And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

Pausing to let Violet lead the way onto the terrace, Henrietta glanced at those still seated about the table. Miss Fotherby was sitting with Miss Findlayson and Miss Moffat, both of whom were gaily chattering, but Miss Fortherby had a hunted air. As Henrietta watched, Miss Fotherby darted a glance down the table to where Rafe Cunningham sat beside Giles Kendall. Rafe wasn’t even pretending to listen to Giles or Robert Sinclair, seated opposite; he was watching Miss Fotherby.

As James joined her, Henrietta flashed him a smile, turned, and walked out onto the terrace. She hadn’t been surprised to discover Rafe among the guests; she’d known of the connection with the Ellsmeres. Miss Fotherby, however, had looked shocked, almost stricken to discover Rafe there. From what Henrietta had gathered, Miss Fotherby’s aunt, who had been among the older ladies seated with Lady Ellsmere, was an old friend of her ladyship’s . . . which suggested that Miss Fotherby had been inveigled to attend, and both her aunt and Lady Ellsmere were playing matchmaker.

Which suggested that neither older lady knew of Miss Fotherby’s offer to James.

They’d fallen into a loose group, strolling together in the mild morning sunshine. Reaching the steps leading down to a small parterre, Channing offered Violet his arm. She took it and they descended. James promptly offered Henrietta his arm. Placing her hand on his sleeve, she accepted his support down the steep steps.

And wondered if she should ask him what he planned regarding Miss Fotherby.

Courtesy of the incident with Marie, she and he hadn’t talked—hadn’t yet shared their thoughts on how each saw what was evolving between them. But clearly Miss Fotherby needed an answer—she had even requested one within a few days—and was there any reason, any justification, not to tell her how matters now stood?

Henrietta pondered that as they ambled along, into the rose garden and out again; she breathed in the fresh air,

smiled and laughed with the others, and eventually decided she wouldn’t yet prod. James knew how matters stood, and only he could give Miss Fotherby her answer.

They eventually found their way to the croquet lawn. The sun had risen enough to dry the grass, and they quickly set out the hoops and pegs, and distributed the mallets. Then came the matter of deciding teams and the terms of the competition. In the end, they agreed to play in couples, in a round-robin style of tournament. No one really cared whether or not they had time to complete the rounds, or, indeed, who won; it was all about fun and their enjoyment of the play.

Nearly an hour had passed, and most of the younger ladies and gentlemen had gravitated to the croquet lawn and joined the competition, and the older ladies had come out to sit on garden chairs in the shade of the nearby trees to watch and smile approvingly, when James, standing to one side with Henrietta, waiting for their next match, saw Miss Fotherby—whom Rafe had earlier attempted to solicit as his partner, but who had all but seized Giles Kendall instead—walking swiftly along the edge of the lawn, head down, coming his and Henrietta’s way.

James waited until Miss Fotherby neared, then said, “Miss Fotherby?” When, startled, she halted and looked up, he smiled easily. “I wonder if I might have a word?” He glanced around, drawing her attention to the fact that, at that moment, the three of them were out of earshot of everyone else.

Miss Fotherby drew in a tight breath and nodded. “Yes. Of course.” But her expression remained haunted; she glanced constantly around and appeared thoroughly distracted.

James inwardly frowned; he sensed that Henrietta, standing beside him with her hands crossed over the handle of her mallet, was also puzzled by Miss Fotherby’s response. “About the suggestion you made on Lady Hollingworth’s terrace.”

Miss Fotherby’s head swung his way and she stared—as if only just remembering. As if the matter had slipped entirely from her mind. “Oh—ah, yes.” She colored faintly. “That is . . .”

He felt even more compelled to speak, simply to end the tangle the situation seemed to have become. “I’ve decided that my affections lie elsewhere, something I hadn’t realized then. I must thank you for your suggestion, but I am no longer searching for a . . . convenient bride.”

Miss Fotherby blinked, then her gaze seemed to focus. She looked at James as if finally truly seeing him, then she glanced at Henrietta, and her lips quirked in a fleeting smile. She dipped her head. “Indeed. I must thank you for speaking so plainly, and while you might not believe me, I sincerely wish you well.”

But she was already turning away. “And now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” Without waiting for any reply, with a vague nod she continued on her way.

“Well!” Bemused, Henrietta watched Miss Fotherby stride off. “I must say that wasn’t at all what I expected.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” James had spotted Rafe Cunningham stalking along the opposite side of the croquet lawn. “I suspect Miss Fotherby is feeling somewhat besieged at the moment.”

Henrietta had followed his gaze. She humphed. “Goodness knows where that will end.”

“Well,” James said, turning to her with a smile, “that’s entirely in their hands now, and no longer a concern of ours. Which, I admit, feels like a weight off my shoulders.”

“Glossup—Miss Cynster!” From the starting peg, Channing beckoned. “You’re up.”

Saluting in reply, Henrietta lifted her mallet and walked with James down the side of the lawn. “We’re never going to get a moment to talk, not while we’re here, are we?”

James smiled. “I doubt it. But we have time enough to simply take these few days as they come, and just enjoy them.” He caught her eye. “We’re not in that much of a hurry.”

She arched her brows. “I suppose you’re right.” Looking ahead, she swung her mallet experimentally. “All right then—let’s see if we can defeat Dickie and Miss Hendricks.”

With a laugh, James waved her on.

As anyone might have predicted, the ringing of the luncheon bell resulted in the croquet competition being declared incomplete and unresolved, and the company retired to the dining room for a rowdy luncheon, during which all those involved relived their exploits and aired their opinions on who would eventually have won.

After luncheon, a half hour passed while the ladies retreated to their rooms to don bonnets, spencers, and shawls, then the party foregathered on the terrace and set out in good order, Violet and Channing in the lead, to walk to the ruins in the woods.

Such a country ramble was standard fare for any well-run house party. Even the older ladies and gentlemen joined in, although all of the older generation parted company with the rest when they reached the lake. Those younger continued on into the woods, while their elders took a much less strenuous stroll around the lake and so back to the house.

The path through the woods cut a wide, wending swath beneath the spreading branches of the old oak trees. The crumbling detritus of last autumn’s leaves lay thick on the ground; although sunshine slanted through the boughs and the air was a warm kiss, winter dampness still lingered in the heavier shade to right and left, the rich loamy smell of decaying drifts mingling with the crisp scent of new growth. Moss grew in a green carpet along the banks, cushioning the gray of the local stone that showed through here and there.