Is what is want, I know.
Still I cannot be convinced
Nay, I need more evidence
Of your intentions, are they true?
To convince me here is what you need to do:
As the clock strikes two you must find
Something in a garden where light and shadow are intertwined
Inspect the face in the garden bright
Then follow the line of light
Straight to a house without walls
Enter the door and go where the water falls
Extrapolate from this poem the puzzle within
Make a note of the six-word answer, write it, and you will win
Send your missive through the secret door and the answers you seek will
be in store!
The first letter of every line was to be read down, and it spelled out ALL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS. She squeezed her eyes shut and heard something familiar in the din of gushing rain and cars. The sound of hooves clomping on the cobblestone.
It was Henry on a white horse. On Sebastian’s white horse. Rain dripped from his wide-brimmed hat and nineteenth-century greatcoat as he rode right smack down the middle of the road and ignored the chaos he was causing. Two hunting hounds nuzzled up to Chloe and slipped their soaked heads under her hands. Never in her life had she been so happy to see a dog, not to mention two sopping wet hounds. She rubbed their bony heads. But Henry? If he was really the master of Dartworth Hall, he had lied to her. And who the hell was Sebastian, then?
Henry slowed his horse right in front of the bus stop, tipped his hat, and held out his hand to her. “Miss Parker, your conveyance has arrived.”
She folded her arms and the dogs wagged their tails against her wet gown. The lady was not amused.
His lips curled into a smile as he eyed her up and down. “I must say that your dramatic exit from the church was better than any production crew could dream of. Even now they’re salivating over the prospect of skyrocketing ratings. Well done.”
Traffic wove around the horse. Chloe looked up the street, and half expected to see the camera crew. A small crowd under umbrellas gathered around them.
“And where are the cameras now? I’m sure they’d love to get me on film looking like this.”
“No cameras. I lost them in the deer park. And as for your looks, well, I’ve never been happier to see you.”
“I wish I could say the same.” If what that woman said was true, then he’d been lying to her for weeks! Chloe took off her glasses and tucked them into her soaked white reticule. She looked away from Henry and toward Dartworth Hall, where a patch of blue sky had broken through the clouds.
Henry dismounted, tied his horse to the bus-stop sign, and sat down next to her on the bench. She slid over and looked the other way.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee? How about a double espresso nonfat latte?”
How did he know what kind of convoluted coffee she drank? The rain made a soft splashing sound on the cobblestones, the breeze picked up, and she shivered. Across the street, people darted into the red-brick pub with leaded windows. A sign swung on a wrought-iron post that read THE GOLDEN ARMS in forest-green letters. She’d been in England for almost three weeks and hadn’t even been to an English pub.
Henry slid closer. “Or maybe a pint sounds better?”
There he was, reading her mind again.
“If you bought me a pint, I’d probably dump it all over you.”
He looked confused. “Lady Anne informed me that you pontificated to no end about my merits.”
A young pierced-nose couple in wet leather jackets came into the shelter, his arm around her shoulder, hers around his waist. They were taking pictures of Dartworth Hall with their cell-phone cameras. Chloe realized they were trying not to stare.
She stood up and the dogs did, too. “Forget the coffee or Guinness or whatever you people drink. I want the truth. Can you give me that? That would be good right about now. Let’s start with this simple fact: Are you the owner of Dartworth Hall or not?”
He stood and took his greatcoat and hat off, a lock of hair falling into his eye. “Oh. Someone told you.”
“Yes.”
The pierced couple and several others were outright gaping. But Chloe and Henry were used to being watched by cameramen, by George, the hidden production and editing crew.
Chloe paced in front of the bus-stop shelter in the rain, her hands clasped behind her. “It pays to get out into the real world and talk to real people and find out what the real deal is—”
He draped his greatcoat around her. “I understand you must be upset but—”
“Upset? I wish I were merely upset. I’m freakin’ furious!” Though the greatcoat did feel warm and dry around her. “I thought you were a gentleman. No—first I thought Sebastian was a gentleman, possibly even someone I could love. Took me a while, but I figured that one out. Then I thought you were a gentleman. Ha!” Suddenly the rain stopped. “You’re both fakes.”
“I see your point.” He linked his arm in hers. “I’m going to buy you a coffee.” He guided her toward the tearoom.
“I don’t want you to buy me any coffee. You can’t buy me with your money.”
He opened the tearoom door for her. “As you wish, my lady. Please just step in to warm up. They have a fabulous hearth.”
When the door opened, the smell of coffee and tea and cream hit her with a jolt. The fireplace, flint stone all the way to the ceiling, lured her in with its warmth. Various dogs rested inside, at their owners’ feet. The English loved their dogs. Of course, the dogs could hardly wait outside, in the pouring rain. The hounds followed Chloe in.
A sideways glance in a silver platter hanging from the wall along with other tea accessories proved to Chloe that she really did look like the Bride of Frankenstein. She fumbled with her hair while Henry removed the greatcoat from her shoulders and hung it near the door.
The hostess signaled a busboy. “Clear that table by the hearth for Mr. Wrightman.” The busboy scurried off, and in no time they were at the best table in the house, in front of a sizzling fire.
“What can I get you?” a waitress asked Chloe, clearly trying not to stare at her ruined gown.
“A double espresso nonfat latte. To go.”
“To go?”
Chloe imagined that book on her head. She straightened her spine and spoke in her best English-ese. “In a takeaway cup, please.”
The waitress raised an eyebrow.
Henry ordered a pot of Earl Grey and a plateful of scones and clotted cream. He smoothed his napkin in his lap. “Just where are you planning to go with your coffee?”
“Home.”
“I see. Are you planning to walk to Heathrow in the rain? And then board a plane without a ticket, passport, or credit card?”
She folded her arms and scowled into the fire.
“Allow me to rescue you. I’ve even brought the white horse.”
“That’s Sebastian’s white horse.”
“It’s my white horse.”
“Whatever. I don’t need to be rescued anymore. I just need one thing from you before I go.”
“Ah yes. I should’ve given it to you sooner. If you will excuse me a minute.”
He stood, bowed, headed over to his greatcoat, pulled out a maroon velvet drawstring bag, opened it, and revealed Chloe’s tiara. He set it on the white tablecloth.
Chloe cupped her hands around the tiara. He really knew how to throw her off guard; she had actually forgotten all about her tiara. “Thank you. Really.” She ran her fingertips along the diamonds and rubies. “Did you really fix it yourself?”