Wednesday - early afternoon

"Oh! Careful, Miss Crewe!" Sir Anthony lifted a branch and gestured her forward. "Yes, it's a lovely prospect." He gently pushed her to the crest of the hill, his hand at her back. 

Emilia rather thought Miss Prudence might have let it snap back at him as she detested overly solicitous gestures from men, but Emilia gave him a polite smile and ducked under it. She knew very well how to dispose of a randy footman, but she was not sure what to do with all this chivalry.

"When I look out on all this bounty," Sir Anthony said, "all I think is—"

"Shouldn't we have found more objects by now?" Emilia glanced down at the sheet Mrs. Baddeley had provided. "We've only got the purple feather."

"—all I think is how I want someone to share it with," he finished lamely, trailing off at the end. "Are you unimpressed?"

"Of course not. It is a wonderful view that should be shared. Perhaps you should host a picnic here," she said, deliberately mistaking his meaning, a game she had been playing all morning — along with the actual game they were supposed to be playing. "Now as to the hunt... The bitter tree holds the key. Wouldn't that be a lemon tree? Perhaps the grove—"

"Oh, no. Everyone else is there." He pointed down the hill. "I see them milling about."

"Perhaps because they're paying attention to the clues," Emilia muttered under her breath. She hadn't been enthusiastic about this game, but she'd much rather play it than this other game. When he'd said his home was too big for a lonely bachelor, she suggested letting it out to a family. When he suggested perhaps his own family might fill it best, she said that she was sure his Aunt would enjoy an extended stay. She was running out of ways to misunderstand him.

"We'd scarcely be able to talk with all the others about," Sir Anthony said now, moving closer and clearing his throat. "And I dearly wish to know if you like what you've—"

"Yes, all that talk might ruin our concentration," she said, still staring at the sheet. "And one of them probably has that key by now." She turned to him, forcing a smile. "Now that I think of it, you might have led us right." She cleared her throat, reading another rhyme from the list. "The view, the view. It holds another clue. Of a world we once knew." She started down the hill. "The ruins."

"Well, they aren't real ruins," he said behind her. "It's a very silly idea. Held over from last century. Precisely one of my problems. You know, this place is woefully out of fashion and I am quite helpless without a woman's opinion. Perhaps someone well-read, who—"

"Watch the brambles," Emilia called out, skirting the bushes.

Sir Anthony caught up with her at the bottom of the hill. "If we could rest a moment—"

"We cannot rest!" Emilia whirled on him. "Do you want to win or not?"

He drew back slightly. "Well, I.. hadn't thought much about winning." He laughed. "It's just one of Aunt Dotty's silly games."

"Have you thought about losing?" She prodded. "You said you know this place best. Could you honestly stand being beaten, on your own land, by a butterfly chaser like Lord Swinton or... or Mr. Walford?" Granted, she didn't know much about Mr. Walford, but he was partnered with Miss Poole and she was likely a formidable player.

Sir Anthony's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but... no! Dash it all, I shouldn't like losing."

"And neither would I." Emilia glanced around them. "You said you saw them in the grove. The rest are likely all following the clues in order, but it's all about who gathers most of the objects, is it not? We might be winning even now." She ran on, stopping as she reached the ruins. They seemed very convincing — stone columns half tumbled down around a structure with only half a roof. She hesitated before entering, afraid it would tumble down upon her.

"Oh, don't worry. It's very sturdy." Sir Anthony said, catching up. "It only looks like it isn't. Part of the charm, you see." He stepped in. "Very well. What are we to collect here?"

Emilia fumbled for the sheet. "Bright and sunny, sweet as honey, round and curvy, protects you from scurvy."

He stalked around the ruins a bit before straightening with an orange in hand. "Too easy." He tossed it in the air and caught it. "What's the next rhyme?"

Emilia bent to peek under the stone bench, artfully crumbled at the edges. "There's something else here."

"Nothing that will win this game. Looks like a bit of trash tossed in with the wind."

It was more than that. She saw an old brush, a bit of a chewed bridle, a mussed bit of blanket, and a cloth doll that seemed to be missing a button eye. "So that's your little lair." The beast was absent, but now she knew where to find him.

"What?"

"Nothing." She stood up, brushing off Miss Prudence's dress with care. It was the yellow one and she'd been very smug about her ability to wear it without spoiling it. She nodded to the fields. "Look! Some of the others are coming." Even with her glasses, she couldn't tell which, but it might be a relief to have less time alone with Sir Anthony.

"Hard luck for them. We've already got the prize." He slipped her arm through his and pulled her away. "Come along. I think we might win this thing!"

The rest of her time was spent in dogged adherence to the clues and studious avoidance of Sir Anthony's declarations — a balance that was quite difficult to maintain when the last of the objects was a pillow with an embroidered heart. Sir Anthony actually attempted to kneel down and offer it to her.

"Perhaps you can keep my heart safe, Miss Cr—"

"I'm afraid I cannot. I have no pockets," she'd said, skipping away. "Do you think we have enough now?"

In the end, they collected five to Miss Poole's and Mr. Walford's four. Lady Adele and Lord Swinton had only found one, due to the latter spotting one of his precious butterflies, after which he quite forgot they were playing and made many notes and sketches.

As Mrs. Baddeley and the others applauded them on the patio, Emilia found herself smiling, applauding herself for winning and for putting Sir Anthony off so well — and on her first day, too. She was starting to think she might be able to compete with Miss Prudence herself in the art of discouraging suitors. That was before Mrs. Baddeley announced the prize.

"After supper, you clever things shall choose and lead the first two dances!"

Sir Anthony leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I think this is the beginning of a very promising partnership, Miss Crewe."

*****************

"At least she wasn't as shy and retiring as I feared. You should have seen her out there. I actually felt nearly hen-pecked, but I can't complain too much. We did win." Tony was laying on the library couch, tossing an orange up and down, the thwack of it against his hand ruining Byrne's concentration and causing him to splotch the end of every other word.

"Yes. Felicitations," Byrne droned. He'd thought he'd escaped the hunt and now Tony was insisting on telling him every last detail about it and Miss Crewe.

"Bit of an officious little thing. But I'm beginning to think that's for the best."

"How so?" Byrne gave up on his letter, turning to his very distracting friend.

"Well, she'll have to manage this place mostly on her own, be here most of the time. And she so obviously hates London, from all I know. I'm not saying a silly scavenger hunt tells me everything, but she's certainly efficient, focused, good eye for detail and all that."

Byrne silently disagreed, considering she'd called him Lord Swinton... or Swindon. He knew he had no right nor reason to be annoyed, considering she was Tony's problem, not his. But he'd certainly not mistaken her for anyone else. "If you found her so impressive, I wonder you haven't proposed already."

"I'm getting there. I have a plan. See, first I show her the grounds," he said, each sentence accompanied by the slap of the orange meeting his hand. "All the while hinting at my feelings. I didn't get far today. She barely let me talk. She was very keen on the hunt. But tomorrow I shall show her the house. And there are many hidden corners. Perfect for a secret tryst. Or the whisperings of sweet—"

Byrne stood and quickly intercepted the damned fruit. "Why not put an end to this sooner? You say that she's a reasonable, efficient sort of girl. Why not dispense with this wooing nonsense and make an offer?" At least he'd be spared from hearing about hidden corners and trysts.

"Oh, Byrne. Byrne, Byrne, Byrne," Tony sighed, standing and snatching his orange again. "We have two weeks together. These things take a certain delicacy. I keep forgetting that you have yet to woo anything other than an investor. Ladies... they require a bit more than profits and loss. Besides, she hardly let me speak of anything but the game."

"Very well. The game's over. Why don't you find her now and leave me to my work?"

"Can't do that. Aunt Dotty's insisting all the ladies refresh themselves with a nap after all that time out of doors."

"Ah, yes. The ladies. There will be two more before long. Perhaps they can help entertain you so you can, I repeat, leave me to my work."

"Miss Marbury and her friend? They won't be so entertaining. Miss Marbury, especially."

"I found her entertaining enough, still if you could entertain yourself..."

"I'm up for another game if you are," Tony said, still not taking the hint. "There's billiards or fencing... or perhaps we can see who can toss this orange the highest." He threw it upwards, at which the orange bounced off the ceiling and hit him in the head. "Blast!"

"You win," Byrne said, taking his seat again. "Now I really must get back to work. My secretary won't do a thing without written instructions and since you insisted I wouldn't need him here, I'm—"

"Yes, yes. Work, numbers, business, secretaries," Tony sighed. "You know, you're the same in town. Even at your parties, I rarely see you joining in except at cards, which you're always so dead serious about. I thought you'd be much more free in the country."

"I can't imagine why. It's not as if the work goes away if I'm not there to see it. There's actually a lot more—"

"But here you are, away from all that, surrounded by God's green earth. I hoped you might loosen your cravat for a spell."

"I'm quite comfortable."

"I didn't mean literally. I meant... Oh, never mind." Tony moved to the door. "I'll leave you to woo your secretary. I hope you two have a long and happy life. Come find me when you're finished or if you find yourself capable of having fun."

Byrne turned back to his correspondence, tossing away the pages he'd mussed thanks to Tony. He'd have a lot more time for fun if his supposed friend would listen when he said he had to work. He'd rather hoped he'd prove a sobering influence on Tony, but that didn't seem to be the case thus far. And now it seemed like things were working in the opposite direction since he'd just written to his secretary that their investments were surely capable of having fun.

He pushed everything back into his writing desk, further annoyed when the door opened. "I told you I was busy!"

"Oh! I'm sorry... sir."

He turned to find a maid, Miss Crewe's maid if he wasn't mistaken. "I apologize. That was not meant for you... er..."

"Miss Finch, sir." She stared at him a moment, then stared at the shelves much longer before her gaze landed his way again. She dipped a hasty curtsy, then lifted her chin. "I've been sent to fetch a book for Miss Crewe. But I can come back later if you're... busy."

"No, I shouldn't like you to keep Miss Crewe waiting. I was just finishing up," he lied, starting for the door.

She stepped in, dropping another curtsy. "Pardon me, sir, but are these organized by title or author?"

"I think they were arranged by size."

She frowned. "That won't do," her heard her say under her breath before she seemed to remember herself, dropping yet another curtsy. "I only mean... it might take me longer to find the volumes I am looking for." She laughed, then cleared her throat. "Miss Crewe is very particular. You may find me in here quite often."

A bit pert for a maid, but then it was said lady's maids were a bit pert. Lord knew his valet was quite free with his opinions. Fletcher had barely let him leave his bedchamber this morning without attempting to force all manner of unnecessary grooming on him.

Perhaps Tony was right. He should probably take advantage of the country air with a walk, at the very least. 

Outside, as he wandered, he found himself wondering what book Miss Crewe had asked for. She was said to be an avid reader, but was she partial to poets, playwrights, or novels? Tony had said she was efficient. Perhaps she leaned toward sermons and dry dissertations. It shouldn't matter to him, considering he wasn't partial to anything except a valuable collection of books, the kind befitting the man he wished to be. It shouldn't matter to him at all since, as he felt the need to remind himself, Miss Crewe was Tony's concern.

Still, Tony was no great reader at all. Why was he so bent on wooing such a girl? He'd quickly glanced at them during breakfast a time or two, possibly five at the most. She'd seemed subdued, even more so than the night before. There was something about the two of them together that seemed wrong somehow.

Yet Tony might be right about another thing. Had he become incapable of having fun? He didn't like to think so, but he was having trouble remembering the last time he'd done anything that could be construed as "fun." The word felt like something from a time before... before he'd lost nearly everyone who made him smile. He supposed he found Tony amusing, but he also knew that friendship was one of circumstance, like most of his "friendships."

Even his parties were more about being sure his guests enjoyed themselves. And yes. He did take card games very seriously. The fact that the other young men did not was their own folly. He never cheated, but he never forgot that the chips represented real money, something those foolish boys playing at being men often forgot. He never ruined them. If they didn't have the money, he was always willing to take information. 

He had nearly enough of both -- money and information -- to make things right.

Perhaps then he would have time to loosen his cravat, figuratively speaking. He loosened it literally now, as he moved into the woods and out of the sun. He felt like he was close. His secretary, if the damned fool would stop requiring instructions on every last flick of a quill, should be closing on the needed properties soon. As for the rest, he had enough money on hand to close in on those himself tomorrow. 

His father — if the man could be called such a thing — would soon regret disrespecting Bridget Byrne. He didn't care for his own sake, but for her...

He stumbled, falling flat on his belly. He must have tripped over a root... or a boot. He stared back at the thing, noting the stocking hanging out of it and that it belonged to a lady or—

"Stop! You stay where y'are and I'll stay here. Behave now," he heard through the brush his head was in. It was a woman's voice, but not a lady.

Was it one of his maids? He'd thought this house party would be free of that kind of nonsense, but if one of these men was cornering one of his maids...

"Stay. Good boy," the voice said. "I'm trying t' help."

What the damned hell?

"Shhh! No! Heel. Heel! Oh, for heaven's sake—"

Byrne wasn't sure what he was expecting as he stumbled to his feet and tore through the bushes. But a dog knocking him flat again, paws on his chest, was not among the things. 

Still, there he was, his body pinned to the ground and his face licked thoroughly as he glanced to the side to see Miss Crewe gaping at him before losing hold of a rope and falling into the stream.

*****

TBC

Thanks for the wait on this. I'm sure we are all adjusting our lives due to the Coronavirus. I am still dealing with time away from home and I always think I will have more time with my computer than I actually do. But I'm happy to be updating now.