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 th
e 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.
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