The Lady Most Willing

And then Fiona Chisholm snorted.

“Oh, Catriona,” she said, her innocent voice not quite masking a devilish intent, “do you believe in love at first sight?”

“What?” Catriona asked, dropping her spoon.

“What?” Bret heard himself echo.

“What?” came Lady Cecily’s voice from down the table.

“I was only wondering,” Fiona murmured.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Catriona countered.

“I don’t think so,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “It does seem quite improbable.”

“Madness,” Rocheforte put in.

“But,” Fiona continued, “I don’t see why one could not fall in love at one’s first meaningful conversation. Do you?”

Bret turned to Catriona. She was swallowing uncomfortably, and her cheeks had gone a particularly dusky shade of pink. He knew that Fiona meant no malice, but all the same, Catriona clearly did not relish having been placed so squarely at the center of attention.

“I believe,” Bret announced.

Catriona flashed him a grateful glance.

“You believe in what, Your Grace?” Fiona asked.

“In love at first meaningful conversation. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” Marilla exclaimed, clapping her hands together. And then she beamed at him.

“Oh dear,” Bret whispered.

“Did you say something?” Catriona asked.

He shook his head. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

“Blindman’s buff!” Marilla cried out. “Oh, it will be perfect.”

“Then we must play it,” Taran said, smiling at her the way she was smiling at Bret.

Good God.

“I’ve never been good at games,” Oakley said, in what Bret thought was a phenomenally lame attempt to escape the oncoming torture.

“I know,” Taran retorted. “It’s why you should do it more often. You’re playing, and that’s final. You too, Your Dukeness,” he said, jabbing a gnarled finger in Bret’s direction.

Which was how Bret found himself cowering in a corner an hour later, answering Marilla’s call with as quiet a voice as he could manage.

“Blindman!” she sang out.

“Buff,” he whispered.

“Oooh, I hear someone,” she sang out.

Bret looked frantically for Catriona. Hell, he looked frantically for anyone. But Oakley was half out the door, and Rocheforte had disappeared entirely. Lady Cecily was standing on a bloody table.

“Blindman!”

“Buff,” he mouthed, but Marilla continued marching toward him with unerring precision. There was no way Marilla couldn’t see from underneath her blindfold.

“Oh, I do love a meaningful game,” she trilled.

Meaningful? Good God.

He caught Catriona’s eyes. She had hopped up onto the table behind Lady Cecily. Save me, he implored. Surely she would take pity.

But no, she had her hand over her mouth and was giggling away, the traitor.

“Blindman!” Marilla called out.

Bret didn’t even bother mouthing the word this time.

“Oh, I hear someone,” Marilla cooed, still walking toward him. She held her hands in front of her, moving them this way and that. “You must warn me if I crash into something,” she called out. “But of course not someone.”

Bret inched to the left. If he timed it just right, he might be able to squeeze behind the grandfather clock. He also might knock over the grandfather clock, but he wasn’t so concerned about that at that moment.

Just a little more . . . a little more . . .

Marilla turned, following him like a beacon.