Miss Gray joined her, her smile gentle and perceptive. “You were quiet after the game, Bridget. Not your usual lively self.”
Bridget exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting over the darkened gardens. “Some truths have a way of lingering after the laughter fades.”
Miss Gray’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps that’s the charm of these nights, mystery in every shadow.”
Before Bridget could offer a reply, Marjory called out. “Ladies, to the library for our card game!”
“Coming,” Miss Gray replied, then turned back to Bridget. “Are you joining us?”
“In a moment,” Bridget said. “I just need a bit more air.”
“Don’t stay out too long,” Miss Gray advised with a wink. “Who knows what secrets the night might reveal, and you don’t want to miss any.”
As Miss Gray returned inside, the soft sounds of laughter and clinking teacups drifted from the open doors. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the mingled scents of roses and night-blooming jasmine.
Try as she might, she couldn’t banish the memory of his voice, the quiet reverence, the fleeting hesitation, the way his gaze slipped into something distant, something untouchable.
It unsettled her. She had known men who used words as weapons, who twisted sentiment into advantage. Was he any different? It was as if, for the span of a few lines, he had allowed a glimpse into a guarded heart.
Why should it matter?she chastised herself.He’s still the same man who embodies everything I distrust.
And yet, the disquiet remained.
With a determined breath, she straightened her shoulders. Tomorrow would bring the equestrian chase and, with any luck, a distraction from these unsettling thoughts. She resolved to focus on the tasks at hand, supporting Marjory, keeping Blackwood’s amiable company, and, most importantly, maintaining her guard against unwanted entanglements.
With one last glance at the moonlit gardens, Bridget turned. She did not see the shadow lingering beyond the doorway, nor feel the watchful eyes that traced her every step as she disappeared inside.
Chapter Eight
The library wasa grand, imposing room. The towering oak shelves were in various states of restoration. They were partially filled or hauntingly bare, reluctant to reclaim their past. The scent of parchment and candlewax mingled with something more elusive. A faint, almost herbal trace, as though the parchment had absorbed whispers of old remedies and ink-stained secrets.
A long central table stretched before the hearth, polished to a deep sheen, its edges worn and smoothed by time. At one time, it might have served as a place of scholarly pursuit or hushed conversation, but for this evening, the library had been transformed into a lively gaming hall, the scent of brandy and cigars mingling with the traces of ink, parchment, and leather. Several smaller tables that were throughout the room had been cleared of books and scrolls and transformed into a battlefield of cards and calculation.
Bridget hesitated at the entrance and scanned the room. There was a charged expectancy in the air. It wasn’t from the game, but from the players. She recognized it well. The kind of subtle tension that lived between rivals, conspirators… or strangers with too much to lose.
From his position near the hearth, Grenville seemed detached from the cheerfulness around him, his focus drifting not to the game but to the shadows cast by the firelight. There was a distance in his eyes, as if he were present but holdingsomething back. Marjory moved through the chamber with ease, pouring wine and gesturing for the guests to take their seats. Lady Worthington examined the shelves with mild interest, trailing her fingers along the spines of the old editions.
Marjory stood in front of the large fireplace, tapping a delicate silver spoon against her wine glass. The murmurs of conversation softened, and all eyes turned toward their hostess. Her eyes swept over the gathered guests, and the playful glint in her gaze hinted at mischief yet to come.
“My friends,” she began with a warm smile, “as promised, the evening would not be complete without a touch of friendly competition. Tonight, we shall play Whist, a game of skill, strategy, and, of course, partnership.”
Knowing glances passed around the room. Marjory’s games were never quite as simple as they seemed.
“To keep things lively, I’ve arranged the partners myself. A little strategy in the pairing makes for a more entertaining game, wouldn’t you agree?” She gestured to the footman, who stepped forward with a small tray of elegantly folded cards. “These will reveal your pairings.”
One by one, the guests selected their cards, revealing their designated partners.
“Lady Bridget, you shall partner with Captain Grenville.”
Bridget schooled her expression. Though she suspected Marjory’s matchmaking tendencies were at work. Across the room, the captain inclined his head slightly. There was no sign of surprise in his eyes. Only the faintest flicker of tension that he quickly masked.
“Mark, you will be partnered with Lady Worthington.”
A faint flicker of something unreadable crossed his features before he offered a polite nod to his partner. Lady Worthington smiled, obviously pleased by the arrangement.
“Lord Barrington and Mrs. Bainbridge, a most experienced duo.”
Barrington shared an amused glance with his longtime friend. “A wise pairing, indeed,” he remarked, earning a mischievous smile from Mrs. Bainbridge.
