by Wendy Vella
All Mrs. Higgs’s rules were forgotten as they crested the hill and started down to the forest below. The locals, Ben noted, were already in a steady trot, unlike the others, who were sprinting.
“Clearly they know something we don’t,” Ace said, keeping pace with Ben.
“I’d say that’s likely, as they enter each year.”
The first stop was set up on a low-hanging branch. Pies were in a basket, and the pints lined up on the branch. Ben ate his pie in four bites and gulped down his pint.
“You may go,” the woman who was manning the station said when Ben had finished.
He ran on, this time more slowly, as the beer and pie were now swirling around inside him.
“Pie was good,” Will grunted, passing him.
“Beer was better.” Finn did the same.
Ben stuck out his foot, and his brother stumbled but managed to stay upright.
“I’ll make you pay for that later.”
“Only if you can catch me!” Ben ran by him, tripped on a fallen branch, and hit the ground cursing. His friends and family jogged by laughing.
Swearing, he regained his feet and caught them. The next station had sweet pies, which Ben washed down with his ale.
“Jeremy, are you an ale drinker?” Ace asked the man.
Caton’s face was a bit pale.
“Not really.”
By the fourth station, Ben had to admit that things were getting a little hazy. The clang of the tankards was a constant accompaniment as they tried to hold them and keep themselves upright.
Ace had taken off his necktie, explaining that he was not a nobleman and appearances were not important to him. He then threaded all the tankard handles through it and hung it from his shoulder. Luke, who declared he wasn’t a nobleman either, did the same thing.
“Our birthright certainly becomes a hindrance at such times,” Alex said, jabbing Ben in the ribs and winding him, which nearly brought up the pies and ale. Taking several deep gulping breaths, he managed to keep them down.
Clearing the station before the others, Ben found a tree trunk large enough to hide behind and waited. His brothers squealed in the same tone as Amanda when he leapt out in front of them. It was most satisfactory.
“Is the path winding more and more?” Luke Fletcher squinted. “I feel like it tish?”
“It’s your eyes,” Will said in that slow, concise way people did who had drunk too much.
Five pints down, and it was fair to say they were all pickled. The slightest thing had them laughing like loons, except Ace, who appeared to show no effects at all.
“’Scus he’s too bloody big,” Jeremy Caton said. “Holds as much liquid as an ox.”
For a man who rarely spoke a word, his tongue had certainly loosened with the ale, Ben thought, as he attempted to focus on the track before him. Will was up ahead and weaving all over the place.
“She’s sooo sweet.”
“Who?” Ben asked Caton as the man sighed loudly.
“Miss Fufferton Smythe.”
He had a silly look on his face. Ben would never smile like that over a woman… well, he hoped he wouldn’t, but then there was Primrose. He sighed loudly.
“Wasssh your step!” Ben said as Caton stumbled.
“My ffeet no longer appear to belong to my body.”
Ben knew how he felt. The trick of holding the tankards and keeping himself upright was almost herculean now.
“One more to go!” Finn bellowed, loud enough so the next county could hear. His brother’s hair stood off his head, and his jacket bore a tear in the sleeve from where a branch had snagged it. Had Ben been able to, he would have enjoyed the sight hugely. However, he was simply focusing on survival at this stage—and keeping the contents of his stomach down.
They had long since been overtaken by the canny locals, who obviously knew the trick to the race. All had given the Rossetter party a look that suggested they were idiots. Clearly they knew a thing or two.
The last station was manned by the elderly lady who had spoken to them when they rode into town.
“Hello.” Alex leaned over to peer at her. “How lovely it is to see you again.”
“Nobles” was all she muttered, handing them pies. Her mouth formed a straight line.
“Thish is not going down well,” Finn muttered.
“Weak is what you all are.” Ace ate his in a few bites, then downed the pint. He then stood chatting with the old lady, whose name was Meg, while the others attempted to do the same.
The problem was, the pie didn’t want to go down.
“Eat a few mouthfuls, then take a drink,” Ace said, watching Ben. “I’m hoping it’s not going to take much longer, as the light is fading.”
“Bastard,” Will hissed.
Jeremy Caton burped, and Alex made a retching sound.
“Weak is what they are, Meg. Saddens me to think I call them friends,” Ace added.
Ben managed to swallow the last mouthful of his beer. He rocked back on his heels, and a large hand came out to steady him.
“Not long now, Ben.”
He focused on Ace. The man was ridiculously large.
“I need to lie down.”
“Soon.”
Ace managed to herd them all out on to the track once more, staggering left and right; he was like a shepherd with an unruly flock. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Ben realized that he was seriously inebriated. Everything seemed larger and louder to him now.
“Excellent, we’re there. Just up ahead, gentlemen, your women await you,” Ace said as they came out of the woods. Ben saw a crowd of people. His eyes searched the women, but they were swaying… or was that his eyes. Then he saw her: Primrose “she never stops talking” Ainsley.
Chapter Nineteen
Primrose had been eating the fudge Heather kept feeding her and listening as she continued to regurgitate every word Zvonka the fortune teller had spoken.
“I was there too, Heather.”
“I know, but you must listen to what she said, Primrose. You are obviously about to face some trying times—”
“I will return to Pickford and live in my house until I can convince Herbert to marry me. That hardly seems trying.”
“But you may not convince him.”
“I will,” Primrose said with false confidence.
“I’m glad my mother decided not to accompany us today. The duchess told her that she would watch over us, which was very nice of her, don’t you think, Primrose?”
“Very nice.”
While Lady Fullerton Smythe had allowed Heather to associate with Primrose a few times, it was not to be a regular occurrence, or so she’d told her daughter last night.
“She may be an earl’s granddaughter, but she is still not worthy of too much of your attention, Daughter, and in this your father and I will not be questioned.”
Heather had spat the words out in an angry tirade when she joined Primrose this morning.
“Heather, we are friends now, so please do not go against your parents’ wishes for me. Our friendship will not change if we do not spend a great deal of time together.” She felt she needed to explain this to her.
“I know that, but I choose to spend time with you. It is liberating to speak as I wish.”
“Oh, well then.” Primrose felt humbled. “I like having a friend, too.”
“Good Lord, what is that noise?”
The words were spoken by Lady Althea Dillinger. She and Mrs. Hetherington had decided to make the journey to Chipping Nippley even considering they were with child.
“Exercise is good for expectant mothers,” Lady Althea had said when Primrose enquired if she needed a seat. “Contrary to what others will tell you, Miss Ainsley, it is better to keep moving than take to your bed. I have a new physician, Dr. Siblinguyer, who explained this to me.”
Not that Primrose saw children in her future, but she would remember that piece of advice, as it was unlikely her mother would ever offer up any.
“I do hear it,” Heather said, looking to the forest.
Loud singing could be heard, and it was getting closer, and then suddenly there they all were. The men from Rossetter who had decided to partake in the pie and pint race, staggering out of the trees.
“Primrose,” Heather said, her eyes on the men. “I think those men have overindulged.”
“Mightily,” Lady Ryder said, holding back laughter.
They had their arms linked, all except Mr. Dillinger, who was walking at the rear. He looked like a farmer herding his stock. Arms wide, he kept nudging the staggering men to keep them moving.
“Mother of God, look at them.” Lady Levermarch looked amused. “It is so rare to see my husband unraveled that I will enjoy this moment immensely.”
“They will have sore heads tomorrow,” Mrs. Fletcher said. In her hand was a card, like they all carried, with the verse each man must recite.
The clang of tankards was almost deafening.
“I’m not sure what’s worse, the singing or the clanging,” Lady Althea said. “At least my husband appears in control, although one can never tell with Ace. He’s a canny devil and can hide most emotions.”
“Well. You ladies need to get them to recite the words.” Primrose tried to hand her card to Miss Haversham, who in turn looked horrified at the approaching group.
“No, you must do it. I…, aha, there is something that needs my direct attention.” She fled.
“I fear she may have just realized that men have more to them than what she sees in the ballrooms of society,” Lady Levermarch said. “Good riddance. The woman is far too mouthy for my liking.”
“Primrose.”
“Yes, Heather?” Primrose couldn’t drag her eyes from the approaching men… more importantly, one of them. Benjamin Hetherington. He was singing at the top of his voice, and he wore a silly grin. He looked so sweet that she felt it again, that squishy feeling inside her.
“Mr. Caton does not look like Mr. Caton.”
“Who does he look like then?”
“A drunk and rather silly Mr. Caton.”
“Still the same man, but you are just seeing another side to him. Perhaps this will be the moment you realize he is not the man to whom you’ve given your heart.”
“Primrose!” Heather gasped. Primrose dragged her eyes off the approaching Benjamin in time to see her friend looking around her. “You should not speak to me like that.”
“Why? Surely between friends it is best to speak the truth?”
“Well, yes, but I told you that in confidence.” Heather anxiously examined the faces around once more.
“I did not shriek the words; only you heard them.”
“I can’t love him.” The words were torn from her friend.
“Therefore we must avoid discussing him altogether?”
Heather looked in pain, but as the men were nearly upon them, Primrose let the subject drop.
They staggered up to their wives, the ones who had them, wearing sloppy grins.
Lord Ryder couldn’t seem to get his tongue around the words he was meant to recite, so he was not declared the winner, which had him roaring his disapproval. His wife grabbed him by the hand and led him away.
Primrose had watched the locals come in a short time earlier. Only one had recited the words, but he’d only drunk four pints.
“’Lo, Miss Hainsley… Primpyrose.” Benjamin reached her, and the waft of his ale-laden breath nearly dropped her to her knees. “I have c-completed the pie and pint run.”
“There are several other ladies who have cards, go and find one of them,” she whispered.
“Wh-what?” His eyes nearly crossed as he attempted to focus on her.
“Go and get someone else to give you a card.”
His smile was sweet and made her stomach clench tight. Oh, this will never do. His shirt was untucked, and he’d lost two buttons on his waistcoat. Grass and twigs clung to his hair. He looked like a man she could touch and care for, a man of humble origins.
“I—ah… wants you,” he said slowly, slurring his words. He then listed sideways but managed to stay on his feet.
“Oh very well.” She held out her hands to take the tankards he thrust at her. “Five tankards,” she said, and one of the locals took them from her. “Now read this.” She held out the card.
He squinted, rocked back on his heels. Primrose grabbed his arms to stop him falling.
“’Slots of words,” he mumbled, still squinting.
Primrose had thought it quite a simple verse by Keats, but she guessed it wasn’t when you were five tankards of ale down.
“Keats.” He looked up at her, still smiling. “Romantish.”
Primrose refused to blush at his words.
“Though one moment’s pleasure
In one moment flies—
Though the passion’s treasure
In one moment dies—”
His words had gone from slurred to sober in seconds as he recited the verse.
“Excellent!” The woman who had taken the tankards congratulated Benjamin, but like Primrose, he didn’t move. His eyes had caught and locked on hers.
“Primrosh.” His whisper was ragged. “We c-cannot… this is—”
“Yes.” She shook her head and backed away. “Well done, Mr. Hetherington. You are to be commended for consuming all that ale and reciting Keats. I’m quite sure the p-pies were very tasty also.” She was babbling as she kept walking backward. He didn’t move, his eyes simply followed her, and then they rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground.
“I have him, Miss Ainsley,” the Duke of Rossetter said, passing her.
“The winner is Mr. Dillinger!”
She tore her gaze from Ben, who was being hauled back to his feet, and looked for Heather. Dear Lord, Mr. Caton had her in his arms. Oh, this was not good with so many onlookers.
“Come, Heather, we must leave at once. Your mother will wonder where we are!” Primrose gripped her friend’s shoulder hard.
“I—I—”
“Now, Heather.”
“Of course.” She pulled away from Mr. Caton and walked away.
Primrose looked over her shoulder and saw devastation written in every line of Mr. Caton’s flushed face.
It was not until they were in the Rossetter carriage, returning to the house party, seated beside Miss Haversham and her mother, that Primrose was able to inhale deeply.
She felt Heather’s hand squeeze hers on the seat, but that was the only gesture portraying the devastation her friend was feeling.
Heather had fallen for a man her parents would never countenance her marrying, and the path to true love and happiness had just become a great deal more treacherous to navigate for her.
Primrose would recover. Yes, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge now that she felt something for Mr. Hetherington, but it was merely a simple infatuation and nothing more.
Dear Lord, let it be simple.
Chapter Twenty
Two nights later, Primrose tossed and turned in bed. The man was playing havoc with all her preconceived notions of men and women and the relationships they undertook.
She’d put distance between them since the pint and pie run, and he had been happy with that, seeming to avoid her where possible also. Not that she’d seen anything of him or the other men—other than Mr. Dillinger—the day following. Most had remained in bed.
The problem was, now that they were having no contact, she missed it. He was funny and intelligent, and yes, mocked her. No one had done that before, and she found she quite liked it.
“Contrary is what you are,” Primrose muttered, throwing back the covers.
When he did converse with ladies, it was that silly Miss Haversham and her group of twits, as Heather liked to call them.
She couldn’t define exactly what she felt for Benjamin Hetherington, only that she’d never felt that way before. But it was decidedly odd.
Taki
ng her candle, she pulled on her dress and slippers, then let herself out of her room. It was late, in fact very likely the early hours of the next day, but she didn’t want to lie in bed thinking about that man any longer.
Exercise, her father always said, helped with sleep.
Taking the stairs up, she was soon walking the hallway to the second library. The duke had told her she could go in there at any time, and he would ensure a new page was turned each day for her to read. As yet, his wife had not convinced him to let Primrose hold the book.
To be honest, this was just as exciting: seeing a new page every day, with more words and pictures. Perhaps she would take a book from the shelves and read that tonight. The duke had said she may.
The sound of voices had her blowing out the candle and merging into the shadows. Primrose had no wish to come across someone conducting a tryst and have to answer questions as to why she was wandering the halls.
“It’s this way, but be quiet.”
“We need to be quick.”
“Very, then we must leave before anyone rouses.”
“I’ve packed my things, and the note has been left on my nightstand.”
Primrose didn’t recognize the voices. What were they discussing? She had a feeling something was not right.
Placing her candle on a small table, she followed on tiptoe as the men moved away. They climbed the stairs, and Primrose followed. She was sure they were up to no good as they headed toward the library.
She heard the slow thud of feet as they entered the small room. Peering inside seconds later, she could see very little, as the curtains were drawn.
“Cut the glass.”
Dear Lord, they were taking the book! Primrose turned to leave and alert someone as to what was happening.
“Not so fast.” A large hand banded around her waist, and another over her mouth. “Inside.”
She was forced through the door and it was shut behind her.
“We have a problem. Get the book fast, we need to leave now!”
Primrose opened her mouth to scream as the hand lifted off her mouth, but before she could something was stuffed in there. Her hands were tugged behind her back and bound, and then her feet. She was lifted and thrown over a shoulder.
