Free Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson Page A

have been smiling at all, but merely watching me with her curved mouth. The effect was the same, however.
    Mr. Clumpett asked me if I knew about the bird life in Bath, and then he began a very long, one-sided conversation about his favorite birds and their habitats. His wife said something about the birds in India (evidently she had already read the book), and before I knew it they were involved in a happy argument about the Jungle Bush-Quail. I was so entertained by it all that I accidentally glanced at Philip while I was smiling.
    It was as if he had been waiting that whole time for my gaze to turn to him. He leaned toward me and, under the noise of the footmen changing courses, he quietly asked, “Won’t you forgive me?”
    I knew he was asking forgiveness for withholding his identity from me at the inn. By now, most of my anger had been replaced with growing curiosity. After debating within myself for a moment, I finally said, “It would be easier to forgive you if I knew why you did it.”
    He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “Can’t or won’t?”
    “Both,” he said with a little smile.
    I found myself wanting to relent, especially when Philip smiled like that. But my pride demanded something, however small.
    “Then answer me this: Were you making a game of me for your own amusement?”
    “No, I was not making a game of you, and no, it was not for my amusement.” But as if to belie his words, there was a familiar spark of light in his eyes.
    I lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.
    His lips twitched as if he was trying to hold back a smile. “That’s not to say that I haven’t been entertained. But that was not my motive.”
    I thought of how I had sung that ridiculous song for him and fallen into the river—twice—and how I must have looked earlier, sprawled in the mud while refusing his help. My cheeks burned with renewed embarrassment. No wonder he looked as if he was trying not to laugh. Oh, how my pride stung.
    “I’m gratified to know that I provide you with so much entertainment,” I said, my voice sharp with sarcasm.
    His eyes lit up, just as they had at the inn when I had started my game. “Are you really?” he asked. He leaned closer. “In that case, I will tell my mother that you plan to entertain us all with a song later.”
    I gasped. “You’d never.”
    He smiled broadly, then turned to his mother and said, “Mother, I have discovered that Miss Daventry is an accomplished singer. You must persuade her to perform for us later.”
    She smiled at me. “Oh, yes, we would love to hear you sing.”
    I clutched my fork in one hand as terror flew through me. “I . . . I am not an accomplished singer. In fact, I rarely sing for other people.”
    “Let this be an exception, then,” Philip said.
    Mrs. Clumpett spoke up. “I would dearly love to hear you sing, Miss Daventry. And I will accompany you, if you wish.”
    I was trapped. In my nervousness, my clear thinking deserted me. “Very well.”
    Lady Caroline turned to say something to Mrs. Clumpett. I set my fork down and plotted revenge on Philip. The first thing I would do was tell him exactly what I thought of him. But when I looked at him, ready to deliver a scathing diatribe on his horrible manners, he winked at me. The action surprised the words from my lips. The audacity of this man was beyond anything I had known before. I was at a complete and total loss. The only thing I could do was accept my defeat as graciously as possible.
    “A hit, sir,” I murmured.
    “Thank you,” he answered with a self-satisfied smile.
    I had lost my appetite. The thought of singing in front of everyone had frightened it away. Staring at my plate, I tried to settle the butterflies that were suddenly migrating in my stomach. Singing a little made-up song for Philip, when he knew it was a joke, was one thing. This was completely different. This was not a joke, and I was going to humiliate myself in front of all of these