Page 9 of Map of a Lady's Heart
“Of course, Lady Sophronia,” replied Mrs. Cavendish. “Good luck,” she whispered to him. Wes heard the swish of her skirts as she moved away.
Flirting. He should be ashamed at himself for thinking so, but he wouldn’t mind at all if Mrs. Cavendish did flirt with him—blindfolded and otherwise.
“We have decided,” announced Bridget then. “Are you ready, sir?”
Wes thought of Justin’s little smirk, and Mrs. Cavendish’s rueful smile, and of how fiercely he’d played cricket at school. He flexed his hands and said firmly, “I am.”
The first clue wasmaps. Still thinking of Viola Cavendish’s lemon and rosemary scent, he said, “Italy,” which elicited snickers and a hearty “Wrong!” from Bridget.
The second clue wasfire. Wes puzzled over it until he remembered the admonition to be witty, so he replied, “Christopher Wren.” Wren had remade the map of London after the great fire. But his inquisitors only giggled and told him he was wrong again.
The next clue was a dreadful screech, emitted right near his ear, rather like a seagull whose tail was being plucked out. Wes almost bolted out of the chair, but Justin’s muffled laughter stayed him just in time. He thought for a moment, decided to be ridiculous, and said, “A history professor who’s fallen asleep over his pipe, and set his robes afire.”
Lady Bridget hooted with laughter, and the others joined in a moment later. “Better, but still wrong,” Justin told him. Wes would have blinked, if his eyes weren’t bound shut. Had that been approval in his nephew’s voice?
Fourth clue: a gust of air in his face. He thought hard, and said, “A phoenix.” There was a moment of silence, which made him hopeful, but then someone said, “Incorrect.”
The fifth clue wasOdysseus,which pricked his interest. Now he began to concentrate in earnest. “Cyclops,” he guessed, only to be told he was once more wrong.
The sixth clue took a moment. Wes’s mind worked the whole while. Maps, fire, Odysseus, wind, and shrieks. He suspected Justin had put forth this mystery item, to stymie him, and now he was absolutely determined to win. It didn’t hurt that he’d caught Mrs. Cavendish’s voice saying something quietly, no doubt to Lady Sophronia. It was idiotic and foolish, but he wanted to tear off the blindfold—after he won—and see her smiling at him, surprised and impressed. She was the duchess’s secretary, only a few steps up from a servant, but she had the most marvelous green eyes, like the sea after a storm...
He was so lost in contemplation of her eyes, it was a total shock to receive a splash of water right on his cheek. Quite a lot of water, actually; it ran down his face and wet his cravat, and there was a dismayed gasp as he reached up to wipe his face. “Bridget,” moaned a female voice.
So much for impressing anyone. But the water made him think of the sea after a storm—hang it, also of maps of the ocean, especially medieval ones with illustrations on every corner, and when he said, “Sea serpent,” a startled hush fell over the room.
“Am I wrong again?” he asked after a moment.
“Er—no,” said Justin, sounding a little nonplussed. “You’re correct.”
“Near enough, anyway,” said Lady Bridget. “It was ‘sea monster.’”
“I ought to receive an extra point, for being more precise.” Wes pulled off the blindfold, and found he was staring directly at Mrs. Cavendish. She was leaning toward Lady Sophronia but gazing at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Their gazes collided and lingered for a moment, then she turned away, a faint pink in her cheeks.
“Well done, Lord Winterton.” Lady Bridget stepped forward and offered him a towel. “You trounced Lord Newton and won the round. And I do apologize for throwing a bit too much water.”
“I told you no boy would outsmart a man in his prime,” crowed Lady Sophronia from her perch beside Mrs. Cavendish. “Didn’t I, Viola?”
Her murmured reply was too low for him to hear, alas, as it came just as the butler entered to announce dinner. Lady Bridget bounded forward. “Hurrah! I’m famished!”
“Winterton, you may lend me your arm,” announced Lady Sophronia, rising from the sofa. Wes obeyed the command immediately, taking the chance to exchange a quick glance with Mrs. Cavendish. Her eyes glowed with mirth and when she stepped aside to make way for Lady Sophronia, her skirts brushed his leg, sending a charge up his spine.
Good Lord, what was happening to him? Wes tried to focus his attention on the elderly lady clinging to his arm. She was giving directions to all the other guests, pairing them up in no discernible way. She told Justin, a viscount, to give Lady Alexandra his arm, while Lady Serena was assigned to Mr. Jones, a mere gentleman. But no one seemed willing to argue with her, and they went in to dinner.
As he pulled out Lady Sophronia’s chair, Wes scanned the table, confirming his suspicion. Sophronia hadn’t told Mrs. Cavendish what to do; he’d hoped it was because there weren’t enough gentlemen present—counting himself, there were only five, while there were seven ladies—but it appeared Mrs. Cavendish would not be joining them for dinner.
Which was unaccountably disappointing.
Chapter 3
The next morning Wes was determined to see if the Duke of Wessex owned the atlas he coveted.
Logically, the most likely place was the library. Even better, at this time of morning he should be able to explore it in solitary peace. Wes had a vague notion that ladies never emerged from their bedchambers before noon, and judging by the silent stillness of the wing where he and Justin had been settled, neither would his nephew. Excellent.
After a quick breakfast in the dining room—barren of all other guests, but laid out with enough dishes to feed a regiment—he asked the butler to direct him. The Kingstag library was on the ground floor, set at the rear of the house. It was a long, narrow graceful room, with tall windows looking out on the snow, still falling thickly beyond the glass. Fires were burning in the hearths at each end of the library, and there were comfortable-looking chairs and sofas arranged at artful intervals. At the far end of the room stood a pair of large globes behind a settee, which immediately caught his eye. He made a note to examine them at a more opportune moment.
Because, unfortunately, he had not discovered the room quiet and deserted. There were a large number of people already there. On the settee before those globes sat Lady Alexandra, smiling and laughing with one of the young ladies Wes dimly recalled meeting last night, and—to his surprise—Justin, who hadn’t willingly risen before ten any morning since they’d left Hampshire. Today his nephew seemed quite pleased to be awake, smartly attired and freshly shaved and vying for the ladies’ attention with another young dandy. Nearer the doorway where Wes stood, Lady Bridget was pacing, waving her arms as she spoke to Mrs. Cavendish, seated on a chair in front of the windows and studying some pages in her hands.
No one looked up at his entrance.
