Eggleston made a dismissive gesture at the cards. "I do not play. Bad for my health."
Breckenridge made a noise like a smothered laugh and Eggleston shot him a sharp look.
The soup sat heavily on my stomach. I looked at the queen of clubs with an uneasy feeling. It did not go well with the soup.
"Have a walk, Captain?" Egan said, rising. He tossed his card into the pile. "The weather's cooled a bit."
Anything was better than sitting here with Breckenridge and Eggleston. The smell from the chamber pot that Eggleston had left on the floor was not pleasant, and his aim had been a bit off.
I rose and followed Egan from the dining room. He led me to the French doors at the back of the house and out into the long stretch of garden.
We strolled silently together, our feet crunching on the gravel to the brick path that led through well-tended flower beds and trimmed topiary. A fountain trickled quietly in the center of the garden surrounded by scarlet geraniums and deep blue delphiniums. However rude Lady Mary's guests, her gardeners were of superb quality.
"What do you think of them?" Egan asked. He was gazing at a pair of trained rose trees that climbed through a trellis set over the path. I had the feeling, however, that he did not mean the roses.
"I have only just met them," I said diplomatically.
He snorted. "You think them vulgar, and I agree with you. The only reason they let me sit at table with them is because they are anxious for me to write all about their pet pugilist." He fixed me with a knowing look. "Why do they let you?"
"Because I came with Grenville," I answered.
"Exactly. The pugilist is the prize exhibit. Mr. Grenville is the other prize exhibit, unlooked for. Happy chance for them that he came along. You and I are tolerable second choices while the prizes are elsewhere."
I had to agree. I asked tentatively, "What was the business with the cards?"
"Ah. Their game. They have been playing it for years. Each card represents a lady in the party. You are to devote yourself entirely to the lady you drew."
I was puzzled. "A gentleman should devote himself to all ladies present, especially his hostess."
"Not that kind of devotion. She is yours for the duration of your visit. To do with whatever you please."
I stopped. "That is deplorable."
"A bit disgusting, yes."
"You knew about this? Why did you not refuse?"
He shrugged. "If I refuse, they might ask me to go. Bring in another journalist in my place. I must write about Jack Sharp and what they get him up to. All else is unimportant."
I did not find the honor of a lady unimportant, and I told him so. He took my admonishment with good nature. But after all, I myself had not departed in high dudgeon. I stayed because I needed to investigate Breckenridge and Eggleston, and I would have to bear with their idea of entertainment for as long as it took. Like Egan, I had come here for my own purposes.
Egan wanted to walk farther, but I was tired from the journey and decided to retire. We parted, he strolling away through the flower beds, and I turning back to the house.
As I neared the garden door, I glimpsed a movement in the shadows near the south wing. I was strongly reminded of what I'd seen at the inn near Faversham, and my senses came awake.
I walked toward the shadows, loosening the sword in my walking stick as I went. I wondered briefly if James Denis had sent one of his trained thugs to drag me back to London. I had the feeling, however, that Mr. Denis would be somewhat more direct than hiring someone to skulk about the gardens.
I walked purposefully toward the darker shadows under the trees, but when I reached the spot where I thought I’d seen the movement, no one was in sight.
I waited a few more minutes, listening hard, but I heard nothing, saw no one. Still, the space between my shoulder blades prickled, as it had in Faversham, and did not stop until I reached the house and closed the door behind me.
Grenville made his grand appearance early the next afternoon, after closeting himself with his valet for hours. When at last he emerged into the drawing room that opened out to the garden, the gentlemen of the party, including me, had been assembled for several hours. I still had not met the ladies.
What there had been of conversation-Breckenridge and Eggleston had been exchanging insults, I had been pretending to read, and Egan had stared at paintings-ceased when Grenville strolled into the room. He wore trousers and boots, a casual black frock coat, a brown and cream striped cotton waistcoat, and a simply tied cravat. Eggleston stared with his overly round eyes, running his gaze over every crease of fabric that hung on Grenville's body.
Grenville sauntered past us all, murmured a vague "Good morning," then opened the French door and went out. As one, the party followed him. I brought up the rear.
I had never yet seen Grenville submerge himself into the role of the famous fashionable dandy. I decided, watching him now, that if I had witnessed it, I possibly would never have accepted his overtures of friendship.
He ignored his train of followers and wandered to a stand of rosebushes. He drew out his quizzing glass and peered through it at a half-blown bud for at least five minutes. He raised his eyebrows at it, then said, "Lovely."
Eggleston giggled. "I will tell Lady Mary you said so."
For one moment, Grenville blanched. When I had informed him this morning, over breakfast in his chamber, that he'd drawn Lady Mary's card, he had shot me a look of horror. "Good lord, I ought to have gone down."
"You knew about this game?" I asked in irritation. "Why did you not warn me?"
"Truth to tell, I forgot about it. I do apologize. You are of course not obligated to do anything more than escort your lady and make certain she has her fill of macaroons and lemonade. Breckenridge and Eggleston will disparage you, of course, but I have the feeling this will not offend you."
"I drew Lady Breckenridge," I said.
His brows shot up. "God help you. She is-well, interesting. But I do not pity you too much. I have Lady Mary. She loves only one thing, and that is her roses. I am pleased she has found a pleasant pastime, but she never stops talking about the bloody things."
Grenville, now recovered, turned to Eggleston. He lifted his quizzing glass again, frowned through it at Eggleston's cherry red and lavender striped waistcoat, then shook his head and dropped the glass back into his pocket. Eggleston paled. Breckenridge gave one of his snorting laughs.
Grenville ignored him. "Where is this pugilist?"
Eggleston, still white-faced, summoned a servant, who presently returned leading what Mr. Egan had termed the prize exhibit.
Jack Sharp was a smaller man than I'd thought he would be, standing only as high as my chin. His arms, however, bulged with muscle and his shoulders and back filled out his frock coat. He greeted us all cordially and shook hands with me in a friendly manner. He showed no awe of the great Grenville, and Grenville betrayed no awe of him.
The match, or exhibition, so I understood, would be held later that afternoon. Eggleston expected crowds to come from miles around to watch. He boasted of Sharp's prowess, punctuating his sentences with giggles. Breckenridge laconically asked Sharp to remove his coat and demonstrate a few moves.
I soon grew weary of standing about admiring Sharp's muscles, though I found little in his character to object to. Sharp had a cheerful good nature and an intelligent eye. I would have been far happier talking to him in a public house over a warm ale, but he, like Grenville, was doomed to exhibit status here in this beautiful garden.
The advantage to being a nobody was that the company did not notice when I drifted away and reentered the house. The morning had turned hot, and the sun beat through a white haze that made my eyes ache. The echoing coolness of the house, however gaudy, was welcoming.