Page 23 of Redemption for the Baron

He paused as if choosing his next words carefully, finally adding with a playful lilt, “Then I suppose persistence must be part of our English charm.”

Before their conversation could deepen further, Captain Grenville smoothly interjected. “Lady Alastair, I must compliment you on the arrangement of tonight’s seating. It seems you have an instinct for placing the most… spirited of guests together.”

Marjory, ever the gracious hostess, smiled as she set down her glass. “A happy coincidence, I assure you, Captain.”

Grenville chuckled. “A fortunate one, indeed. There is nothing quite so dull as an evening where all are in perfect agreement.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Bridget, his meaning clear.

Bridget merely lifted her glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “How fortunate, then, that I have no inclination to provide dull company.”

A knowing gleam flickered in Grenville’s eye, but he did not press further. Still, Bridget’s earlier retort lingered like a quiet challenge in the charged space between them.

Later, as Marjory introduced her “Confessions and Challenges” game, a series of revelations and light-hearted daresthat set the table abuzz with laughter and hushed confidences, Bridget’s mind kept returning to that initial exchange with Grenville.

“What, no game of chance?” a shocked Lady Worthington asked from across the table. “I don’t know when I’ve been to one of your parties when you haven’t challenged us with a game of cards.”

Marjory glanced at her guest with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Evelina, of course, I have a card game planned for after dinner. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. But now we’re playing Confessions and Challenges.” She glanced at Mark, who appeared less than pleased.

Bridget turned to Blackwood. “I would think that a game of Vingt-et-un is non-threatening. The person closest to twenty-one wins the hand.”

The smug, knowing smile on Blackwood’s face told Bridget there was more to this game. “Is there something special about Marjory’s card games?”

He pursed his lips and leaned toward her so only she could hear. “Card games are very revealing. I doubt Marjory has Vingt-et-un in mind. No, she wants a game with partners. Whist, I suppose.” He paused. “And she will choose who partners with whom.”

“Lady Bridget,” Miss Hathaway called from across the table, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Have you played any of Marjory’s games before?”

“Yes, I have,” Bridget said, her gaze remaining on Marjory. “In London, she organized a memory game with various objects. “Och, we were in kinks wi’ laughter,” Bridget admitted with a grin. “Though I fear my partner nearly needed a brandy to recover.”

Grenville, who had been watching her, let a slow smirk creep onto his lips. “And did you, my lady, grant him mercy in the end?”

Bridget drummed her fingers on the tabletop, feigning great thought. “Mercy? Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

A brief silence followed, subtle but present. Bridget felt it, an almost imperceptible shift. She had spoken without thinking, the lilt of her childhood sneaking past her carefully measured tone. Her spine stiffened, her fingers pressing lightly against the stem of her glass. Did they notice?

Beside her, Grenville did.

He didn’t react outwardly, but she caught the flicker of something in his gaze, curiosity, perhaps amusement. His thumb traced the rim of his wineglass, a contemplative gesture, but he said nothing.

“Of course, we all agree, Lady Marjory,” Davenport chimed in. “Your games are renowned for getting us laughing. What do you have in store for us this evening?”

Marjory turned toward the butler and gave a subtle nod. Moments later, a discreet footman presented a silver tray with elegantly folded cards.

“I’ll go first,” Marjory said.

She drew a folded card from the tray and opened it. “Truth,” she said. “What inspired you to host this gathering?”

She paused, then answered her own question with warmth. “Truth be told,” she smiled warmly. “I’ve missed the joy of good company filling these halls. After such tumultuous times, I wanted to create an occasion where friends, old and new, could find relief and enjoy one another. I daresay that seeing all your faces here tonight has already made it worthwhile.”

As she spoke, Bridget noticed a fleeting shadow pass over Marjory’s features, a hint of melancholy that she quickly masked.

At the head of the table, Mark Alastair shifted subtly. His gaze focused intently on his wife, a trace of weariness in his eyes.

Marjory’s eyes briefly met Bridget’s, then moved to Blackwood and Grenville.

The first few rounds passed in a blur of laughter and light-hearted confessions. Lady Carlisle admitted a fondness for collecting seashells, while Lord Davenport humorously reenacted a clumsy dance from his youth, much to everyone’s amusement.

When it was Bridget’s turn, she drew a card that read: “Describe a moment when you defied expectations.”

“I suppose traveling unaccompanied from Scotland to England might count.” She gave a mischievous glint. “But more so, I once engaged in a debate on philosophy with a professor at Edinburgh University.” She cast a sidelong glance at Professor Tresham. “Much to his astonishment. It seems some believe a lady’s mind is best kept confined to embroidery and etiquette.”

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