Not My Idea (A Gentleman of Misfortune Book One (Rough Draft))

Chapter Twelve

The next day's scheduled picnic was postponed for a day when rain kept everyone indoors. We at Bywood Hall joined the house party at the pond for an afternoon of outdoor activity. Blankets were spread out in the grass for the ladies. A rowboat had been dragged from somewhere and rested on the bank, waiting to be used.

I tried to keep my eyes on everyone tied up in the problems that had occupied my life, but doing so only gave me a headache. Phoebe stayed as far from me as she could get, and played a game of letters with Rosamund. This, of course, did nothing to help our effort to appear like a courting couple. Miles remained near the picnic baskets, chatting with Mrs. Williamson. Philippa was content to talk with her betrothed on a blanket, becoming animated as she did so.

Though Miles wanted to rush to get an explanation from Lamotte and demand the ring from Rosamund, I managed to prevent him. Both actions would have brought trouble, and I managed to convince my friend it would be better to handle it carefully.

How we were going to do so, I had no idea.

I'd also told him my theory about the hole. The guilty expression on his face merely solidified my belief I was right. Was it cruel of me to burden him with that knowledge? Maybe, but I hoped it would serve as a lesson for the future.

By the pond, the Williamson girls began a game of Battledore and Shuttlecock, which had them laughing as soon as they started. Miss Darkin declined to join in, choosing instead to sketch in her book. Ward seemed bored with the whole situation, and the older members of the group were content to sit and chat about nothing in particular.

For a picnic, it was rather dull. No one seemed inclined to do anything remotely interesting. It was a pity, as I could recall many happy hours spent in that spot. My oldest sister, Jane, had taken every opportunity to explore the pond and the area around it. As I recalled, it was on a walk around the water that she agreed to marry Charles Castleton.

After an hour, I couldn't hide my yawn and Ward's expression betrayed that he was ready to find any excuse to take him away. The only thing keeping me at the site was the prospect of the meal. The Ramseys' cook made some of the best strawberry tarts and never failed to have them on hand for a picnic.

"Mr. Ward, we have heard precious little from you these past few days," Mrs. Ramsey said once we had all feasted on the meal provided and all other activities had slowed to nothing. "Surely you have some tale to entertain us this afternoon."

I was the only close enough to hear the growl that sounded from Ward's throat. But when he faced the rest of the picnic members, there was a friendly smile playing on his lips. "I am happy to comply, Mrs. Ramsey," he responded. "I fear, though, I have no new stories to amuse you with today."

"Well, then, you must tell everyone one of your old tales. The one about the highwayman is thrilling, and you tell it so well."

"Highwayman?" Rosamund repeated, sending a pointed look at me. "If Lucas is to be believed, there can be no harm from a highwayman."

As much as I wanted to argue the point, I settled for giving her smile instead. It was enough to turn her expression sour. "Tell us, Ward," Mr. Williamson said eagerly. "I don't think I've ever heard of you being held up by a highwayman."

"Oh, I wasn't," Ward said with a smirk. "This took place just over a year ago when I was invited to a house party similar to this one. The area, at the time, was being terrorized by a highwayman. All attempts to catch him or track him down were for naught. Many ladies, such as yourselves, lost their jewelry and men their money to this man."

He was a storyteller; there was no doubt about that. He had everyone leaning forward to hear what he would say next. Miss Darkin even closed her sketchbook to give him her full attention. I felt a twinge of jealousy at the fact.