Beyond Seduction

Chapter 11

“Ah-good morning, Jones.” Madeline smiled at the innkeeper from Coverack as he stood beside his cart, eyes wide and startled as he scanned the frenetic activity already overflowing the castle forecourt. She pointed. “If you’ll take those barrels over there, to that spot beyond the steps, and then speak with Sitwell-he’s at the top of the steps-about filling them.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Jones tipped his cap. “Right circus, this is.”

Madeline only smiled in reply, then moved smartly to dodge a donkey hauling in a cart. “Hello, Masters.” She nodded to the old wandering merchant; he’d been a goldsmith in his prime, and now traveled the country visiting festivals and fairs. “Back with us this year?”

“Always, Miss Gascoigne.” Masters bowed and doffed his hat. “One of my favorites, the Peninsula Summer Festival.”

“Well, we’re always glad to have you. We’ve kept one of the prime spots for your booth.” She pointed out Gervase, a tall figure standing by the edge of the lawn directing the peddlers and merchants to their allotted places, and dealing with the inevitable grumbling. “Just speak with his lordship, Lord Crowhurst, and he’ll show you where to set up.”

“Thank you kindly, miss.” Masters led his donkey on.

Madeline glanced around; with every minute that passed-with every additional person who came in through the gates to deliver this or that, or to lend a hand with assembling the various stalls, booths, tents and trestles-the bustle in the forecourt increasingly resembled a swelling melee.

She’d lived through the event many times, but the area they’d used at the Park had been more open. Although under the open sky, the forecourt was bounded by the castle’s tall inner bailey walls on the east, north and northwest, the castle itself on the south, and beyond the lawns, the ramparts to the southwest, overlooking the sea. The area was more protected from the wind and the weather, all to the good. However, the prevalence of stone walls hemming most of it in meant the noise level was significantly greater. She could barely hear herself think.

“Tomorrow will be better,” she assured Mrs. Entwhistle when she came upon that harassed lady in the shifting throng and she commented on the cacophony. “Today everyone is shouting instructions, not talking.”

“Indeed!” Mrs. Entwhistle shouted back. “One has to positively scream to be heard.”

They parted. Madeline moved through the crowd, keeping her eyes peeled for potential problems; she’d always had this role, even before the festival had moved to the Park. She knew the locals better than anyone else, and they listened to her, even the men. And it was mostly the men and youths who were there that day, the sound of hammers and saws and oaths filling the air as they labored, all good-naturedly giving their time so their families could enjoy the festival tomorrow.

A few women had come bearing cloths and bunting to decorate some of the stalls; reaching the ramparts, Madeline looked out over the sea, then up and around at the sky, and decided the women’s efforts would be safe enough. The weather looked set to remain fine.

Turning, she surveyed the seething mass of people, each and every one absorbed and intent on some task, and inwardly smiled. She was about to plunge into the crowd again when she glimpsed Harry, then located Edmond and the shorter Ben in the same knot of youths all helping with one stall.

The boys had ridden over with her that morning; there was no way they’d miss the day. Curious as to who they’d elected to spend it with, she circled closer.

Her half brothers were helping erect one of the larger tents used by the tavern owners from Helston to sell their ale. Lips thinning, Madeline saw which tavern it was, and immediately understood the attraction for her brothers. “Noah Griggs.” She inwardly sighed, remembering Gervase saying that the man’s older brother, Abel, was the leader of the Helston smuggling gang. “I suppose I might have known.”

She’d spoken under her breath, so was surprised to hear, “Indeed you might,” whispered in her ear.

She managed not to jump; it was harder not to shiver. Turning her head, she met Gervase’s eyes. “I suppose it was naïve of me to think they might have forgotten their interest in the smugglers.”

“In such a situation?” He met her eyes and smiled. “Undoubtedly naïve.”

Drawing her arm though his, he stood close, his large frame protecting her from the buffeting of the crowd. “Just think-today they can with impunity, indeed, in complete, albeit feigned, innocence, spend time under Abel’s eye, listening to the stories he’s no doubt entertaining the lads with, and perhaps do enough to have Abel and his brother-he’s the tavern owner, did I mention?-look upon them kindly.”

She humphed. “Abel might look upon them kindly, but I won’t.”

“Ah, but you can’t really say anything, can you?”

She sighed. “I suppose not.” Turning, drawing her arm from his, she looked around.

“I’m on my way to check the booths along the east wall.” He caught her eye. “Why don’t you come with me?”

She was tempted, but…remembering yesterday and the circumstances that had placed them in misleading propinquity, she shook her head. “I should check on the spinners and weavers, and see if the cloth merchants have arrived. They’re over by the northwest gate.”

He looked into her eyes, then smiled, lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed. “Join me when you break for lunch. By then I’ll need my sanity restored.”

She laughed, nodded and they parted.

Tacking through the crowd, she found the spinners and weavers setting up their wheels and looms, and facing them, cloth merchants, milliners and haberdashers from Helston and even as far as Falmouth. A lacemaker from Truro had made the trip; she found her being helped to set up her traveling booth by Gervase’s sisters.

Smiling, she stopped by the trio and welcomed the lacemaker. She’d bought lace from the woman before and knew she produced excellent work. “I’ll be sure to drop by tomorrow to see what you have.”

The lacemaker blushed and bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, Miss Gascoigne, but”-she glanced at the three girls-“I’m thinking you might need to be early.”

“Ah!” Laughing, Madeline met Belinda’s eyes. “Buying trim for your come-out gowns?”

“Well,” Belinda said, “she gave us a glimpse and it seemed very fine.”

“Oh, it is.” With a smiling nod to the lacemaker, Madeline turned to move on.

With quick nods to the woman, the three girls went with her.

“Is it nearly lunchtime?” Jane stretched up on her toes, bobbing to look past the milling heads to the clock set in the wall above the stable arch.

Madeline checked. “No, not just yet, but if we head that way, by the time we reach the steps it should be time to go in.”

The girls happily ranged around her, Belinda on one side, Jane on the other, with Annabel beyond.

Belinda drew breath, rather portentously. As Madeline glanced her way, she said, “About our come-outs…”

When she went no further, Madeline prompted, “What about them?”

“Well, you see”-Belinda frowned, twisting her fingers-“given what happened to Melissa and Katherine, we wondered…well”-she glanced at Madeline-“is it usual for a just-married lady to send her husband’s sisters off that way? Just not want to have them around?” Belinda’s hazel eyes searched Madeline’s face. “We thought you might know.”

Madeline studied those hazel eyes, very like Gervase’s, then glanced at Annabel, met her blue eyes, then dropped her gaze to Jane’s eyes, recalling what Gervase had earlier told her. In that instant, she more fully appreciated what had been behind the girls’ disruptive actions.

Looking up, she drew in a slow breath, then glanced at Belinda. “I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about. Your brother would never send you away-and if you imagine any lady he married might see you as rivals for his affection…quite aside from that being unlikely in any lady he would choose to wed, any lady who attempted to get between him and you three would quickly find she’d misjudged.”

They continued to tack slowly through the crowd. When Belinda frowned, clearly unconvinced, Madeline smiled wryly and added, “Your brother is a very strong man, not just in a physical sense but in all ways. No lady I’ve ever met would be strong enough to bend him to her purpose if that purpose was one he was set against.”

“No lady?” Jane queried. When Madeline looked down at her, she opened her eyes wide. “Not even you?”

Madeline laughed and laid a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Not even me.” Looking across the heads to the steps, she added absentmindedly, “Not that I’d wish to do anything so silly as send you three away.”

Glancing back at Belinda, she saw a small swift smile cross her face.

“No.” Belinda looked down as they neared the steps. “But that’s you-we were worried about someone else. You know us, so you’re different. Other ladies might not react to us in the same way.”

Smiling fondly, Madeline lifted her other hand to Belinda’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, reassuringly. “Any lady your brother chooses will think the same. Now hush, for there he is.”

Gervase was standing at the top of the steps. He’d seen them approaching. He scanned his sisters’ features, then his eyes narrowed and fixed on Belinda’s face.

He looked rather grim as they reached him, but to Madeline’s surprise all three girls beamed delightedly at him as they went past, lured by the promise of sandwiches.

Narrow-eyed, he turned to watch them go; slipping her arm through his, she urged him in their wake. “The spinners and weavers look to have settled without drama, thank Heaven.” As they passed into the cool of the hall, she glanced back at the mass outside. “Have my brothers come in, do you know?”

“They’re already inside.”

Castle staff balancing platters of sandwiches passed them, ferrying the fare to the trestles set up to one side of the steps, sustenance for all those who had come to help and set up for tomorrow’s big day.

Turning back, Madeline found Gervase’s grim expression had eased. He laid his hand over hers on his sleeve. “Come-the committee are lunching in the dining room.”

She let him lead her in and seat her beside him. A cold collation was laid out on the sideboard; she consented to allow him to fill her plate while she listened to the latest words from each of the committee, and added her own observations.

Despite various hiccups, everything was going well. Everything looked set for a wonderful festival.

While they ate swiftly, knowing they had to return to the chaos outside soon, she thought of his sisters and their underlying fear. She was usually so consumed keeping abreast of her brothers’ lives, she rarely had emotional attention to spare for others in the district, even Gervase’s family, her closest neighbors and nearest in station.

The three girls were seated at the end of the table in earnest conversation with her brothers. Surreptitiously she glanced at Gervase. He was helping her with her brothers; he’d certainly made her more aware of Harry’s impending maturity. Perhaps, in this, given their new closeness-their liaison-she might return the favor and make sure he properly understood the basis for his sisters’ fears.

Yet once they returned to the forecourt they were surrounded by the crowd, then separated by the demands of various helpers for direction or clarification. More peddlers and merchants were arriving with their booths and tents; the afternoon winged by in organized and happily good-natured chaos.

The sun was in the west, slowly sinking behind the wall, before the cacophony started to abate. The locals who’d helped with the stalls and trestles called good-bye and drifted home; satisfied with their arrangements, the peddlers retreated to their camp outside the castle walls, while the traveling merchants ambled off to their temporary lodgings in nearby barns and stables. One by one the committee members found Gervase and took their leave. Madeline, however, stayed to the end.

He found her with Sybil on the ramparts; as he neared, he heard Sybil say, “They were convinced they risked being bundled off to live with their Great-Aunt Agatha in Yorkshire-one can understand their horror, of course.”

Coming up with both ladies, Gervase pretended he hadn’t heard, that the whipping wind had blown the words away before he’d caught them. He smiled as they swung to face him. “All, I’m surprised to be able to report, has sorted itself out.” He met Madeline’s eyes. “You were right about the peddlers and merchants and their booths, but actual fisticuffs were avoided.”

She returned his smile, holding back her whipping hair.

The wind gusted, plastering Sybil’s light gown to her frame. She shivered. “If I’m not needed any longer, I’m going inside.” She patted Madeline’s arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow, dear.”

“Muriel and I will come as early as we can.”

Gervase grimaced. “How early is early? When does this affair start?”

Madeline grinned. “Officially, as you must remember, you and Mr. Maple open the festival at ten, but people start arriving from seven o’clock.”

Offering his arm, he groaned. “And I suppose I’ll need to be visible from then, to keep order by my mere presence?”

She chuckled, took his arm; they started strolling along the rampart. “It would help, but from eight o’clock, perhaps. Most of the earlier souls will be stall keepers or those wanting to lay out displays. The idly interested won’t appear until after they’ve breakfasted. However, you will need to have your men on the gates from first light. Just to be certain.”

He nodded. “I’ve already got that arranged.”

They walked on, enjoying the freshening wind that blew in their faces, looking out over the sea, at the long breakers rolling in to crash in froth and foam on the shore below.

“Your sisters spoke to me,” she eventually said. She glanced at him, trying to read his face; defeated, she grimaced and looked ahead. “Sybil said you know what was behind their strange behavior. I must admit, although you’d mentioned it before, I hadn’t really thought how they might extrapolate from Lady Hardesty’s behavior, how very threatened they would feel.”

She glanced at him again. “They asked me if such a thing-a newly married lady sending her sisters-in-law away-was normal. I assured them it wasn’t, but…” Pausing, she drew breath. “Regardless of what you might think, their fear is a reasonable one. It’s something I often forget, that many ladies are not as in charge of their own destinies as I always have been.”

His lips twisted; he caught her eye. “The truth is-and I admit I haven’t been in any great rush to assure them of this-they’ll have as much say in their lives as you’ve had in yours. For obvious reasons at present that’s not a wise point to stress, however…you really don’t need to worry about them.”

She smiled and faced forward. “I know-I did tell them you’d never allow them to be sent away like the Hardesty girls. Still, it’ll be in their minds until you choose your countess and they can convince themselves they’ve no cause for worry.”

When he didn’t say anything, she looked at him. “I have known them all their lives, and while I haven’t spent much time with them to date, that will change when Belinda and then Annabel make their come-outs. I’m quite fond of them, you know.”

He smiled, entirely genuinely; lifting her hand from his sleeve, he kissed her fingers. “They’re lucky to have your friendship, and your support, especially over their come-outs.”

She blinked. He was perfectly aware that wasn’t what she’d meant. A moment passed, then she shrugged lightly. “I’ll be happy to assist in any way I can, but of course their primary sponsor will be your countess.”

He fought to keep all intentness from his smile. “Indeed.”

They’d reached the far end of the ramparts; as they went down the steps to the forecourt, she said, “I must find my brothers and head home.”

“I saw them over by the horseshoe area.” He led her in that direction.

They found the boys engaged in an impromptu game, trialing the layout with the castle stablelads. Edmond and Ben were ready to leave, but Harry begged off, saying there was something he’d meant to check but had only just remembered. “I’ll follow once I’ve learned the answer.”

Madeline looked at Harry-Gervase could see the question blazoned in her mind-but then she caught his eye, then inclined her head to Harry. “Very well. But don’t stay too late.”

She, Edmond and Ben saddled up; Gervase waved them off, then headed for the castle, leaving Harry helping the stablelads to gather the horseshoes and level the earth around the peg.

Climbing the steps, he wondered what Harry needed to check; on the porch, he glanced back-and saw his sisters, a colorful trio, hurrying, chattering, toward the castle. He turned and walked into the front hall before they saw him. He waited in the shadows inside the door until, their feet pattering, their voices light, they rushed in.

“You three.” His quiet words brought them up short, had them swinging his way. He caught the fleeting guilt before their expressions hardened and, as one, they tilted their chins at him.

“Yes?” Belinda inquired.

He fought to subdue a grin. “A word, if you please, before you rush off to change.”

Belinda frowned; she’d been about to use changing for dinner as an excuse. He gestured to the drawing room, currently empty. With a light shrug, she surrendered and led the way.

Annabel and Jane followed her. Strolling in behind them, he wasn’t surprised when they halted and faced him as he shut the door.

“What is it?” Belinda asked.

He met her gaze, then Annabel’s, and lastly Jane’s. “While I appreciate your sentiments and would hope to have your support should I require it, I would infinitely prefer that you do not try to use your undoubted wiles on Madeline.”

As one, they frowned at him.

“Why not?” Annabel asked. “We did perfectly well this afternoon.”

Belinda nodded. “Jane was particularly good.”

Jane smiled beatifically. “She wants to take care of me now.”

He was suddenly unsure just what they had done. Let alone achieved. “Just what did you say?”

“It wasn’t what we said,” Belinda informed him, “but how we said it. Madeline now knows the threat we face should you marry some lady who doesn’t take to us, and she’s wise enough to know that our belief in that threat isn’t totally without foundation.”

“Not just a figment of our imaginations,” Annabel put in.

“So, of course, being the sort of person she is, and acting in her usual capacity as de facto protector of the weak in this neighborhood, she now feels protective of us.” Belinda beamed at him. “Which is precisely how we want her to feel, and if you have any nous at all you’ll see that that’s to your advantage.”

Once again he was getting that feeling of slowly sliding out of his depth. He had a nasty suspicion that with his half sisters, he was going to be feeling that increasingly. He took a moment to regroup, then said, “I agree that today you succeeded in your aim without causing any problem, but what concerns me is…” How to put it? “If you press too hard and open her eyes too early, you’re liable to scupper my efforts. For various reasons, I have to bring her around to the notion of marriage, convince her of the benefits before I even hint at such a thing. If you jerk her to awareness too soon, then my row is going to be much harder to hoe, and-if you’ll recall-Madeline marrying me is the outcome we all desire, you three included.”

“Well, of course,” Belinda said.

“Indeed,” Annabel stated.

Jane just nodded emphatically.

He searched their bright eyes. “So you won’t make any further attempts to manipulate Madeline or tamper with her emotions?”

Belinda flashed him a brilliant smile. “Don’t worry. We won’t do anything that might make it harder for you to win her hand.”

The other two smiled and nodded.

Gervase studied their expressions, and knew that was the best he was going to do. “Very well.”

Still smiling, they bustled to the door.

“Just remember,” he reiterated as they reached it. “No more manipulating Madeline.”

They each cast him a smiling, sisterly glance as they went out, leaving him anything but reassured.

He returned to the forecourt to find Harry waiting to speak with him.

“If you have a moment, there’s, ah…something I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course.” Gervase waved to the ramparts and they headed that way.

Reaching the steps, they went up, and strolled along, faces to the wind, much as he had earlier with Madeline. Harry remained silent, clearly nervous. More used to interrogating than waiting for confidences, Gervase was wondering if there was something he should say to ease the lad’s way when Harry slowed, halted, and turned to look out to sea.

Halting a pace away, Gervase studied his profile, then looked out over the waves, too.

“It’s…about Madeline.” Harry drew in a tight breath and rushed on, “You see, we’ve-Edmond, Ben and me-well, we’ve noticed you seem quite taken with her and we wondered…well, she’s our sister and there’s no one else who might ask, so as I’m her brother…” Harry hauled in a huge breath and swung to face him. “We thought I should ask-”

“What my intentions are.” Gervase nodded, serious and quite sober. He kept his gaze on the sea, giving Harry time to recover his equilibrium. “Indeed. That’s entirely appropriate.”

He hesitated, then forced himself to go on; he might have skirted the edges of his dilemma in warning off his sisters, but given the right Harry had claimed, a right he unquestionably possessed, age or no, then he had to answer with the truth-which meant he had to articulate a problem he’d been doing his best to ignore. “The crux of the matter is I am interested in offering for Madeline’s hand, but she has yet to agree even to consider such an offer.” He paused, then went on, “As you’re aware, she is, quite literally, her own master-and I use that term advisedly. When I first…drew close to her, she noticed, of course. Through our subsequent discussions it was made abundantly plain that she absolutely refuses to credit any vision of herself as my countess.”

“But…why?”

Gervase turned to see Harry blinking at him.

“I mean, there’s no reason she couldn’t be your countess, is there?” Harry frowned. “I know we’re not that old or experienced, but it seemed as if everyone else”-with a gesture he encompassed the surrounding neighborhood-“sees her in that light, or near to it, already.”

“Indeed. There’s no impediment whatever-other than in your sister’s mind. I fully intend to change her mind, but you’ve no doubt had experience of how easy that is to accomplish, especially when she believes she’s right.”

“Ah.” Harry’s expression blanked.

“Just so. However, I am endeavoring, and”-Gervase started to stroll once more-“am determined to prevail. That, however, is going to take time and…a certain degree of persuasion.”

He was silent for a full minute, searching for words with which to convey what he knew he must. “So now you and your brothers know of my intentions, my sisters know, Sybil knows-”

“I think Muriel knows, too,” Harry said.

Gervase inclined his head. “All those who need to know, know or have guessed. The only relevant person who doesn’t know my intentions is…Madeline herself.” He held up a hand to stay Harry’s surprised query. “The reason for that is simple-she told me her entrenched views regarding the notion of herself as my wife before I could broach the subject. So to have any real chance of her accepting my offer-this being Madeline-I have to convince her to change her mind about her filling the position of my countess before I speak, indeed before she gets any inkling that making an offer is my intention, and indeed was from the first.”

Harry was silent for several minutes, working through the emotional logic, then he grimaced. “If you make an offer first, before she thinks the notion is reasonable, she’ll refuse-and avoid you like the plague thereafter, so you can never get near enough to convince her she’s wrong.”

Gervase’s reply was dry. “I thought you’d understand.”

They’d reached the end of the ramparts. Halting at the top of the steps, they surveyed the forecourt, a field of trestles and booths and awnings.

After a moment, Gervase murmured, “I’d appreciate it if you and your brothers kept your knowledge of my intentions a close secret until I succeed in changing your sister’s mind.”

“Oh, we will-never fear.” Harry flashed him a grin. “We wouldn’t want to queer your pitch.”

Gervase smiled easily back. They started down the steps.

As they reached the cobbles, Harry sighed. “Females are so damned difficult, aren’t they?”

“Indeed,” Gervase returned, jaw firming. “That, and more.”

Unfortunately, as he’d realized some time ago, females were also beings it was impossible to live without.

He kept repeating that truism to himself throughout the following day while endeavoring to keep an easy smile on his lips while about him females of every degree ran amok. Those closely related to him were the worst.

The day of the festival dawned bright and clear; by seven o’clock, as Madeline had prophesied, stall holders were filing into the forecourt, opening up their booths, laying out their wares. By eight o’clock, when after a rushed breakfast he came out to stand at the top of the castle steps, many locals with produce or handicrafts to display or enter into the various competitions were flowing through the main gate.

Burnham, his stablemaster, came to the bottom of the steps. “When do you want us to open the other gates, m’lord?”

Gervase considered the stream of people being greeted by two burly grooms as they passed through the main gate. “As soon as there’s any queue at the main gate, open the other two. Just remember to keep two men at each gate.”

Burnham touched his cap. “I’ll make sure. There’s enough of us to spell each other, so we all get a look at what’s about.”

Gervase nodded. Then, squaring his shoulders and summoning an easy smile, he went down the steps and plunged into the already swelling melee.

The unexpected talk with Harry, combined with his sisters’ helpful efforts, had brought home to him that in pursuing Madeline, his intentions were transparent to most around them and would only become increasingly so. He wasn’t hiding his interest in her from others; there was, therefore, no reason not to use others-their attitudes, their expectations-to further his aim.

Consequently, he’d made suitable arrangements for the day.

When Madeline arrived at the castle with Muriel and her brothers it was nearly nine o’clock. Gervase met her by the castle steps. Sybil came out onto the porch, Belinda, Annabel and Jane in her wake.

Greetings exchanged, Sybil, surprisingly, took charge. “Now,” she said, “I’ve insisted that as he’s been away for so long-indeed, has never been the host of the festival before-Gervase should spend the day circulating among our visitors. I’ll remain here and act as coordinator for any problems-the girls will run any errands or messages that need to be delivered.”

Madeline smiled. “I’ll help.” The role of overseer was usually hers.

“No, that’s not sensible,” Sybil declared. “You know everyone better than anyone-you’re the logical person to assist Gervase. The other committee members will soon be here to help me.”

Madeline blinked. She glanced at the girls. “But surely the girls would rather enjoy the stalls?”

“Oh, we’ve been around already,” Belinda assured her. “And there’ll be time to go around later, once everything settles down.”

“We’ve already bought yards of lace,” Annabel said. “And the glovemaker is keeping three pairs aside for us.”

“I see.” Madeline didn’t, not really.

As she glanced at Gervase, Muriel said, “You’d best get going, the pair of you. Madeline, you can keep an eye out for your brothers while you’re wandering-they’ve already disappeared.”

Gervase took her arm. “Don’t try to argue. I ceded to Sybil hours ago.”

With an inward shrug, Madeline allowed herself to be led down the steps and into the crowd.

The next hour went in smiling and greeting people-farmers, their wives, laborers and workers from the nearby towns. The Summer Festival was always well attended and drew visitors from as far afield as Falmouth as well as the majority of people from Helston. But it was first and foremost a local festival.

On Gervase’s arm, she scanned the milling throng. “Literally everyone who lives on the Lizard Peninsula will be here today.”

He covered her hand where it rested on his sleeve. “That’s why your presence by my side is so crucial. While I know my own workers, and can even name most of their wives, I’ve yet to place the majority of others. I might have stayed here every summer through my youth, and attended numerous festivals, but as I never imagined I’d inherit the title I put little effort into fixing other people in my mind.”

She glanced at him. “You’re doing well enough.”

“With your brain to pick, I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She meant to humph at his presumption, but laughed instead. The truth was she was enjoying herself more than at previous festivals; on his arm, with no more onerous responsibility than to whisper identities to him, she was largely free to drink in the gay atmosphere, listen to the laughter, the excited chatter of children, the occasional shrieks punctuating the never-ceasing babble of conversations.

There were few true strangers present; even the peddlers and traveling merchants were regulars, familiar faces. She introduced Gervase to them, too. They circled the forecourt; as they neared the base of the steps once more, they saw the vicar, Mr. Maple, beaming and chatting with Sybil and Mrs. Entwhistle on the porch.

Gervase glanced at the clock on the stable arch. “Nearly time to do the honors.”

Together they ascended the steps. The other members of the committee gathered around, all pleased that everything had thus far gone as planned, then Mr. Maple, in stentorian tones polished by years of speaking from his pulpit, exhorted all those in the forecourt to gather around.

“My friends!” He beamed down upon them. “I’m delighted to welcome you to our annual Summer Festival. As is customary, I’m here to give thanks to all who contribute to our day, and to render the thanks of the parish and our church for the bounty that will flow from your activities this day. And so…”

Gervase had moved to stand beside and a little behind the vicar; he would speak next. Realizing, Madeline inched her arm from his, intending to step back to stand with the other committee members, but Gervase lowered his arm and caught her hand.

She glanced at him, but he was looking at Mr. Maple as that worthy intoned a prayer, invoking God’s blessing on their day. Gervase’s hold was too firm for her to slip her fingers free, but if she tugged, it might seem as if he were forcing her…

“And now I’ll pass the stage to our new earl, Lord Crowhurst.” Beaming, Mr. Maple turned to Gervase, stepping back so Gervase stood front and center of their little group-with Madeline by his side.

She could do nothing but smile amiably, her attention shifting to Gervase as he smoothly and with transparent sincerity welcomed the crowd to the castle, then briefly outlined the schedule of events, remembering to note the numerous new additions. He named the members of the committee to grateful applause, then concluded with his own wishes that everyone enjoy their day and the efforts of their fellows displayed on the trestles, booths and tents filling the forecourt.

He then declared the festival officially open, to which the crowd responded with a rousing cheer.

The crowd dispersed, fanning out to fill the aisles between the booths and stalls. Turning to her and the other committee members, Gervase smiled, clearly pleased and at ease. He complimented Mrs. Entwhistle, who looked thoroughly relieved now her planning had come to fruition; Mrs. Juliard and Mrs. Caterham exchanged quick encouraging words, then hurried off to supervise the judging of the first competitions.

“Don’t forget, my lord,” Mrs. Juliard called from halfway down the steps. “We’ll need you to present the knitting and embroidery prizes in half an hour.”

Gervase acknowledged the appointment with a nod. When, preparing to descend once more to the forecourt, he tucked her hand firmly back in the crook of his arm, Madeline told herself she was being overly sensitive-no one else seemed to see anything remotely noteworthy in him keeping her so blatantly by his side.

Just as well; he seemed determined not to let her go. Whether he viewed her in part as a crutch or a shield, she didn’t know, but he plainly believed her rightful position was beside him. She felt a touch wary; it should have been his countess on his arm-would people imagine she had designs on the title?

She watched the reactions of all, gentry and countrymen alike, yet when they joined Mrs. Juliard beside the displays of local knitting and embroidery, despite the many they’d encountered not one seemed to view her presence by Gervase’s side as in any way remarkable.

Passing along the display, watching Gervase pretend an interest no one imagined he truly had, she leaned closer and murmured, “You don’t have the first notion of the difference between petit point and gros point.”

“Not the first, second or any notion whatever.” He met her eyes. “Does it matter?”

She grinned and patted his arm. “Just take your cue from Mrs. Juliard.” She’d intended delivering him to that worthy and stepping back, but again, the instant she drew her hand from his sleeve, he captured it.

He kept her beside him-trapped between him and Mrs. Juliard-while he smiled, presented the prizes to the beaming ladies and shook their hands.

When they eventually moved on, her hand once more on his sleeve, she looked at him. “I can’t remain forever by your side.”

He raised his brows. “Why not?”

“Because…” Looking into his amber eyes, she realized there wasn’t any good answer-any answer he might accept.

Understanding her dilemma, he grinned. “This time, the organization isn’t your responsibility-indeed, the only responsibility you can lay claim to is to guide me through the local social shoals, and otherwise to enjoy yourself.”

She humphed. Muttered, “Enjoying myself can hardly be classed a responsibility.”

Yet as they circled the forecourt again, she found herself noticing and taking in-enjoying-a great deal more of the festival’s delights and its atmosphere than she ever had. The wares displayed in the booths and on the long trestles were fascinating and tempting, the produce arrayed on the various stalls impressive. She bought lace, two pairs of gloves and a long roll of ribbon. The lace and ribbon she tucked into the pockets of her apple-green walking dress; Gervase helpfully volunteered his coat pocket for her gloves.

The hours flew. Every so often they were summoned by one or other of the committee members so Gervase could announce the winners and award prizes for the various competitions. The one for the best local ale was clearly his favorite; having weathered the knitting and embroidery competitions, none of the other crafts presented any real challenge.

Everyone lunched on traditional local fare-pies, pasties and sandwiches-provided by the local bakers and pie-makers in conjunction with the taverns who had set up tents and benches to serve the hungry festival goers. Madeline sat on a bench in the sunshine beside Gervase, and neatly consumed a pastie while he devoured three pies. When he asked, she had to admit that she was indeed enjoying herself; she’d never felt so relaxed, not during a festival.

Whether it was the effect of the warm sunshine, or the relief that everything was running so smoothly, or the inevitable effect of being surrounded by so many people all enjoying such simple pleasures, as the afternoon wore on she started to feel she was viewing the world-a familiar yet different world-through rose-tinted spectacles.

Nothing seemed able or likely to dim her mood.

Not even sighting the Helston Grange party amid the crowd. They’d arrived in the early afternoon; one group of fashionable ladies gowned more appropriately for a stroll in Hyde Park were progressing down one aisle, eyeing the country wares with a disdainful air.

Noting the sniffs and dark looks aimed at their backs, Madeline hid a smile; if the ladies had glimpsed those reactions, they wouldn’t be feeling quite so superior.

“And that, I assume,” Gervase murmured from beside her, “is Robert Hardesty.”

Madeline followed his nod to where Lady Hardesty was strolling down another aisle on the arm of a handsome dark-haired gentleman Madeline hadn’t set eyes on before. The pair was closely attended by Mr. Courtland and two others she’d seen at the vicarage-with Robert Hardesty trailing in their wake.

“Yes, that’s Robert.” Madeline watched for a moment; it was almost as if a small cloud had appeared to mar the otherwise glorious day, and was hanging over Robert Hardesty’s head. His expression was not blank but undecided, as if he were unsure what feelings to express, yet…“He doesn’t look happy.” He looked like a dejected, rejected puppy.

“Certainly not an advertisement for the joys of matrimony,” Gervase dryly remarked.

Madeline grimaced. “No, indeed.”

Although neat and well dressed by country standards, set against his wife’s sophistication and the transparently polished appearance and address of her court, Robert looked like the youthful country-bred baronet he was; he couldn’t, and likely never would, hold a candle to his wife’s admirers.

More importantly, Lady Hardesty was making not the smallest effort to suggest she had even the most perfunctory interest in him.

Lips thinning, Madeline eyed the spectacle for a moment longer, then looked around, noting numerous others-Mr. Maple and his sister, the Juliards, the Caterhams-who were likewise viewing the small scene. A vignette among many, yet it spoke so clearly-and, did she but know it, would assure Lady Hardesty of no fond welcome in local social circles.

“From which performance I deduce”-Gervase turned her away, steering her toward the east wall-“that her ladyship harbors no ambition to be accepted into local drawing rooms other than on sufferance.”

Madeline raised her brows. “So it would appear.”

They didn’t speak again of Robert Hardesty, but that vision of him, of the demonstrated unequalness of his marriage and the unhappiness that flowed from that, hovered at the back of her mind-the small dark cloud in her otherwise glorious firmament.

“Your brothers seem uncommonly interested in what my father would have termed ‘female geegaws.’” Gervase nodded to where Harry and Edmond, with Ben darting ahead or pushing between, seemed absorbed in ribbons and lace doilies.

Madeline grinned; tugging on Gervase’s arm, she drew him away.

He would have led her to them; arching a brow, he fell in with her wishes.

Smiling, she looked ahead. “It’s my birthday in a few days. I invariably receive trinkets and furbelows chosen from the festival stalls.”

“Ah.” After a moment, he said, “I suppose, down here, there aren’t all that many alternative sources of inspiration.”

“Actually”-leaning close, she confessed-“I always find myself examining the items displayed and cataloguing any that I might find myself unwrapping in a few days. It’s become something of a game to see if I can identify what will catch their eye when they think of me.”

He glanced at her. “And do you guess correctly?’

“Occasionally. Strangely it’s Ben who seems to most accurately guess what I’ll like best.”

“Perception untainted by rational thought,” Gervase declared. “Unfortunately, as soon as a male grows old enough to grasp the essential difference between male and female, the ability is lost.”

He sounded perfectly matter-of-fact; Madeline laughed and they strolled on.