Page 74 of A Match of Misfortune

Nash stood, reaching his hand into the hat and pulling out the remaining word. “As this is the last one, do I get a point if someone guesses it?”

Lady Bridget shook her head.

His gaze flitted to Cecily’s twinkling, victorious eyes, and he bit back his own amusement. If this was the treatment he was to receive at her triumphs—secret looks and taunting smiles—he’d gladly let her win from now on. At least when it came to silly parlor games.

When he read his slip of paper, he gave a subtle shake of his head. This was almost certainly the word Cecily had put in. Sure enough, when his gaze lifted, Cecily was smiling knowingly, clearly eager for him to make a fool out of himself attempting it.

He gestured to himself, which made her full smile break through.

“This again?” Rothsburg said with a laugh before others started calling out their answers.

“Nabob.”

“Tall.”

“Ogre,” Rothsburg hollered.

Nash pinned his cousin with an unimpressed look, then lifted his hand and pointed at it.

“Hand.”

“Hurt.”

“Bandage.”

Everyone was making an attempt besides Cecily, who simply watched Nash growing more flustered with each wrong answer.

He shook his head. Lifting a finger for them to wait while he attempted something else, he lifted both arms upward and pretended to lean them against the hearth like a ladder before dropping his hands and stepping under where he had just been. Cecily laughed, clearly understanding his meaning, but everyone else simply looked perplexed.

“How long is he allowed?” Rothsburg asked, causing Nash to send him another scowl.

Lady Bridget’s nose wrinkled, watching Nash. “That is a good question. Let’s give him one more attempt.”

He needed to think of a more pointed example. He could attempt a cat, but without being able to make noises, it would likely be ineffective. In truth, he wasn’t certain his pride would allow for it anyway. He glanced around the room, desperate for an idea. Taking a slight backward step, he caught his heel on the edge of the hearth and teetered backward before catching himself on the mantel with his injured hand.

All the ladies gasped, and Rothsburg shot to his feet, taking hold of Nash and pulling him away from the fire. “Was that part of your charade?”

Despite the acute ache in his hand, Nash forced a chuckle, hoping to put everyone at ease. It seemed to work. “Not intentionally, but it is fitting.”

“Luck,” Mother said before anyone else had time to process his hint.

Nash smiled and held out the slip of paper. “It took you long enough.”

“Your atrocious acting skills certainly had nothing to do with it,” Rothsburg said.

“Because yours were better? Besides, how much clearer can this be?” Nash lifted his injured hand again, and a second round of gasps sounded.

“You’re bleeding.” Adelaide pointed at the bandage. The center of the linen was now stained red.

No wonder it hurt so dashed badly. He must have reopened his cut. “It seems I am.” He tucked his hand behind his back and started toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go tend to it.”

As he made his way upstairs, he allowed his thoughts to drift to Cecily again, trying to pinpoint the moment she’d become distant.

He reached his current room before reaching any conclusions, so he simply moved to the dressing table and began to unwrap his linen bandage. A tapping at the still-open door had him glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Surprisingly, it was not his mother but Cecily who peeked her head inside. “Bridget suggested I see if you could use some help.” It was apparent she didn’t want him to think she’d come on her own, and Nash couldn’t help but wonder again how she’d gone from teasing him with an almost kiss the day before and asking him for help with her buttons that morning to appearing so aloof. The constant swinging of her pendulum made him dizzy.

“You’re welcome to assist, if you’re able.” He didn’t require the help, not really, but he wouldn’t complain about securing a little time with Cecily.