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A direct appeal to Graymont was the answer. As Cordelia waited for him, she rehearsed the sensible words of her request. She, who had never had a landlord, who had not answered to any man in the running of Delamere for four years, found the very idea of approaching Graymont irksome. His arrogant manner had a way of setting her back up. He might be their landlord. It might be both necessary and perfectly reasonable to ask his permission to recover the costumes, but she didn’t like it, and she didn’t like giving up her swim.
Her mind returned to his comment about the buttons on Henry’s old skeleton suit. To cut those buttons off, as Graymont suggested, would be an admission that she had heard him, and that he was right. She was sticking by her decision. It made sense not to swim, not because of his comment, but because she must be prepared to act. If Graymont agreed to her request, she could find the costumes and organize their removal to the lodge while he was still in the water. If he didn’t agree … She was still figuring out what she would do. At last, she heard footsteps on the path above her and readied herself to do battle.
She turned and rose. Above her on the path, Graymont stopped. He wore what she thought of as his Arab clothes, a thin shirt tucked into loose trousers, a towel flung over one shoulder. She didn’t think him handsome, exactly; his dark gaze was too sharp. Mockery came easy to him. He had a keen eye for the ridiculous, she was sure.
“Miss Staveley, good morning. What urgent business brings you here?”
“Nothing urgent.” Cordelia rose and swallowed her annoyance. She would be cordial. “I do have a request and knew I would find you here.”
He glanced at her hem in the sand and her windblown hair. She had come in an old blue day dress without a bonnet. “You’ve been waiting, and you’ve skipped your swim, so the matter must be urgent. Apparently, you can’t rest until it’s resolved.”
“We have left some items behind in the castle. Nothing of value to anyone but ourselves. I wonder if you would be so kind as to allow me to retrieve them today.”
“There you go again, thinking me kind.” He came down the path until he stood opposite her. He gave her another questioning glance. “You’ve made me curious. Are you going to tell me what these items are?”
Cordelia straightened. He already thought her foolish. To win the wager she would bear his disdain. “Theatrical costumes,” she admitted. “When our mother was alive, we would put on her favorite Shakespeare plays in the summer.”
“Ah,” he said. “Hence the names. I wondered at them. Are you thinking of reviving the family theatrical custom?”
The unexpected question stirred memories. In summers past they had performed the plays in the hall with its dais as the stage. In the lodge she did not know where they would put the costumes. But the point was to get them, to make sure Viola did not enter the castle.
“Ah,” he said, a grin changing his mouth, giving him a boyish look. “I have it! You are trying to divert the ever-resourceful Viola. If you don’t secure the costumes, your sister will storm the gates to get them, and you will lose our wager.”
He was too quick. Cordelia schooled her features to show no surprise. “Actually, Viola’s attack will likely be on Mr. Winter.”
“Winter?”
“Yes. Viola met him in the village yesterday and believes that … she can … persuade him to help her.” Cordelia doubted that Graymont knew of Winter’s interest in Miranda.
Graymont frowned. “Winter is an affable fellow, to be sure, but a busy one, and he has more than enough to do for me.”
“Then I am sure you’ll want to keep him at his work. We have no need to bother him or you. With your permission, I will collect the costumes this morning, and you won’t even know I’ve come and gone.”
He cocked a brow. “You know where these costumes are then?”
“In trunks in the cellar of the southwest tower.”
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as I can be.”
He turned to the sea. A sudden strong gust of wind blew dark strands of hair from his brow. The gulls shifted, drawing their huddle tighter.
“Don’t let me keep you.” Cordelia assumed a brisk tone. “The sea is turning rough. You’d best take your swim now. Is there someone at the gate who can admit me?”
He shook his head. Amusement lighted his eyes. “You think I don’t see what you’re about. It’s a ploy to win our wager. By taking this task on yourself, you keep to our strict rules. If I say yes, I work against myself.”
Cordelia balled her fists in the end of her shawl to keep from protesting. Of course, he’d worked it out, and there was no denying what he said.
“No matter. I am going to win,” he said affably. “Let’s find your costumes.”
Her mind leapt ahead to the narrow stairwell and small cellar room in the castle basement, to memories. She did not want him with her. His very presence was at odds with her feelings about those costumes. She tried to strike a careless tone. “Oh, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”
He laughed. “Yes, there is. If I’m to win, and I mean to win, Miss Staveley, I want to see the weapons being used against me.” He offered his hand to help her to the path. There was no need, really. She had been clambering up and down that path for years.
“Fancy dresses for play actors are hardly weapons,” she said, keeping her hands tucked in her shawl.
“In your hands I suspect they will be. What will you do with them if you don’t put on a play?” He did not drop his outstretched hand.
