She gazed out at the rain, which lashed the windows and sometimes obliterated the sight of the wind bowing the trees. It was quite early in the morning, but she knew that it was the type of rain that would go on all day and into the night. And even if it did stop by some miracle, the ground would be too wet and the wind too chill to allow for a treasure hunt. Besides, there would be no time to set it up before the guests came.
They would have to play charades in the drawing room, and other games that everyone played wherever they went. There would be nothing special about her party at all.
But it was not just the rain. Constance laid the side of her head against the windowpane and closed her eyes. Sidney had not come and neither had any explanation of his absence. She had known somehow that he was not going to come—and Jonathan had known, though he had not told her, only hinted at it a few times. But she could not understand it. Why had he not come? Sidney always came for the summer.
But she knew why. He had changed his mind about marrying her. Now that the time for speaking with Papa had come, he had panicked and just not come at all. Neither had he written to her. It was just like Sidney to behave so. She knew him well enough to know that he sometimes found it impossible to face up to unpleasant circumstances, especially when he knew he was going to hurt someone.
Oh, and she was hurt. Dreadfully hurt. There was a great frightening emptiness where Sidney had always been. She had not even begun to explore that emptiness yet, but it was there and it was already wrapping her in despair. Today was to have been so very special. The rest of her life was to have been special. And now there was nothing. And nobody. No Sidney.
And no Jonathan. Constance pushed to her feet suddenly and pressed one hand to her mouth as she began to pace about the room. She was so confused. Her feelings had churned about inside her all week since the assembly—or perhaps for longer than that. He had waltzed with her and she had felt as if she were in heaven. And he had kissed her hand—even her palm—and she had wanted more. Very much more. Everything there was to be had. And she had waited for him to call on some pretext the following day, and the day after that.
Apart from a brief nod he had given her at church on Sunday, there had been nothing at all. And that was as it should be. She was to be betrothed to Sidney and Jonathan knew it. But she stopped her pacing suddenly. No, Jonathan knew the truth. He knew that Sidney no longer wanted her. And so he had waltzed with her and kissed her hand.
Because he felt sorry for her. Because he somehow wanted to make up for the disappointment she would feel when she discovered the truth. Because he did not want her to feel utterly rejected. All the time, since his return to Esdale, he had been being kind to her.
The sound of an approaching carriage had Constance whirling toward the window again and setting one knee on the window seat so that she could see who it was. It was the viscount’s carriage, she saw, and she felt a great welling of excitement. It would be Sidney. He had come after all. He would have arrived late last night and was coming early this morning to make up for lost time with her. Oh, how she would scold him for not coming sooner.
But it was the viscount who stepped out of the carriage and rushed toward the door, his head bowed against the rain. And her heart somersaulted and sank within her all at the same time. For if he was coming so early, it could only be to inform her that some other commitment was going to keep him from her party after all. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and waited.
It was a long wait. She sat on the window seat, her back to the window, her hands folded quietly in her lap, and waited for all of half an hour before he came into the room with her father, and her mother leaning on his arm. They were both smiling.
“Constance.” Lord Whitley strode across the room to her, his hand outstretched. “Happy Birthday.”
She tried to keep the bleakness of her feelings out of her smile. “Thank you," she said, setting her hand in his and remembering how he had raised it to his lips and turned it palm up just the week before.
“I promised to come help you set up your treasure hunt,” he said. “Since the rain will make some changes inevitable, I came early. I hoped you would not still be abed.”
“There can be no treasure hunt now,” she said. “The house is too small.”
“But Esdale is not,” he said. “I think we can keep thirty guests rushing about the hallways and up into the attics there for an hour or two without any fear of squeezes in doorways or other disasters. I have spoken with Lady Manning and she agrees that with just a little extra planning the whole party—including the dancing this evening—can he held at Esdale. With your approval, of course. It is your party.”
“At Esdale?" she said, her eyes widening. “My party at Esdale?” At Jonathan’s vast and magnificent mansion?
“I know you must he disappointed at having to give up your plans for the outdoors,” he said. “And it seems that I do not have a great deal of control over the weather after all, does it not?”
“We can have the food taken over to Esdale with no trouble at all,” Lady Manning said. “And Cook, too. And the guests can he redirected and will not mind the extra couple of miles of travel when they know what their destination is to be. Oh, I am so happy for you, my love. I have not known what to do all morning to lift your spirits.”
But Constance was looking at Lord Whitley. Her party was to be salvaged after all and to be more exciting than it would have been if the sun had shone? And he had come? Jonathan had come with her birthday and her happiness in mind? He had come early in order to help her prepare. He had not come after all to announce some other pressing engagement. She smiled.
“That would be wonderful,” she said. “Oh, it would be wonderful!”
“Good,” he said. “Then there is not a moment to be lost. I imagine that some of your clues can be used almost as they are. But others will doubtless have to be changed drastically. And we have to find perfect hiding places for them all.”
“Mama?” Constance looked at, her mother with shining eyes.
“I will send Tessa with you, my love,” Lady Manning said. “She is always glad of an excuse to see her sister. And she can help Cook when she finally arrives with all the food.”
And so, ten minutes later, Constance found herself seated in the viscount’s carriage beside him, her notes for the treasure hunt stuffed into her reticule. Tessa, her mother’s maid, sat opposite her, clearly pleased at the prospect of a holiday from her usual duties.
Somehow the rain lashing against the carriage windows did not appear nearly as gloomy as it had earlier.
It had taken them three hours, Lord Whitley realized later when they were in the conservatory and Constance had pushed the final clue down beneath the large leaves of a potted plant.
“There,” she said, rubbing her hands together with a flourish and looking up at him with a flushed face and a satisfied smile.
They had sat side by side at the desk in the library for two hours, reading through her notes, puzzling over the rewording of some clues and the complete rewriting of others. She had a vivid imagination and a ready wit, he had discovered. They seemed to have done a great deal of laughing.
And then they had spent an additional hour rushing all over the house—her mood had seemed to preclude a more leisurely pace—planting clues, making sure they were not too readily visible.
