Page 12 of The Trials of Alaric
And yet…Can I bear to miss the opportunity?He could not have said, even to himself, whether the greatest attraction was a place to call his own or the lovely Lady Beatrice.
Chapter Six
All the unmarriedgentlemen were present in the drawing room at noon the following day. Alaric, who was one of the last to arrive, took up a position leaning against the mantelpiece from which he could see and hear the others but was not part of any group. Maddrell and Whittington hovered to one side, talking neither to each other nor to anyone else.
Beverley was holding forth to Ambrose Howard and Sir Henry Dashwood about how he was certain his cousin would choose him. “She has always admired me,” he boasted. “I will exert myself to charm her, and the job will be done.”
Dashwood snorted. “She doesn’t respond to charm,” he claimed. Which meant Dashwood had tried, Alaric noted.
Beverley was not impressed. “She will, to mine.”
“You still have to pass Lord Claddach’s trials,” Howard pointed out.
“I am a master of any gentlemanly skill,” Beverley declared. “Foils, pistols, boxing, riding, driving. I have no concerns.”
The other three of the original suitors were closer to Alaric, so he heard Lord Lucas Versey’s response to that boast, which was pithy, vulgar and—in Alaric’s view—entirely apposite.
“Ignore him,” Martin Fairweather advised. “He’s all mouth.”
Francis Meadowsweet nodded. “True. I have seen him box.”
Perhaps Beverley heard them. If so, he did not feel inclined to challenge the three.
Instead, he addressed Alaric. “Don’t you have other places you ought to be, Redhaven? You just turned up in the storm, they tell me.”
“I have no urgent engagements,” Alaric replied, resisting the urge to point out that Beverley was another person who had not been invited.
Lord Claddach spoke from the doorway. “I have welcomed Redhaven to my home and to the trials, Beverley.” He crossed the room to his usual chair. “If you are unhappy about my decisions, you are not obliged to stay.”
Beverley flushed red, and the sore look he sent Alaric behind his uncle’s back promised retribution.
“I take it, gentlemen,” Lord Claddach said, “that you have all decided to enter the trials?”
He waited for a chorus of murmured agreement. Except for the secretary and the chaplain, they all expressed their intention of competing in the trials.
“Very well. A short while ago, your valets were given your first clue in a treasure hunt. I expect the hunt to take several days—perhaps the full two weeks remaining of the house party. You will therefore be undertaking the treasure hunt while completing other trials and continuing to please my lady wife by entering into her planned activities in the house party, any one of which might, or might not, be a trial. As to the treasure hunt, you will be given a new clue every time you bring me evidence you solved the last one.”
Clever. Those who decided the known trial needed all of their own attention might be neglecting an unknown one. Indeed, Alaric would not be at all surprised if one factor in judging the trials would be whether a contestant failed to take Lady Claddach’s feelings into account when setting their priorities.
Alaric wondered how many of the others had figured out that every one of Claddach’s servants would probably be feedinginformation to their master to help him judge each trial. Every servant? Every islander, more likely.
Colyn’s gossip had made it clear they were all anxious about the choice that Lady Beatrice must make. Whatever local custom and Claddach’s last will and testament said, and whatever papers the lady’s groom might sign before the marriage, in a court of law, a husband had absolute power over his wife. Even if, as in this case, he would not hold the title of earl when Lady Beatrice became countess, he would still be his wife’s legal guardian, and anything she owned in her own right, rather than as countess, would belong to him, as would the children she bore.
Of course, every islander would care about the trials, and would tell the earl anything they observed.
“That is all,” Lord Claddach said. “May the best man win.”
The gentlemen stampeded upstairs to ring for their valets. Alaric did not bother to run. Given Claddach’s words, he fully expected Colyn to be waiting for him. Gilno had returned to his regular footman duties, but always had a smile for Alaric when he saw him.
Sure enough, Colyn was waiting patiently in Alaric’s bedchamber. “Did ye enter the trials, sir?” he asked, as soon as Alaric entered the room.
“I did,” Alaric said.
Colyn grinned, broadly. “Well, then. That’s good. I have a clue for ye, sir. For the treasure hunt.”
He handed over a piece of paper that, when opened, proved to have a short piece of doggerel written on it.
“Watch time crawl by with leaden feet.
