A Seasonal Pursuit (Regency Christmas Brides #1)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER 7

P arlor games were the worst.

Of most things, not just of evening entertainment options.

The worst of just about everything Rose could think of at the moment.

With an intelligent gathering, they might have been tolerable, but in a room that was filled with idiots, as this particular room seemed to be, it was positively interminable.

Or, she considered, perhaps it was simply filled with people like herself who were not answering the riddles and charades because they did not want to take a turn as the person in front of everyone, being subjected to their inane guesses.

That would be her hope, at least. Surely the majority of people could not be this stupid…

The festive theme of the games did not help anything, but it did bring a touch of levity into the occasion, which was undoubtedly what Lady Standhope had wanted. The Christmas rebus puzzles were practically sacrilegious, and Christmas charades had such a variety of answers from the guests that it became abundantly clear that the majority were calling upon any and all Christmas traditions they knew .

Why else would someone suggest an answer of mistletoe for a riddle that had spoken of boar’s head?

Mr. Alchurch was now up in front of the group, reading his riddle card carefully. Then he smiled and raised his eyes to the gathering. “My first is in harvest rarely known, nor would it welcome be. My next in country or in town, each miss delights to see. And when drear winter’s dress is shown, in joyous play my whole is thrown.”

Rose allowed herself to lean against the arm of the divan upon which she sat, sipping her mulled wine just a little. She had noted from her first sip that Lady Standhope had emphasized the wine more than the mulled in this case, and until she finished her glass, she could not get another drink of any kind without appearing impolite.

“Weeds,” someone in the group suggested.

“An ample product,” another hooted with laughter.

“Ralph,” a woman scolded. “He said, ‘Nor would it welcome be.’ We would welcome an ample product in our harvest.”

There was more laughter from among the group.

“Beaux!” one of the ladies cried out. “For the second part.”

“Excellent suggestion, Miss Plunkett. Most excellent.”

“What is thrown in winter?”

“I am sure I do not know.”

“Snowball,” Webb announced from his post against the wall. He had been staring out of the window for a decent portion of the event thus far, and Rose had certainly noticed his level of distraction. She had hoped to catch his eye during the more exasperating portions, but he had not seemed to be paying attention.

“Snowball?” someone repeated in confusion. “You will have to explain that one, Lord Downing.”

“Gladly,” Webb replied in a crisp tone, setting down his glass. “In harvest, rarely and not welcome is snow. And whether in country or town, a young miss loves a ball. Snow and ball, the whole is thrown in winter. Snowball.”

An entire chorus of “oh” emanated from the group and Webb looked to Mr. Alchurch for confirmation of the answer.

Alchurch nodded and clapped at Webb for his response. Then he gestured for Webb to come up to the front for his turn.

Rose wondered if he had intended to do that or if, like her, he was just tired of the stupidity of others and was trying to end the game quickly.

Whatever it was, she looked forward to helping him get everything moving on so something better could take its place.

Webb took the next riddle from the pile and cleared his throat. “My first is a tree which with cedars will vie. My second’s the tenderest part of the eye. My whole is a fruit which to none will give place, for delicate flavor, and exquisite taste.”

The entire room stared at him in silence, several faces hanging perfectly slack as their minds seemed to work backwards rather than forwards.

Rose, for one, had to hide laughter behind a hand and sip her mulled wine once more to keep up her facade.

Webb gave her a warning look, the corners of his mouth tight.

Caught .

“Well, fir, of course, would make the most sense for cedars,” someone called out.

“Does anyone know the parts of the eye?” a middle-aged woman asked.

“The pupil, but what in heaven’s name is a fir-pupil?”

Rose felt her entire body shaking with mirth and had to look down at her knees to keep from exploding or spilling her wine. Spilling would create more of a scene than anything else, and if anyone in her family learned that she had spilled her wine at a party, they would begin to call her Edith. Though, in this case, it was not inebriation that would cause the spill.

“Did not Shakespeare say something about an eye?”

“Shakespeare said a great many things about a great many things. I do not think we can make that general claim and find it useful.”

“But what does fruit have to do with anything?”

“Apple! Shakespeare said it in A Midsummer Night’s Dream! ‘Flower of this purple dye, hit with Cupid’s archery, sink in apple of his eye’!”

“Fir-apple?”

Rose immediately began coughing and sputtering to cover the snickering that would certainly have become snorting if left to its own devices.

“Ah! Pine!” Mr. Alchurch announced, nearly coming out of his seat. “It is not fir, but pine. Pine and apple! The whole is pineapple!”

Webb pointed at him, nodding and giving him a smile of pride. “Indeed, it is.”

Applause scattered among the gathering. Lady Standhope rose and spread her hands out magnanimously, her smile rather benevolent for an evening of stupid games. “Shall we do another game now? What about ‘I love my love’ for a while?”

“Oh yes, Lady Standhope!” the pair of sisters cried in eerie unison.

She nodded in apparent delight at such a response. “But rather than say ‘treated,’ as it is Christmas, let us say ‘gifted.’ I gifted her with our item of choice, whatever the letter. Will that be too complicated?”

Complicated? It was the simplest change ever. What sort of mind would find such an adjustment complicated? It was not as though she changed the entire script to be festive…

Still, obedient nods bobbed around the group and several people moved their chairs to form a sort of circle for the game. Rose, for one, stayed exactly where she was. If that would exclude her, so be it. But others sitting near her were remaining, so she supposed she would be included after all. Webb actually came and sat in the chair that was just to her right, groaning a little as he did so.

“Tired, my lord?” Rose asked in an undertone. “Was the exertion of your riddle truly so taxing?”

He scoffed a little, shaking his head. “Only the effort of keeping my face in a relatively pleasant expression instead of engaging in the sort of behavior that might offend. If we were playing this game with my family, there would be vicious repartee going on and quite a lot of insults.”

“Now that sounds like a version of charades I need to play,” Rose remarked with a quick grin. “Far more entertaining and the sort of stakes I prefer. Now, what are your thoughts on this one?”

“Simple enough to quick minds and those who pay attention,” he admitted with a shrug. “It truly depends on the company for how quick a mind must be. I’ve been in parties where you could almost be certain that each person would have the letter A, and while I do not suspect this will be quite that bad, I do not believe we will accomplish the first half of the alphabet.”

“I find that generous,” Rose muttered, glancing about the room. “Fir-pupil, indeed. What nonsense.”

“You are harsh this evening.”

“I find a lack of intelligence most frustrating. I know it is not always something one has a choice over, but there is no quicker means of irritating me than being stupid.” She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes and willing the annoyance to fade. “It does make me tyrannical, and for that I apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Webb told her with a pat to her hand. “As far as I know, you have not offended anyone yet this evening. I will let you know if that changes. ”

Rose clicked her tongue and slapped his hand away just as the game began across the circle.

“I love my love with an A,” started Mr. Alchurch, “because she is amiable. I hate her because she is angry. I took her to Alnwick, to the sign of the arrow. I gifted her with apples, and her name is Annabelle.”

The woman at his left took a quick breath. “I love my love with a B because he is balanced. I hate him because he is bad. I took him to Brighton, to the sign of the box. I gifted him with brushes, and his name is Bartholomew.”

So far so good, Rose thought with a frown of consideration. But time would tell how long the trend would go without forfeit.

They made it to E before someone faltered, and Miss Proffitt did not seem all that bothered with being eliminated.

Starting over, the gentleman next to her managed A perfectly, followed by a rather tepid B, a cautious C, and a dull version of D if she had ever heard one.

Webb had E, and Rose stared at him in bemusement as he started. “I love my love with an E,” he said dryly, “because she is energetic. I hate her because she is eccentric. I took her to Eton, to the sign of the elm. I gifted her with emeralds, and her name is Emily.”

Rose nodded in approval and cleared her throat as it became her turn. “I love my love with an F because he is fair. I hate him because he is frivolous. I took him to Fulton, to the sign of the fox. I gifted him with figs, and his name is Frank.”

A few of the ladies squealed in delight at the game going so far, and eagerly watched for what happened with G.

“Fair?” Webb whispered to her as the attention left them. “Are you leaving hints for potential suitors in that, Rose?”

“Energetic and eccentric, Webb?” she shot back. “It is as though you’ve laid me out as a paragon of good and evil in one go. ”

“The letter E is not particularly flexible,” he countered. “Maybe on the next time around…”

Rose rolled her eyes and watched the group struggle over the letter I, which was one of the easier ones, in her mind, and now they had to start over again. There was laughter to be had, and she found herself joining in at times, especially when they would get really far along, and someone would make a mistake. She took another turn on the letter H, which went well, especially after Webb had made them all laugh over G, and they watched with bated breath as those who had succeeded thus far made promising progress.

This was clearly a group of the smarter ones, and there was hope of making it all the way through the alphabet, though Lady Standhope had told them they could exclude X, Y, and Z from the requirements, much to their relief.

They were making it, Rose realized as the letters continued to proceed around towards Webb and herself again. If it meant that the group participation could end all the sooner, she would be delighted. There were plenty of men here who had passable intellect, she could now confirm, and those of such intellect who had made no ridiculous guesses during charades were now on her list.

“I love my love with a Q,” Webb said with careful, emphatic words, “because she is quick. I hate her because she is quiet. I took her to Quinton, to the sign of the quail. I gifted her with quills, and her name is Queenie.”

There were several exhales of relief from the group. Rose nodded to herself as attention came to her. “I love my love with an R because he is regal. I hate him because he is rude. I took him to Ramsgate, to the sign of the rat. I gifted him with rubies, and his name is Robert.”

The group moved on in excitement, praying they could get W and end the game. To the relief of all, they made it, and Lady Standhope applauded in delight.

“And now, my dears,” she announced as she rose, “we will engage in one of my favorite traditions of the season: Snapdragon!”

Cheers rose from the group and chairs were again rearranged, this time to all encircle a table. There was no way the entire group could fit at once, so they would have to take turns participating, which was perfectly fine from Rose’s perspective. Snapdragon was an amusing game, but it had never been one of her particular favorites. Singeing her fingers wasn’t comfortable, and she wasn’t quick enough to avoid it.

Her brothers-in-law had become quite competitive each Christmas over the game, and she could not remember which of them had won most recently, but it was always worth watching them get so aggressively invested and burning themselves.

A bowl was set on the table and immediately the brandy within was set aflame, causing a great “oh” to rise appreciatively from the guests. Several raisins were dropped into the flaming depths, and then Lady Standhope indicated that the gentleman sitting just in front of her ought to go first.

“Who’s that?” Rose whispered to Webb.

“Mr. Garner,” he replied. “I am going to do you a great favor and say no to the prospect of him.”

“Why?” she asked with a bewildered look. “He was intelligent enough in the other games.”

Webb shook his head very, very firmly. “He is utterly insufferable, and I like people in general, so it really does mean something that I do not care for him. For your sake, you cannot even pretend to love him, let alone marry him to satisfy Aunt Edith’s demands.”

Rose was content to let his opinion guide her, but she certainly hadn’t expected that.

Mr. Garner sat forward, his eyes on the flames .

“And now, everyone, let us sing the song and see how he does!” Lady Standhope gushed, conducting the forthcoming music herself.

Here he comes with flaming bowl,

Don’t he mean to take his toll,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Take care you don’t take too much,

Be not greedy in your clutch,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

With his blue and lapping tongue

Many of you will be stung,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

For he snaps at all that comes

Snatching at his feast of plums,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

But Old Christmas makes him come,

Though he looks so fee! fa! fum!

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Don’t ’ee fear him but be bold —

Out he goes his flames are cold,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!

Mr. Garner sat back in satisfaction, four raisins in front of him. The other guests clapped merrily, and Miss Proffitt sat forward next, biting her lip and creasing her brow deeply in anticipation.

The song commenced again, but the words were a trifle lost among Miss Proffitt’s squeals of discomfort and anxiety. Her fingers never even came close to one of the raisins, and she was now sucking on her index finger and waving the next person forward.

Miss Babcock gave Mr. Garner a decent challenge, also managing four raisins. Mr. Harris got three, while Mrs. Lorde and Miss Dawes picked one apiece.

The next group had one person get five raisins, but the rest were either one raisin or none at all. It all became rather raucous by the time the third group was taking part, and Rose never felt the desire or need to join in. She could participate just as enthusiastically by cheering for the others and singing the song; there was no cause for her to stick her own fingers into the flaming brandy.

Webb did not appear particularly interested in joining in either. Indeed, he seemed to be a little distant and far away from everything around them.

“Are you well?” Rose asked him with a hint of a nudge during the next round of the song.

He nodded easily, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Well enough. Simply missing the occasion to play these games with those I love instead of those I am getting to know. It is… strange to be doing this without them.”

Rose felt something crease in a portion of her heart at hearing this, and she wished there were something to say or do to help him. But she was actually relieved to be away from her family for this Christmas, to be able to experience the holiday however she pleased without consideration to anyone else, apart from her hostess. No being forced into traditions she found ridiculous and no particular occasions to dread.

Still, she was certain she would miss the children when it came to be Christmas morning and she was not there for their little presents. It must be even more compounded for a father to be apart from his children .

“We’ll see them all tomorrow, will we not?” Rose asked in an even softer tone.

Webb nodded again, this time with a smile. “Indeed, we will.”

“Then perhaps you can encourage a daylight game of snapdragon, if it would make you feel better.” She shrugged, wondering if he would take the suggestion well.

He looked at her with widened eyes. “Are you mad? Trusting my brothers with flaming brandy in the presence of my children? We might as well set Downing House on fire room by room. Really, Rose, you do have the most extraordinary ideas…”