for us, Mr.Ravenwing?”
The room was staring with intense curiosity.He knew that the moment he gave his reply, any shred of respect these people had for him would be gone for such indecorous behavior in polite company.Not that there was much to be lost.Sage’s name had appeared in theTribuneso many times he’d long since given up keeping track.They all knew how Sage spent his time.All but one.
Then again, the answer would be revealed at the end regardless.They all seemed eager to hear it.Why shouldn’t he be the one to tell them?Perhaps some of them even knew it already, if not by action then by phrase.Wyndham did.Wyndham was the reason Sage did.
Sage lifted one hand from the arm of his chair and twirled his wrist with a flourish, as if to say the answer was painfully obvious.
“Green garment, of course.”
Miss Thackeray tittered in her seat.“That is correct!”she cheered.
The room was suddenly divided.Half of the party was looking around, slightly bewildered.The other half was very purposefully not making eye contact with anyone at all.He overheard Mx.Hillcrest murmur “grass stains” in Mr.Thompson’s ear.Miss Thackeray cackled as the gentleman’s face pinked.Sage was careful to avoid whatever Wyndham’s reaction was.Instead, he found that his focus had fallen to Mr.Moore.There was no culpability in the man’s expression, nor confusion, or even curiosity.Sage could only see his bright smile as he stared right back.
