Page 17 of War of the Wedding Wagers
“You, Miss Playford? Why, you remind me of Miss Lydia!”
Miss Playford bit her lip and frowned. “Miss Lydia?” she asked dubiously while Amelia’s heart sank though it was early days. He’d soon see Miss Playford as more than a giggling, pleasure-loving miss who made foolish choices until rescued by a noble gentleman. But perhaps that was what he really meant, she thought with a surge of hope. Perhaps Sir Frederick saw himself as being the fine gentleman who’d take the young girl under his wing, and then marry her, before she could do herself, her family, and most definitely, her reputation, any harm.
“Oh, Sir Frederick, you are too funny!” Amelia interjected with a forced laugh. “Miss Playford is much prettier and cleverer than I ever imagined Lydia who was so fortunate to make such a grand and unexpected marriage,” she added with a pointed look at Miss Playford whose brow immediately cleared.
“So much cleverer!” Miss Playford suddenly cried as she snatched the book from Sir Frederick’s hands crying, “For there is the clue! I can see it’s not a love letter from Lady Pernilla so it must be a clue.”
“Clever girl! It is indeed clue number two,” said Sir Frederick glancing at the small piece of paper. “What does it say?”
Miss Playford beamed as she smoothed the paper and began to read.
“Voice carry, though whispered low,
In a circular path, round and round they go.
Find the spot where the secrets are heard.
And look for a stone that seems absurd.”
All three shook their heads at the cryptic words.
“Where do voices carry?” asked Amelia. “Sir Frederick, you know this castle better than we do. I suppose it could refer to the castle tower though isn’t that out of bounds?”
“Yes, it’s been crumbling and untended for years. We definitely are not to try and climb those stairs. But…” He thought a moment and then said, “There’s a gallery. A… whispering gallery—”
“That must be it!” said Miss Playford happily. “Oh, you are so clever, Sir Frederick. How lucky that we have you in our team. I wonder how the others are faring? We shall win this treasure, I’m sure. And then we shall all be very rich and can marry…” She trailed off, dropping her head as she blushed.
“And can marry whom we like?” Sir Frederick supplied, smiling. “Indeed, that is a recipe for success for I hold to what I said earlier. A marriage based on money is a recipe for unhappiness. Besides, I doubt the treasure at the end of our treasure hunt will be anything more than a token.”
“Of course,” said Miss Playford who looked crestfallen as she followed Amelia and Sir Frederick to the whispering gallery. “But it would help to have just a little bit of it,” Amelia heard her say under her breath, and couldn’t help concurring. It was all very well for men like Sir Frederick who had no cares in the world and could do as they wished. If he didn’t want to marry, he could simply idle his life away, breaking hearts just for fun.Poor Miss Playford looked like she was about to cry, she realized as she glanced over her shoulder, and suddenly Amelia felt very guilty for getting the girl’s hopes up. If Sir Frederick really did prefer young ladies with a bit of intelligence, then Miss Playford was not going to be his ideal mate and never would be.
But then, she remembered how many times she’d misinterpreted the words of gentlemen. Gentlemen whopretendedthat’s what they wanted when in truth a pretty face and a pleasing, obsequious manner was really all that appealed.
That’s what Sir Frederick had hinted he had wanted, all those years ago in the library when they’d pored over books, just like tonight.
And then Thomas had told Amelia what he’d overheard: Sir Frederick laughing over the serious bluestocking Miss Amelia, who thought she might actually catch a husband when all she was interested in was pretending she was cleverer than she was.
No, Amelia must not be taken in. If she was forming a slightly more positive opinion of Sir Frederick as their acquaintanceship increased, then it was because he was only putting on the kind of false front he knew would earn him her regard for the duration of the house party.
Chapter Eleven
Sir Frederick ledthe way with an unexpected sense of lightness and discovery before he suddenly remembered that his sister was somewhere in this drafty castle and so was Mr. Greene. He’d heard her name paired with her chaperone, which was only right, and with a rather unappealing and insipid young baronet’s son, but a couple of moments of reflection reminded him of how very enterprising Caroline was.
He certainly wouldn’t put it past her to smilingly glide away with young Mr. Pipkins and then pull off some daring swap. Which meant that he really should make a point of learning exactly where Caroline was. He’d just stepped towards the railing of the gallery so he could look down upon the various groupings that scurried about in search of clues, when salvation came to him.
“Henry!” he called down to the ginger-haired lad who was fortuitously passing below. “Just one quick moment of your time, if you please?”
With an apologetic glance at the pretty milkmaid and her chaperone whom he was accompanying, Henry bounded up the stairs. “How can I be of assistance, Sir Frederick? Is it Caro? It is, isn’t it?”
“It’s always Caro. I’m anxious every time she has an opportunity to slip under our guard and make off with Mr. Greene,” Sir Frederick said, lowering his voice as he heard MissFairchild and Miss Playford discussing the fine tapestry hung in the whispering gallery just behind him. “He’s a fortune hunter, interested only in her money and he’ll use any lure. Have you seen who she’s with this evening?”
“Last I saw, she was safely with her chaperone and Mr. Pipkins.”
“But she’ll want to replace Mr. Pipkins at the first opportunity. You know that as well as I do. Lord, you probably have an even greater appreciation of the breadth of her ingenuity having had to keep pace with her throughout your childhood.”
“Oh, she’s ingenious, there’s no doubt about that,” Henry said admiringly, as he gazed after Caroline. “Remember when she convinced the vicar she’d seen an angel in the churchyard? It was just her white nightgown that she’d artfully placed in that old oak tree, but she had half the village believing her.”
Sir Frederick noticed how Henry’s eyes softened at the memory. “You’ve always encouraged her flights of fancy.”
