“Please don’t tell me you have become one of those dreadful bluestockings?” Teddy asked as they strolled out of the garden and along a terrace. He gave a slight shudder.

“I’m rather in favor of the bluestockings,” Shermont said as he followed several paces behind. “An educated, literate female is a more interesting … companion.”

Somehow she knew he’d almost said lover. Eleanor peeked over her shoulder at him. He grinned in response.

“A lady who verbalizes her desires is more likely to get exactly what she wants,” Shermont said. His statement had the ring of a promise in disguise.

“And is likely never to be quiet,” Teddy added.

“That’s not very flattering,” Eleanor said, her tone chastising.

“I’m not referring to you, my dear. My sisters are always demanding the latest gewgaw or trinket.”

“Fashions change rapidly,” she said. “We all like to remain au courant with the latest trends.”

Teddy sighed. “So I am learning. A guardian’s responsibility is a heavy burden when one carries it alone.” He looked at her with sad, puppy eyes in a blatant bid for sympathy.

She patted his arm. “You’re lucky to have Aunt Patience, Uncle Huxley, and a bevy of servants to share your affliction.”

“Affliction. Yes, that’s a good term for my situation.”

The dig had apparently gone over Teddy’s head, but Shermont’s cough sounded suspiciously as though it covered a chuckle.

The promenade ended at a wide expanse of lawn. The chaperones were seated to the left of the field under a majestic elm. The girls in their pastel dresses practiced their swings with wooden mallets. The pastoral scene brought to mind Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte. She had first seen the pointillism masterpiece as a child, while visiting the Art Institute of Chicago with her grandmother. The large painting, nearly seven by eleven feet, made a grand impression and remained one of her favorites for its sense of harmony. No untidiness, nothing disordered. The bucolic vista before her evoked the same poetic peacefulness.

Eleanor enjoyed the elegant scene for only a moment before Mina spotted them and shrieked her welcome. Although Mina and Deirdre called Eleanor’s name, she was astute enough to know the real object of their enthusiastic greeting was Shermont, who stood directly behind her. Even without touching him, she was aware of his presence, his warmth. Aware that if she took a mere two steps back, she would run up against his body.

The girls came running like a pair of joyful puppies, only to pull up short upon catching sight of Teddy’s disapproving frown. They walked the last twenty feet in sedate propriety.

“We have been awaiting your arrival to start the game,” Mina said with a curtsey.

The entire group strolled toward the wire rack that held the rest of the mallets and colorful striped croquet balls.

“As the guest who has come the longest distance, I think Cousin Eleanor should choose her color first,” Teddy said. His tone implied that he was used to his suggestions being taken for law.

“Excellent idea,” Deirdre agreed. She turned to Eleanor. “Of course, Teddy always plays blue, like his beautiful eyes.”

“And Deirdre always plays green,” Mina said. “I’m yellow.”

Beatrix piped in her claim for white striped ball. And Hazel and Fiona spoke up for brown and orange.

“Then it’s a good thing my favorite color is red,” Eleanor said with a smile.

“And black for me,” Shermont said. “I’m glad the one left isn’t pink.”

As play began, Eleanor realized the countryfolk took their croquet seriously. She hadn’t played since she was a child and concentrated on watching the others so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. Even so, she could tell Shermont’s head wasn’t in the game.

Shermont mentally kicked himself for allowing a female to distract him. He’d hoped to learn something incriminating by listening at the estate office window, but Eleanor’s arrival had caused him to lose focus. Instead of narrowing his list of suspects or finding out where the foreign agents met to pass on military information to Napoleon’s agents, he’d been discussing a play with Eleanor.

Something about that female made him forget everything else. He rubbed the scar on his forehead.

Despite the girls surrounding him and clamoring for his attention, he rededicated himself to his mission. He would not let Eleanor distract him again. From the corner of his eye he noted Digby helping Eleanor apply a proper grip to her mallet. Shermont turned away. To maintain his persona of carefree lord, he busied himself with the girls. He was careful not to show particular attention to anyone.

Beatrix moped at the edge of the circle of friends, and he wasn’t surprised at the venomous looks she shot in Eleanor’s direction. Digby seemed determined to send everyone else back to the beginning to clear a path for Eleanor to win. Shermont felt more than a bit uncharitable toward the man himself.

Eleanor was not overly pleased with Teddy’s behavior either. When it came her turn to play, Eleanor set herself to take a long shot toward the next wicket in the prescribed pattern, which happened to be guarded by Shermont. Teddy interrupted her, wrapping his arms around her to correct her hand position. His intimacy didn’t do anything for her, surprising in view of his good looks and the similarity in coloring to her former fiancé, or maybe because of it. She thanked him for his help, but insisted on making her own shots. The ball traveled the distance, missing the wicket. While the others took their turns, she strolled along the path her ball had taken.

On his turn Shermont gave his ball a gentle nudge, lining it up to follow hers. He barely missed touching her ball and having a chance to send her back to the beginning.

“Tough luck,” she commiserated.

“I’m right where I want to be,” he said in a low voice.

His nearness made her a bit nervous. After one rotation of play, her chance came to get away from him. She overswung, missed her shot completely, and caught the wire wicket, pulling it out of the ground. Embarrassed, she made a grab for it. Shermont reached for the wicket at the same time.

Their hands brushed. That intense sparks of desire could be generated by such a simple action took them both by surprise. A long look passed between them, but the thwack of one heavy ball hitting another caused her to jump back.

Teddy sauntered up. “Sorry about that, old sod,” he said with an insincere mope. “Guess I have to send you away.” Unable to hide a triumphant grin any longer, he positioned his ball next to Shermont’s, held it in place with his foot, and swung his mallet with precise acrimony. The black striped ball took off like cannon shot and traveled deep into the wooded area bordering the lawn.

Shermont saluted Teddy and with a rueful expression headed into the woods after his ball.

Eleanor spent the next half hour trying to stay as far from Teddy as she could. Deirdre declared that anyone not on the course must miss a turn rather than hold up the game. Eleanor was just thinking Shermont had been gone an inordinately long time when he came out of the woods, dirty and disheveled, his empty arms stretched wide.

“I can’t find my ball,” he called. “I am therefore forced to concede the match.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked appropriately heartbroken. “If you will excuse me, I must attend to my torn coat.”

Despite his woebegone expression, Eleanor noticed an incongruent sparkle in his eyes.

The party fell flat after he left and broke up as soon as Deirdre won the match. As the guests straggled into the house, Eleanor couldn’t help but look back at the woods and wonder. Just what, or who, had Shermont encountered in the woods?

Chapter Five

As Shermont entered his suite of rooms, relief warred with excitement. Finally, he’d found a clue.

“I fear you’ve ruined your coat, milord,” Carl the valet said in the same tone as if he were announcing a beloved pet had passed. But that was how he always sounded.

“Where is that folio of maps?” Shermont asked as he slipped out of the garment. He walked to the desk and searched through a pile of books and papers.

Carl extended the coat to arm’s length. “I had not realized croquet was so … pugilistic.”

“I chased my ball into the woods,” Shermont said absently as he opened drawers and pawed through the contents.

“Dirt. Mud. I’ll never get these grass stains out.”

“I’m sure I brought a detailed map of the local area.” Shermont turned to face the shorter man. He crossed his arms. “Have you been straightening my work again?”

“If I were allowed to keep your papers organized, you would be able to find what you’re looking for.” Carl held up the ruined coat with two fingers poking through rips in the fabric.

“Thornbushes.”

Carl shook his head and made tutting, clucking noises like an old crone eyeing her broken rocking chair.

“Forget the damn coat. Help me find that map.”

The valet took one last affectionate look at the coat and then tossed it over his shoulder. He walked to the desk and withdrew the map from a stack of papers.

“Carl, you’re a magician.”

“Yes, milord.”

Shermont sat at the desk and spread out the map. He tried to ignore his valet’s fussing about, moving objects that didn’t need straightening. Finally, he turned and asked, “Is there something you wanted to say?”

“Nothing in particular,” Carl said with a shrug.

“Come on. Out with whatever is bothering you.”