Page 27 of Redemption for the Baron

Marjory moved among the tables, offering a well-practiced smile as she observed the play, but there was something off. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the back of a chair, a nervous habit Bridget had never noticed before. She laughed at something Barrington said, but the sound was a touch too light, too controlled.

Barrington caught Grenville’s eye across the room. There was a brief exchange, a silent nod, perhaps a confirmation. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but Bridget saw it. She remembered now. Barrington had summoned Grenville. But why? And what hadn’t they said aloud?

Grenville gave the faintest nod in return. He still wasn’t sure why Barrington had summoned him, only that it hadn’t been for cards or conversation. Whatever this was, it ran deeper than a house party.

At Davenport’s table, the dealer revealed the next set of cards, and a murmur of appreciation passed through the players. Yet Marjory’s gaze flickered toward her husband as if watching for something…waiting.

“A fine hand, Lady Bridget,” Blackwood remarked. “Perhaps the fates favor you tonight.”

*

As the evening’scard game continued, laughter and conversation filled the room. The dealers dealt the next hand. The players exchanged knowing glances as they placed their bets. The energy in the room shifted subtly, some eager for a victory, others already resigned to their losses.

Alastair played with an almost unnatural precision tonight, his focus shifting between his cards and his wife with a deliberateness that felt out of character.

Bridget wasn’t the only one who took note of it. Grenville watched the game with an air of quiet amusement.

As the game reached a natural pause, the door to the library opened, and Mr. Simmons entered, followed by several footmen carrying silver trays laden with an assortment of desserts, delicate pastries, fresh fruit, and rich puddings. The warm, spiced aroma of baked apples and cinnamon filled the air as they carefully spread out a cloth and arranged the dishes on the large library table.

Marjory rose with a graceful smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, a brief respite before we continue. I daresay a bit of nourishment is in order, after all, strategy is best served with a touch of indulgence. Do help yourselves to something sweet before we return to our game.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the room as guests stood and made their way toward the refreshments.

Bridget hesitated, taking the moment to study the other guests. Blackwood leaned in slightly as he exchanged a few words with Davenport, who looked less than pleased. Nearby, Grenville’s gaze flickered toward her before he turned hisattention back to Barrington and Mrs. Bainbridge, engaged in an amicable discussion.

Bridget glanced up from her seat as Miss Gray wandered toward the towering bookshelves, her fingers lightly brushing over the leather-bound spines. The younger woman hesitated, plucking a book free and flipping through its pages. Her brows knitted together in thought before she snapped the volume shut and tucked it under her arm.

Bridget’s pulse quickened as she recalled the odd script, a secret almost whispered through the pages. ‘There’s more to this manor than meets the eye,’ she thought, determined to uncover its hidden past. Unable to resist the pull of the mystery, Bridget stepped closer. “Have you found something interesting?”

Miss Gray startled slightly before offering a quick smile. “I’m not sure.” She hesitated, then tilted the book in Bridget’s direction. “This one caught my eye. It’s filled with odd script, part English, part something else. You know old languages, don’t you?”

Bridget turned, brow arching. “A few. Why?”

Miss Gray hesitated before passing her the book. “This passage, it reads like something meant to be forgotten.”

Bridget tilted the book toward the candlelight. Her eyes narrowed at a faded margin note, written in Gaelic. She murmured aloud, translating:“Guard what must be buried. Speak only in shadow.”

A chill passed through her. She glanced at Miss Gray. “I think this is more than a forgotten manuscript.”

A shiver traced down Bridget’s spine. “This… this isn’t just any old book. Someone meant to hide it.”

Miss Gray hugged her arms. “It felt different when I picked it up. As if it was waiting to be found.” She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

Bridget didn’t answer right away. Her fingers traced the edge of several torn pages, her thoughts swirling. “Not necessarily.” She met Miss Gray’s gaze, studying the uncertainty in her expression. “Where did you find this?”

“Just there,” Miss Gray gestured to the shelf. “Tucked behind a row of estate records. Almost as if someone had hidden it.”

Bridget frowned as she wondered who tried to conceal it. Alastair?

She handed the book back, her mind racing. “Perhaps it would be worth looking through properly later.”

Her father’s warnings echoed in her mind, half-formed phrases, odd silences, letters that had never made sense until now. Could this be tied to what he feared? What he tried to protect her from?

Miss Gray nodded, pressing the volume to her chest. “I think I will.”

Bridget watched her retreat, the uneasy feeling lingering.

“Professor,” Davenport called out, eyeing the vacant seat, “it seems Miss Gray has had her fill of cards for the evening. Would you mind taking her place?”

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