Chapter 24

The morning dawned and the sky was clear. All the guests were excited about the prospect of venturing outside for a picnic. To Rolland, relaxing after what had happened the day before seemed impossible. It was all right by him that he was sent to ride the grounds to make certain it was not too muddy. There hadn't been any opportunity to discuss the coded note he'd sent to his friends the night before, alerting them that Lady Glass had heard someone speak French from a distance but had been unable to identify the man. Rolland had a spy to catch and more than just his parents to protect, but apparently a picnic would come first.

With Ashbury Court as large as it was, the guests opted to stay close and lunch by a small stream not half a mile from the house. Her Grace instructed that large blankets to be spread across a grassy area near the dowager house. Mr. Stewart and Lord Vernon seemed to be in a contest as to who would sit by Theresia. Not wanting to appear too eager, Rolland silently bowed out of the competition. He took a seat beside his parents, situating himself so he could see everyone. Servants carried platters of sandwiches and fruit to serve them, and everyone ate heartily.

When the meal waned, a few of the party stood to walk the grounds, including his parents, the Havershams, and the duke and duchess. He noted that Michael, whom Rolland had come to respect as a truly remarkable footman, stepped forward to trail his father. They were fortunate that Marcus employed such a loyal man. Before Rolland could stand to stretch his own legs, the conversation next to him stole his attention.

"I wonder why I've never heard your title before, Lady Glass," Lord Vernon said, his voice oddly patronizing. "It's unique enough that I would've remembered it. Did your late husband never sit in parliament?"

Rolland shifted subtly to see Theresia's reaction around Lord Vernon's tall torso.

Her shoulder came up. "He did not care for politics."

"Some do not, I suppose." Mr. Stewart leaned back against the trunk of an oak, unaware of the way Lord Vernon's fists tightened when he stole into the conversation. "You know, your title reminds me of a fable."

"Oh?"

"You've likely already heard the tales circulated around the glassblowers, especially since you are from the Austrian Empire."

Theresia's body went rigid. "I'm afraid not."

"The glassblowers were a secretive group—still are, so I hear—and not just to protect their trade either."

"What do you mean?" She leaned forward, eyes round with equal curiosity and no doubt suspicion.

Rolland could do nothing but will her not to give herself away.

Mr. Stewart continued. "They say they received both knowledge and treasure from the gods and swore to protect them both from anyone else."

"Surely not real treasure," Theresia argued.

"That's not what I've heard." Lewis stepped up to the edge of the blanket nearest Theresia, his arms folded. "The master craftsmen protect a horde of wealth to this day, passing it down through the generations."

Theresia's hand balled the fabric of her gown in her lap, barely hiding how flustered she was becoming. "I've never heard such wild tales. Surely you cannot believe there is an actual treasure. These men labor diligently to create such beautiful glass, and still they struggle to support their families. Only a few extremely talented ones get commissions to decorate the royal houses."

"The stories are older than you or me," Lewis explained. "It's hard to say what is true and what isn't."

Miss Yearsley and Lady Cadogen came up beside Lewis. Miss Yearsley's eyes widened. "You're not talking about the glassblower code, are you? I've heard very little about it, but I confess I find it fascinating. I just adore their crystal. I even had a pair of earrings specially made."

Rolland's eyes flew to Theresia's the same time hers met his. Before he could think about her revelation, Miss Yearsley spoke again. "Does anyone know more about this code or treasure?" She glanced around, her gaze hungry.

Mr. Stewart tilted his head, his eyes equally intrigued, though his voice remained casual. "I'm merely repeating the stories told during my Eton days. My study of law leaves little time for treasure hunting."

"This is the first I've heard of any code," Lord Vernon said, "but the glassblowers are legendary for being the most tight-lipped about their trade secrets. They are almost cultlike in their circles."

"I must know more," Lady Cadogen said. "I confess I have a deep interest in gothic tales, and this sounds like a riveting mystery."

"Better fit for a book than conversation," Lord Vernon said with a huff. "I pity the man who believes a shred of any nonsense about treasure."

Rolland's eyes darted around the small circle, analyzing each guest. There was something deeper beneath the surface of this conversation, and he had a feeling it related to Theresia's vase. Mr. Hawke was the only one who seemed disinterested by the conversation, even bored. He picked at his nail like the dirt beneath it was more tolerable.

Odd. Especially for someone solely motivated by money.

When Rolland's gaze reached Theresia again, his attention snagged on her pale face.

Mr. Stewart threw a grape up and caught it in his mouth. "I've never believed it myself, mind you. If anyone had so much wealth, they might save a portion for the next generation, but they'd spend a large share of it too. If a treasure ever existed, it would be long gone by now."

Lewis rocked back on his heels, and Rolland saw the wheels turning behind his eyes. He knew Lewis was generally intrigued by any puzzle, but he hoped his friend would not press for more. Thankfully, no one said anything in agreement or otherwise, and the conversation ended. Rolland pushed aside an empty plate, determined to take Theresia for a walk to refresh her.

Movement across from him drew his attention. Lewis was whispering something to Theresia. She nodded to him and stood, taking his arm. His dratted friend had done what Rolland should've done sooner. To his utter annoyance, Lewis pulled Theresia away from the others toward the tree line, leading her farther from the house.

Rolland jumped to his feet without thinking. The others turned to him expectantly, but he was too flustered to do anything but mumble an excuse for leaving. He forced himself to go a different direction, pushing back toward the house. His pace was closer to a footrace than a leisurely walk, and he found himself grumbling under his breath about blasted picnics and ignorant friends.

There was nothing wrong with Evan Lewis taking a casual walk with Theresia. Nothing wrong unless his intentions were romantic, and Rolland found plenty to be wrong about that.

"Enough," he whispered to himself. He had heard the voice of the spy last night and possibly observed several clues over the picnic conversation. He had to keep his mind clear. Losing so many fellow soldiers had torn out his insides, scarring his sensibilities. He'd promised to give his life to his country so there would be no reason to think too hard. No reason to feel.

Theresia was every bit wrong for him. He knew it.

He growled and pulled at the short hair falling by his brow.

His head knew it, all right.

But his heart didn't.

***

Theresia tucked her hand around Mr. Lewis's arm, and he steered her around a particular muddy section of ground alongside the stream.

"I hope I wasn't too presumptuous back there," he said. "You looked like you would prefer exercise to more conversation."

"You guessed well," Theresia replied. She wished Rolland had been the one to notice her unease. It was hard to always pretend to be something she wasn't. Oh, it was easy enough to sit straight and speak politely, but to assume an entirely different identity—one which required her to be a wealthy widow, of all things—was beginning to take its toll. But the mention of glassblowers, a topic she was normally passionate about, had left her quite flustered. She'd heard the glassblowers' origin stories a thousand times, and while they did reference hidden treasure, it was figurative. The way these people had spoken of it had made her ancestors sound greedy and selfish.

Mr. Lewis cleared his throat. "I thought that since you were from Vienna, you would know more about the glassblowers. The Bohemians are not far from you, and their crystal decorates all the houses of the rich. But perhaps the reminder makes you homesick."

"I suppose." She looked away, hoping he would take the hint.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Will you be disappointed if I say no?"

"Disappointed that you don't want me for your confidant? I am not a fair-weather friend." He snapped his fingers. "I have a better idea. I will speak of only trivial things, and you will not be required to answer at all."

"Sounds dreadfully boring," Theresia said with a laugh.

He laughed too. "Would you prefer delightful gossip instead? Because I am certain I could entertain the charming Lady Glass with an anecdote or two."

She shook her head. "I have been the brunt of too much gossip in my life to desire to share in it myself."

"What if it wasn't the bad sort of gossip but the kind a lady like yourself would beg to hear?"

"I would beg, would I?" She laughed again. Mr. Lewis was not at all the kind of man she was attracted to, but he was certainly a charmer. She had almost forgotten her earlier dismay.

"You cannot tell me that you wouldn't want to hear about one Captain Rolland Reese."

Her steps slowed. "I'm sure if he had anything he wanted to divulge, he would tell me himself."

"Ah, but Reese is a private man. He must rely on friends like myself to clear the way for him."

"Must he now? I daresay he would be surprised to hear that." She almost wished she could see his reaction now. He'd act irritated but secretly be amused; she was sure of it.

Mr. Lewis chuckled and steered her through the trees toward a dirt path. "You see, when a private man is wounded"—he caught her quick stare—"yes, I know about the burn on his shoulder, despite how he tried to keep it from us. But I am not speaking of a physical wound."

"An emotional one, then?"

Mr. Lewis inclined his head. "Rolland's uncle was an admiral. He was also Rolland's hero. When he died, Rolland walked away from everything, pledging to fight in his stead."

This time she did stop walking.

"He didn't tell you, did he?"

She shook her head. "He owes me no explanation."

"Doesn't he? Such absolute dedication to purpose can make one blind to anything outside it—including friends and family."

Was that why Rolland was willing to marry whoever his father selected? His heart's devotion was solely for his country? Theresia didn't know what to say, but Mr. Lewis's words muddied her budding hopes.

Mr. Lewis slowed his steps and said softly, "I tell you this because you ought to know."

She shook her head. "It isn't my place to judge Captain Reese's decisions."

Mr. Lewis heaved a sigh. "You are too good, Lady Glass. It's obvious to everyone that our captain cares for you. If he is standoffish, then you have a right to know why."

Rolland's near-engagement was a large enough stumbling block between him and Theresia, but this only complicated things further. Even so, she could not think less of him. He wasn't blind to his family, as Mr. Lewis suggested, but selfless in his complete support of them.

Such thoughts should have silenced her heart on the matter forever, but knowing Mr. Lewis had noticed the marked attention Rolland paid to her kept a small breath of hope alive. She was having a harder time denying it herself. Despite all the odds, was it possible that Rolland did care?

"Chin up," Mr. Lewis added, looking off into the distance. "Every once in a while, a person surprises you. It wouldn't be the first time someone's passion changed."

"I won't be holding my breath." But that did not mean she wouldn't be dreaming of it.

Somewhere along the way, Rolland had become very important to her.