Page 12 of Marrying Bluebeard

I tune out the conversation that follows, my gaze wandering across the room. It passes over Julien, who looks less than thrilled with Aunt Charlotte’s proposed activity. I suppose the idea of couples intentionally hiding themselves out of sight is rather scandalous. But what’s the point of being at a party in the country if you don’t bend the rules of society a bit?

My other brothers don’t seem to share Julien’s concerns, as I spy them jostling each other as they sport matching grins. No doubt they already have their eyes on a few hopeful partners. Marguerite sits on the edge of the settee, sipping a glass of wine and looking bored as the older Lord Humphrey drones on about something or other beside her. Julien has never pressured her to take a suitor, but he has insisted she at least go through the motions. No doubt she’s picturing the quaint little cottage she and Julia will retire to once her spinster status has been settled once and for all.

Aunt Charlotte calls the first gentleman forward, and there’s a flurry of anticipation as everyone leans forward, waiting to see whose name he’ll draw from the hat box. His round cheeks are ruddy with color as he unfolds the square of parchment and reads out, “Miss Annabel Downing.” A young woman with dark brown hair and a white muslin dress steps forward, giving him a coy smile as they move to the side.

Aunt Charlotte lifts her glass in their direction before calling up the next gentleman. “Lord Miles Harrison.”

He bounds to the center, his eager eyes meeting mine as he reaches inside the proffered box. He holds my gaze as he unfolds the paper, but his grin slips as he looks down at the name. There’s a slight pause before he pastes a smile back on his face and says, “Miss Mary Dellum.”

Is it terrible that I’m relieved?

Miss Dellum’s face burns a bright red as she steps forward, glasses slipping down her nose as she stares at the floor, but it blossoms into a shy smile as she finally lifts her gaze long enough to accept the arm Miles is holding out. And if I’m not mistaken, Miles’s own smile takes on a softer, more sincere edge as he leads her off to the side.

Seven more gentlemen are called to Aunt Charlotte’s side and seven names that aren’t mine are read out, leaving only one man left without a partner. His dark eyes bore into mine as he reaches into the box, both of us knowing there’s only one name left.

“Miss Adelaide Brindamour.”

Julien nudges his way through the others to stand beside Aunt Charlotte, his voice low but still audible as he mutters, “Are you sure this is entirely appropriate? Perhaps a game of charades would be better.” He glares over her shoulder at Monsieur de Montragoux.

“Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.” Aunt Charlotte waves him off as if he were nothing more than a pesky fly, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking. “Just for that, I’m making you and your partner ‘it’. The rest of you”—she grins at the waiting couples—“have ten minutes to hide starting now.”

There’s a flurry of action and giggles as couples make a dash for the door. The borderline indecency of the game adds an undercurrent of excitement, and I spy Tristan sneaking a bottle of champagne from the sideboard as he follows Miss Talbot out of the room.

I can see why Julien might worry.

“After you, Miss Brindamour.” Monsieur de Montragoux gestures for me to precede him into the hallway, and I attempt nonchalance as I lead us into the main foyer.

“Any ideas on a good hiding spot?”

He runs a hand over his beard. “None that come to mind. Perhaps we should simply pick a direction and explore?”

“Works for me.” I glance around the large entrance hall. “Upstairs?”

“Upstairs it is.”

We make our way up the main staircase and down a hallway until we stumble upon a servant’s stair leading up to the third floor. It seems all of the lights have been snuffed out in preparation for the game, so it’s with halting steps that we creep down the dark hallway. The first several doors lead to bedrooms, so we pass those by. Finally, one of the doors opens up into what appears to have been a schoolroom once upon a time. I wonder if there have been any children here since Jenny.

Monsieur de Montragoux leans against the teacher’s desk. “This ought to do well enough.”

I push back the heavy drapes covering the windows, allowing a shaft of moonlight to fill the room before taking a seat at the children’s work table. “And now we wait.”

He inclines his head, silence filling the space between us. It’s punctured by the patter of feet and hushed giggles of another couple running past, but they don’t stop to try our door. I trace the grain of the wooden table with my fingertip, searching for something to say.

He beats me to it. “Lord Harrison looked disappointed not to draw your name tonight.”

“I’m sure he recovered quickly, and Miss Dellum appeared pleased with the outcome at least.” It’s unkind of me to say, I suppose, given the attention he’s paid her, but I can’t seem to help myself. The picture of them with their heads bent over that book bothers me more than I care to admit.

“He does give off a rather carefree attitude,” Monsieur de Montragoux muses. “But that’s to be expected in one so young.”

Now he’s being unkind. I should be affronted on Miles’s behalf, but I’m not. A pleased warmth fills my chest at the casual slight. It’s worrisome, given that I’ve always considered myself to be the compassionate type. But nothing about me feels normal when I’m near this man. This stranger, really.

I tilt my head, studying his features in the moonlight. The skin beneath his beard appears smooth, but his eyes are ones that have seen a good many things. “And how old are you to feel that a grown man of Lord Harrison’s age is yet a child?”

His mouth creeps up at the corner. “I never said he was a child.”

“Please,” I scoff. “As if your tone didn’t imply just that.”

He chuckles. “Fine. The boy would be better suited for a summer outing with his school chums than a house party designed for arranging potential marital prospects.”