I wore a light pink gown with a high waist and matching reticule and my white slippers. In addition to his black boots, Jeremy had on his tight, buff-colored breeches and a chocolate-brown overcoat with a matching cream waistcoat, a white shirt and cravat.
We settled into our assigned seat. I glanced about uneasily. Luckily, I hadn’t seen Harrison and Lacey yet today. I’d thought about it a lot last night and decided that my strategy would be to pretend that Harrison wasn’t my boyfriend while we were in England. Here he was only a man I was competing against. When we got back to the States, we could argue about who did what. For now, I was merely focused on winning.
Whist was tense. Jeremy and I solidly beat our lower-round competitors, a brother and sister team from Northumbria, a couple from Devon, and two actual sisters from the US.
I was beginning to feel confident until we entered the final round and were paired with Migel. Dang it. Why couldn’t Harrison and Lacey have been paired with Migel? Lacey and Harrison were on the far end of the tent, playing a completely different set of competitors. Given the number of people participating, we couldn’t all play each other. The scores would be based on points for the overall competition.
“Stay calm,” I whispered to Jeremy as we approached the table where Migel had already staked a claim.
“I am calm,” Jeremy whispered back.
“They’re good, but we’re decent. We’re not totally out of this.”
“Aye, aye,” Jeremy replied with a grin. “We’ve got this.” Once again, he made my anxiety level ease just by his presence. I slid into my chair across from him. He waited until I was seated to sit too. We exchanged pleasantries with Nigel and Mary, but were careful to keep everything very professional. No fraternizing with the enemy.
The play began, and after an hour we were tied neck and neck. We played two more rounds that went about the same. Finally, Jeremy shuffled the cards and Mary opened with a queen of clubs. I eyed Jeremy over my hand before playing a nine of clubs. Nigel tossed down the four of clubs and Jeremy threw the two on the pile. Next, Mary played the king. Damn it. Did they have the whole royal flush? I tossed down the three. Nigel threw in the five and Jeremy threw in the ten. Mary’s eyes narrowed. She tossed down the eight. I winged the six onto the pile and Nigel had the seven. Jeremy smiled. My gaze met his.
Oh my, God.
He had the ace!
We won. We won!
I jumped from my seat and nearly leaped into Jeremy’s arms to hug him. “The ace! The ace! Oh, Jeremy, I could kiss you, you ringer!”
His lips hovered just above mine. “You can if you want.” An electric shock rocketed through my body. I stared into his eyes, entranced and oh, so tempted to do it, but he was joking, wasn’t he? He had to be joking.
We were pulled apart by the other players slapping us on the back and congratulating us. “Well-played,” Nigel allowed, while Mary managed a sullen smile that lasted all of about two seconds before she swept up her skirts and exited the tent.
From the corner of my eye, I spied Lacey slinking over to me like a cat. Her Regency gown was made of pale yellow silk, embroidered with tiny beads, and her bonnet was trimmed with yellow bows. She stopped at my side and stared out across the tent. “We won too,” she intoned. “Looks like we’re all tied up, Dr. Knightley.”
Damn it. It was true. The rudimentary scoreboard (which consisted of a whiteboard and a marker) in the grand tent confirmed it. Lacey and Harrison had won their set too. We were tied at ten points each. Migel was close behind us at eight. Jeremy and I grabbed an early dinner and went directly to our room to retire and put an end to our jet lag.
Staking my claim in the tiny lavatory, I slathered green goop onto my face and pulled on my pajamas with classic books all over them. I peeked out the door to make sure Jeremy was decent (he was) before scurrying out of the bathroom and hopping into my little couch bed. I faced the window, hoping Jeremy wouldn’t see me. Green goop was not attractive. There was no debate on the subject.
“What’s happening tomorrow again?” Jeremy asked from the bed, his voice sleepy.
“The costume competition,” I replied, hoping he’d turn off the light...like immediately.
“Oh, yeah. That one should be a breeze. Mitchell made me some great threads.”
“Yes, but we’ll also be judged on how we walk and how we carry ourselves. Remember to keep your back straight and your chin high.” I managed to say all that on a yawn.
Jeremy’s muffled laughter filtered through his pillow. “Don’t worry. I can walk around with a cane and a cravat holding up my neck with the best of them.”
Thankfully, he switched off the light.
Since it was safely dark, I flipped over to face him. “We aren’t going to get a ten, but I’m hoping for an eight.”
“What? Why wouldn’t we get a ten?” I could see in the shadows that Jeremy had lifted up on his elbow and was looking toward me. Thank heavens for darkness.
“No one gets a ten for clothing.” I sighed. “Mr. Periwinkle is the clothing judge. He’s a ridiculous stickler. I doubt he’d give Beau Brummel himself a ten.”
“We’ll just see about that,” Jeremy mumbled, settling back down into the bed.
Smiling to myself, I snuggled onto my side, hoping I didn’t snore. If Jeremy snored, I hadn’t heard it last night. Then again, maybe that was because I was too busy snoring. I doubted he did though. People as beautiful as he was probably didn’t make annoying noises at night. I propped up my head on a plethora of pillows, hoping to ward off my potential snores, and fell asleep dreaming of how Jeremy looked in his breeches.
Chapter 22
Friday
By the time I woke up late the next morning, Jeremy and his Regency clothing were gone. He’d left me a note saying he’d meet me at the venue at thirteen hundred. The venue, of course, was the biggest tent on the lawn. It had been set up with a catwalk, with judges’ tables facing it and small sets of bleachers spread out behind that for the audience.
I ordered coffee and scones up to the room and took my time dressing. For today’s event, in addition to the white stays that I’d bought from an authentic recreator woman I’d met on the internet, I had made myself a gown from emerald green satin. It had an empire waist and white trim and tiny white flowers embroidered all over it. It had taken me the better part of six months to embroider those damn flowers. I’d also managed to procure some authentic-looking period glasses. They had silver wire rims that I’d had specially made. It cost me a small fortune. I was hoping the attention to detail would pay off with a stickler like Mr. Periwinkle. I did not go authentic on the lack of panties. Mr. P was just going to have to deal with it. Though I secretly wondered if he could tell. When Patsy came up briefly to help me pin up my hair and button up in back, she set down her Bloody Mary and glanced around.
“You’re sharing a room?” she asked, a saucy little smile on her lips.
“Yes, there was a mix-up at the front desk.”
“I’d apologize, Sweetie, but I daresay I did you a favor.” She winked at me.
I shook my head, but couldn’t help but return her wicked grin.