Cassie felt drunk on pure excitement. Triumphant in her progress down the hillside, she’d pursued it further than she quite meant to before starting to turn, and now she knew she might be in trouble. The sled was turning, but at the same time still sliding sideways toward the menacing spiky hedgerow in its stark winter bareness. That action was stirring up a cloud of loose snow that sparkled in the sunlight all around her.
She could pray that her decreasing speed would be enough to prevent a full impact. She could throw herself off the sled at the last minute, before she hit the hedge. What she could not do was respond to the clamoring men who were ridiculously chasing after her, led by none other than the Lord of Misrule himself. She could hear them. She was busy dealing with her problem. How did they think they could possibly help?
The hedgerow drew closer and closer, and it appeared that the sled would not quite miss, most likely a sideswipe at best. Cassie steeled herself to let go and roll off the sled on the side away from the branches reaching out for her. But the fact that her knees straddled the steering lever was a problem. She would have to roll off the back, not as easy. Still, as long as the sled did not overturn on her, she should be fine as long as she could free her skirts.
In the midst of her most immediate concern, a little voice was still exulting, I won! It was the best answer to Lord Forthhurst’s challenge she could possibly have wanted. Releasing the steering lever, she pushed herself backwards with her feet, cleared her leg and threw herself off the sled just in time. Uff. Not gracefully, rather more like a sack of bones. And even with some snow on it, the ground was hard.
However, there was very little snow under the hedgerow. As the sled ran into the first resistant branches cracking and popping twigs, it simply stopped, caught. No spectacular collision, no harm done. Cassie had regained her breath and was still trying to untangle her skirts and get up when Lord Forthhurst and the men following him all arrived, panting from their exertions.
“Miss Tamworth! Are you unharmed? You certainly gave us all a scare.”
She pulled impatiently on her pelisse skirt still wrapped partly beneath her and looked up into his face, ready to make a smart remark which he richly deserved. The look of concern she saw etched there stopped her words.
He held out his hand. “Are you hurt? May I assist you?”
She put her gloved hand in his, actually grateful for the help getting up. But the moment his fingers closed around hers she felt the tingle begin. She felt the strength of his arm as he pulled her to her feet, and above her excitement from the sledding, she sensed the pull of his attraction. All this without so much as their skin touching.
She removed her hand quickly. “Other than slightly shaken, I believe I am perfectly well. Thank you.” She hardly knew what to say. After glimpsing such deep contrition as well as fear for her safety in his eyes, all of her rebelliousness and ire seemed to evaporate into the cold like the clouds of their breath. Had he truly cared so much?
She began to brush the snow off her clothing. Another glance at his face then told her his thoughts had already shifted–a spark of something warm lit his eye now. That restored whatever passed for normal between them. The other men were crowding around, all asking how she fared.
“I assure you all, I am uninjured,” she said. “I believe the same may be said for Tom Hepston’s very fine sled. And what’s more, I also believe I have WON THE CONTEST!” She could not help building up to a little bit of a crow at the end. “Whoo! What an astonishing ride!”
She turned then and waved vigorously to all the villagers gathered in concern up at the top of the hill. They cheered and hooted upon seeing her.
“What happens now, my Lord of Misrule?” Gesturing toward the sled, she added, “Gentlemen, may I happily accept your assistance in bringing Mr Hepston’s sled back up the hill?”
As the others extracted the sled from the thorny hedge, Lord Forthhurst offered his arm. “The very least I can do is provide my escort as we climb back up, Miss Tamworth. I admit I have no idea whether I need to apologize to you or not! You seem to have enjoyed your run–even reveled in it. And indeed, I believe you are correct in claiming victory.”
As she tucked her fingers tentatively into the crook of his elbow, he added, “You are the only contestant who completed the whole run down the slope. I must confess I never expected anyone to do so.”
He drew her hand in more securely. Instead of beginning to walk, however, he turned to face her directly and looked down into her eyes, standing close. In a soft, low voice, he said, “I have to tell you, you were magnificent!”
His breath warmed her cheek. His words seemed to warm something else, deep in her heart. She let herself get a little lost in those green eyes.
“Since you are confessing, I will offer an admission of my own,” she said. “I have never felt so alive in all of my life as I did during that race down the hillside! I’ve no words to describe it. Breathtakingly exciting, indeed, but so much more than that. Wild. Free. If you had not challenged me, I would never have experienced it. So, no. You owe me no apology, although you should never have put a lady in such a position that I could not refuse.”
“I warned you that I am a devil, did I not?” He grinned, then patted her hand and turned to begin the trek back up the slope.
“You did.” Cassie remembered then about the notebook and her suspicions he’d been taking wagers. But now was not the right moment to confront him.
Cassie had to wait to learn her father’s reaction to what had happened until after the sledding event was over. The judging kept them too busy. Comparing the distances achieved and the many aspects of creative design led to hard choices. To include more of the children, they decided to divide all the efforts being judged into categories separated by ages. Then the various winners had to be announced. Cassie’s victory was undisputable, and she felt strongly that Tom Hepston’s rudder-like steering mechanism should have made that sled a winner without question.
During the announcements, Cassie reclaimed her bonnet and asked Mary Meadows to return Lord Forthhurst’s scarf to him with her thanks. It had served its purpose admirably, and keeping his seductive scent close to her for a moment longer than necessary seemed the height of folly. There was much to be done at home, so she and her father did not wait until everyone was leaving. They walked back to the vicarage together.
Her father said nothing while they made their way down the hill, but once the going was easier across the manor property, he began to talk. As they headed towards Church Street he said, “I cannot like the attention that our Lord of Misrule seems to be paying to you, Cassie. I am afraid he seeks to set up a flirtation.”
Oh, dear. What had he noticed? Cassie said nothing, just sent her father a questioning glance.
He continued after clearing his throat. “To what real point? Why none, of course, as he will be leaving soon. Simply for his own entertainment, I’ve no doubt. But he can still have an influence, and your reputation could still suffer. I am certain he gives no thought to that.”
“Do not worry, Papa. A man such as he is will not turn my head.” How easily the words slipped out–would that she felt more certain of their truth!
“I know you are a sensible girl. I’m sorry–a sensible woman, you have become. One I am very proud of, I will say frankly. I need not tell you how inappropriate his attentions are. But even knowing it, a young woman might find them hard to resist.”
“Papa, he has been in the village for barely two turns of the clock. It is true he did challenge me to go down the sled-run this afternoon, but I do not think that is enough to constitute a flirtation.”
“Well, you are the prettiest and youngest of the women in our village, Cassie. It is any wonder a young man would want to? I might even take it amiss if his lordship did not notice you. I expect it is a very good thing that Mr. Pratt was not here this afternoon. He would not have been well pleased by any of it.” Her father actually chuckled. “However, it puts some responsibility on you to make certain Lord Forthhurst realizes his attentions are inappropriate.”
Oh, if he only knew!! How fortunate that he did not. Cassie nodded. “Yes, Papa. I know.” A good moment to switch the topic. “You are not upset that I flew down the hill on a sled like the boys and men?”
The good reverend actually laughed, and Cassie released some pent-up breath she hardly knew she’d been holding. “You showed them all up by winning my dear! If you intend to join in something, that is the way to do it. You made me proud–once I got over my initial shock, that is. You managed it well, kept your modesty, and it was all in good fun. No scandal and no harm done.”
Perhaps. Cassie knew she would still need to address the wagering issue with Lord Forthhurst. Harm might come of that–unintended, thoughtless, but still harm. Should she tell her father her suspicions? Had he noticed anything? No, if he had seen, he would have mentioned it immediately. He had enough dislike for Lord Forthhurst without her adding more fuel to it. She would find out first if her suspicions were correct.
“I hope you won’t be upset, but Lady Anne asked Lord Forthhurst to call here to walk with me up to the manor for dinner before the ball. She also invited me to stay and dress there, rather than run back and forth during the extra time in between.”
“There is sense in her plans, but I don’t see the need for Lord Forthhurst’s escort. You walk up to the manor almost every day.”
“And so I said, almost exactly those words! But I think she is trying to impress him with a level of courtesy and manners we seldom follow in Little Macclow when left to ourselves.”
Her father uttered another chuckle. “Perhaps we should be more concerned that Lady Anne’s head will be turned by Lord Forthhurst’s attentions, what say you, my dear?”
Cassie laughed, but it came out a little bit hollow. If only! But she merely replied, “Yes, indeed, perhaps. Squire will keep her safely in line, I’ve no doubt there.”
Once back at the vicarage, Cassie hurried to pack a satchel with the evening dress and items she planned to wear for the Christmas Ball. She laid out her dinner clothes, but donned an apron over the day dress she still wore from the morning and after a rueful glance at her unfinished sewing, went down into the kitchen to see if she could help their cook with the gifts to be given out tomorrow. There was still time enough to finish the capes for the King and Queen of Fools. Tomorrow’s needs came first.
The poorest of the elderly villagers would dine at the vicarage tomorrow, but nearly everyone in the village would stop by for a quick visit and would receive a gift basket from the vicar. The baskets had to be ready enough to finish quickly when the recipients came for them. The large work table that stood in the center of the kitchen was covered with piles of items, and more were lined up on the floor. Baskets were stacked high against the wall in a corner.
“Tis a mercy I can prepare a meal in here with all of this,” Mrs. Gulliver, their cook, observed. She was a short but sturdy woman, big boned with thick arms well-muscled from a lifetime of lifting heavy kettles and wielding large knives.
Cassie nodded in sympathy. “Indeed it is a huge job, Mrs Gulliver. But think of how much it helps those in need, and may we be grateful that it is not the practice to do it, say, monthly? How are things coming along? How shall I help you?”
Adam had been quite sincere when he told Miss Tamworth she was magnificent. The glow in her face as she admitted how the sled ride had made her feel proved that beneath the prim vicar’s daughter surface lurked a woman capable of great passion. If only she knew how that sense of joyful exultation could be captured in a wild ride between a man and woman!
He shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts about her, but as he neared the vicarage at the hour to escort her, he indulged for just a moment more. She had courage to go along with her pride. He had been a devil to test that and push her into taking the ride, but it had been worth doing. Even she had agreed afterwards. Overall, he was feeling quite pleased with himself as he pushed open the gate at the bottom of the walkway and strolled up to the vicarage door.
Miss Tamworth was ready and waiting. Of course she was. No London silliness about making a man wait. She did not flirt or play games. He liked that she was direct, open and honest, even if that sometimes–no, most of the time–worked to his own detriment. He knew he was no prize.
She was wearing the red cloak he had first seen her in yesterday. Probably the blue pelisse she’d worn earlier was still drying after her tumble into the snow. He’d liked that pelisse. He liked her in blue which echoed her eyes, and the coat had fit her form very nicely. He doubted he would ever forget the image of her standing proudly in it while she tied his scarf around her head in place of her bonnet. The scarf was back around his own neck, now, and he felt it had become something precious.
“Very punctual, my lord,” she said by way of greeting.
The bells jingled as he swept off his Lord of Misrule hat and made her a deep bow. “But of course, my lady! It would not do to be otherwise when called to assist a beautiful woman.”
She laughed. “Such fustian! I hope you know I really do not need an escort to walk from here to Highfield. It is a route I follow nearly every day and could probably walk blindfolded.”
“Now that is something I might enjoy watching.” He chuckled.
“I believe Lady Anne seeks to impress you by this unnecessary formality. She wants you to believe we are not such country rudekins as we actually are.”
“Is that how you see yourselves? I did not receive that impression at all. I admit to wondering if she had some special purpose, however.” Perhaps treading too close on that topic? He decided not to pursue it for now. Or perhaps at all. Even if Lady Anne had some benign (or nefarious) conspiracy in mind, he doubted she would have time enough to carry it out before he left.
He pointed to the satchel sitting on the floor by her side. “Perhaps instead of an escort then, I may serve as your porter? I doubt you are in the habit of carrying luggage when you make your usual trips there.”
He watched a hint of pink wash into her pale cheeks, fascinated. Her creamy skin had the faintest sprinkling of freckles, as if some ancient magic had left secret messages written there.
“I would not relegate you to the level of a servant, sir! But I admit I will be grateful to have help carrying the satchel. It is surprisingly heavy for the fact there is nothing more in it than some clothing and accessories for the evening.”
“I am truly happy to oblige.”
Miss Tamworth called out to her father to let him know that they were leaving. Now that Adam had a better, if still incomplete, understanding of the man, he chose not to take offense that the vicar did not present himself. After all, what did it really matter? This few days interlude would soon be over, and all parties would go their separate ways.
He scooped up her satchel and once they were outside, offered her his arm. “I respect your lack of need, Miss Tamworth. However, I will point out that the trodden snow at this point in the day has become quite slippery in some places. I hope you will accept my humble offer of an elbow to hold onto to protect your dignity.”
She actually snorted. It was a very soft, ladylike snort, but a snort all the same. He was totally charmed. Doomed.
“Since it is your humble offer…. Oh, dear, why do I find that so hard to believe? Is the devil ever humble?” She started to laugh again, but at least she took his arm.
He was prepared for conversation. He had questions about the villagers and about Lady Anne and the Squire–so much to learn, so little time. But for the first few moments they walked along in a companionable silence. Just as he was about to broach his first question, she said, “As far as humble offers go, I could not help noting that you were very busy engaging people in conversations right before each of the sledding attempts were made this afternoon. Making offers, were you? Or perhaps collecting some?”
Her voice was warming. Uh-oh. Was she upset? But he had done nothing wrong. In fact, he was quite certain he had done something right. He waited.
“In London I don’t doubt that taking wagers on sport outcomes is normal, even expected. I would have hoped you would know better than to indulge in that here, however.” She shot him a look that encompassed an impressive number of emotions–disappointment, dismay, disapproval. He caught a flash of anger, too, before she looked away again. “People in Little Macclow can ill afford to waste their means on idle wagering.”
He bit back the quick jolt of anger that leaped to his tongue, and swallowed a taste of bitter disappointment of his own. He stopped walking. “You judge me without knowing all of the facts.”
This was the story of his life, in so many ways. He had expected better from her, somehow, as if she could magically see inside him–see a different version of him than others saw. There was no reason he should expect that from someone he had only met a day ago, he knew. It was illogical, but he had felt it anyway. Felt it, and he realized with surprise, longed for it.
“I will listen, if you care to explain.”
He heaved a great sigh. “I was taking wagers. Raising the stakes adds to the excitement. But I am not blind. The wagers weren’t for money, at least on their side.” He started forward again, forcing her to move with him or relinquish his arm. He needed to move to tamp his annoyance at her lack of faith in his common sense or decency. The only money wagered had been his own.
“My intent was to increase the fun both during the event and also later. I asked them to stake a forfeit of some other sort, a game or other silly action the Lord of Misrule shall require, hopefully to the entertainment of all, if they lost their bet.” He’d been quite proud of the idea, frankly. And the others trusted him and went along. Why couldn’t she?
“What sort of…?”
“Nothing nefarious or in bad taste, I assure you. Some bad poetry, a three-legged race.” Maybe some innocent kisses. “Purely entertaining. And I do mean for everyone. It is harmless.”
Behind them, the crackle of hooves breaking the skim of ice on a rut alerted them to approaching horses. Whatever Miss Tamworth might have been about to say was lost to Adam now as they stepped off to the side of the roadway. But to their surprise, the approaching riders hailed them.
“Halloo, is that you, Forthhurst?”
Christopher’s voice? Christopher, whom he had sent on his way home so at least one of them could be with family on Christmas. What the devil was he doing back again? Turning to look, Adam realized that the other rider was Peter Salsby, the post-boy who had gone with his friend.
“Good lord, it is you,” Christopher said. “What on earth are you wearing on your head?” He directed a significant look at Miss Tamworth, and Adam discovered he didn’t like that one bit.
“I have returned to rescue you,” his friend declared with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Knew I might never find the place again if I didn’t come back with young Peter here. Brought you a mount from my father’s stable. But it appears I may already be too late!” He cocked an eyebrow at Adam as if to say, are you already in trouble again?
Adam frowned. He wasn’t glad to see Christopher, although all common sense said he should be. Apparently in his deepest heart he didn’t want to be rescued. “Christopher Haslitt, allow me to introduce Miss Tamworth, whose father is the vicar here in Little Macclow.”
Christopher tipped his hat. “An honor, Miss Tamworth. It surprises me not at all to find my friend in the company of no doubt the loveliest lady in this village.”
Pink rose into her cheeks at his compliment, but she lifted her head. “I thank you. But have you met the other ladies of the village, Mr. Haslitt, to make such a judgment?”
Ha. Touché. Adam should have known she would neither fall for Christopher’s sauceboat comments nor let them pass. He saw Christopher’s confident expression falter, and decided to spare him having to reply. “We are walking up to Highfield Manor to join the Squire and his wife for dinner, before their Christmas Ball this evening. You appear to be headed this way as well?”
“Yes. Peter suggested after we left his horses at the livery that I seek out the hospitality of the manor folks since I need accommodations for the night. How fortunate that we found you walking along at just this precise moment! Are you not staying there? My next task would have been to seek you out.”
With a heavy creak of saddle leather, Christopher dismounted, and so did Peter. “Let us walk along together.”
“Watch your step!” Adam said, pointing to some frozen evidence in the roadway. “There was a team that came through here earlier this afternoon.” Why hadn’t Peter directed Christopher to stay at the inn, his own parents’ establishment? Probably the boy thought that without adequate staff, putting a guest there might not be the best idea.
“As it happens, I am staying at the Four Feathers.” He glanced at Peter, catching his look of surprise. “They haven’t their regular staff but I am only one person and we have been rubbing along quite well. I declined Lady Anne’s invitation to move to Highfield. I wanted to stay close to my cattle at the livery stable where I can check on them, and want to know the minute the smithy returns to learn when my carriage can be repaired. But I’ve no doubt you will be welcomed in by Lady Anne and the Squire.”
“That’s reassuring, then. Not that I thought Peter here would steer me wrongly. He is a fine, capable young fellow!”
“We gathered the roads were too bad for him to make the trip back yesterday.”
“They were. It took us twice the normal time to get to my parents’ house. By the time we arrived there, it was clear he would need to spend the night. I thank you again for sacrificing your own chance to be with your family on Christmas Eve.”
Adam wondered what might be going on in Miss Tamworth’s mind. Was she listening? She walked along silently, her head slightly bent, apparently watching carefully where she stepped. His attention was fixed on her, although he spoke to Christopher. “How is your father? Did you find him improved?”
“In fact, yes. He was out of bed, resting in his favorite chair, lording it over a fairly merry celebration which we were happy to join in. There was even a yule log.”
“I am glad to hear he is so improved.”
“It was very festive, I must say! And such a splendid house!” Young Peter Salsby had seemed hesitant to participate in a conversation between two “gents” but clearly his enthusiasm finally overcame him.
Adam laughed. “Yes, Hazelton Hall is very handsome, Peter. I am sure you were treated well there. However, you were sorely missed by your family.”
“Oh. Well, I…”
“And you were sorely missed by the choir both last night and this morning,” Miss Tamworth added. “Sally Hepston and I filled in for you. I’m certain the music suffered.” Her smile softened the words.
“The music was beautiful,” Adam said, looking at her.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Christopher said. “The roads would have been too dark, and too treacherous, especially with Peter trying to lead the second horse. We had a difficult time of it today with the four horses.” Clearly done with the topic, he punched Adam lightly on the shoulder. “Now do tell me what this foolery is upon your head, old chap? I know that is not your hat!!”
Cassie listened as the men talked, and tried to ignore her awareness of Lord Forthhurst’s attention on her. The scent of pine and of wood-smoke hung in the still air. She stepped carefully in the tracks of re-frozen snow where so many feet had passed earlier in the day going to and from the sledding competition. If she concentrated on walking, perhaps she would be able to hide the conflicting thoughts roiling in her head.
Why, oh, why, had Lord Forthhurst’s friend had to arrive at just the moment he did? She resented that what she thought had been an important conversation was left unfinished. Did she owe Lord Forthhurst an apology? She could not tell at times if she was misjudging him or not. Why did everything have to seem so complicated? Why did her opinion of him even matter to her?
She wasn’t certain what she thought of his friend. Mr. Haslitt’s ill-timed arrival did not put her in a favorable mood. He was handsome enough, in an ordinary way. Dark hair curled fashionably around his face under the brim of his hat, and slanted dark eyebrows added a touch of drama to his features. He would catch Sally’s attention at the ball tonight no doubt. But that he thought anyone needed to be “rescued” from Little Macclow rankled. Did he think their small village was the end of the earth? She could not decide if he was another London rake like Lord Forthhurst or simply a bit high in the instep. He clearly came from a family in the local area. By the time their little party reached Highfield Manor, he had been regaled with the story of Lord Forthhurst’s selection as the village’s Lord of Misrule.
Shaking his head, he had responded in mock despair. “I see it is an impossible task to keep you out of trouble, Forthhurst!! All this happened in less than the space of a few hours! I don’t see how you will be able to balance the expectations set in place here along with those you already face with your family.”
Lord Forthhurst had made no reply, but Cassie noted his expression had darkened. Was he in trouble with his family? Cassie had to admit that she had not given much thought to his situation. Perhaps his dalliance here was a way to postpone something he wished to avoid? She’d thought he had not protested being chosen the Lord of Misrule as strongly as he might have, despite Lady Anne and Squire’s insistence that the choice could not be changed or challenged. Well, that would serve her right for thinking it might have anything to do with her! And it might also explain why he had been so ready, as Mr. Haslitt had put it, to “sacrifice” his chance to go home in favor of his friend.
She had been impressed that he had done so, but now began to wonder. Had it truly been a sacrifice at all? Could it be a convenient excuse instead? Why was it so hard to believe anything good about him? She knew her father’s views colored her own, but could it also be that she wanted to think ill of him, to fortify her own resistance? No matter what she thought of him, she felt the magnetic pull of his attraction acting on her every minute she was with him.
Lord Forthhurst would be able to leave tomorrow, thanks to his friend’s intervention. She ought to be much happier about that than she felt. What was wrong with her? She shook off the mood and vowed to be cheerful good company for the duration of the entire evening. It was Christmas. Dinner, then dancing. What could be finer?
At Highfield, the manor stable-hands took charge of the horses Mr. Haslitt had brought, and after a consultation at the door, the remaining little group was ushered into the first drawing room to greet their hosts. Young Peter would finally be able to go home to his parents and siblings after he had paid his respects.
“Do I need to present my card?” asked Mr. Haslitt.
“No, nothing so formal here. I will introduce you,” Lord Forthhurst replied.
As Cassie entered, the first person who jumped to his feet was David Pratt, whose face brightened the moment he saw her. “Miss Tamworth! Well met.”
Her heart dropped. So, the curate had returned from Fritchley in time to be included in the party. His eager smile disappeared as he noticed the others coming in behind her. That was one thing she had to admit about Mr. Pratt–he was not a complicated or subtle man. His face showed his honest emotions most of the time. Clearly he was not happy to discover he would have to compete with both Lord Forthhurst and Mr. Haslitt for her attention during dinner. The meal suddenly loomed as a challenge.
Squire and Lady Anne rose as one, their faces beaming. “Welcome, welcome! Come in, one and all, and who do we have here?”
“Lady Anne, Squire Hammon, allow me to present to you my friend Christopher Haslitt. He has lately been in London, but he hails from Hazelton Hall in Clarkeswell.”
“Hazelton Hall, you say? I believe I know your father, young man.” The squire shook hands heartily. “I understood that you had gone ahead home with young Salsby here.” He turned to the boy, then. “Hello, Peter, and welcome back.”
Peter had been twisting his cap and looking uncertain, but he broke into a grin when Squire Hammon acknowledged him. “Happy Christmas, Squire and Lady Anne!” He executed an awkward bow. “Indeed, we went, but now we are returned again.”
Squire chuckled. “I can see that. And no doubt you are eager to head home to your family, my boy. Happy Christmas to you as well, and to all of them.”
“Indeed, our best wishes to them,” Lady Anne added. “We’ll not hold you here longer. Off you go.”
Lady Anne’s delight magnified when she learned Lord Forthhurst’s friend was seeking hospitality. Another place at the dinner table was ordered, and servants were sent scurrying to prepare a room for him.
“It is only for the one night,” her new guest assured her. “You are very kind to take pity on me.”
“’Tis our great pleasure, Mr. Haslitt. No pity at all! Only a pity you cannot spend the entire Christmastide with us. Please, everyone, come and take seats while we await dinner.”
“Your village does seem to have a way of drawing people in and keeping them here, Lady Anne! A boon for the local economy.” Mr Haslitt carefully waited for his hostess and Cassie to sit before choosing a seat himself. “Quite remarkable especially in that the place lies out of the way and hasn’t even so much as a signpost to direct the traveler. As I found my father’s health much improved once I did reach Hazelton, I thought I had better return with young Salsby or I might never find my way here again.”
“We’ve no signpost?” Lady Anne turned to her husband.
“It came down, quite some time ago,” he replied. “Mr. Claypool has not yet repaired it.”
“I suppose it is also Mr. Claypool who should have seen to the rather deep rut in the road that broke my carriage wheel,” Lord Forthhurst said.
“How did you find us when that happened?”
“An old woman was out walking, all bundled up against the snow. She pointed out the way to us. I haven’t seen her since then, so perhaps she wasn’t from Little Macclow.”
“An old woman out in the snow?” Lady Anne’s expression grew pensive for a moment. “That seems most unusual, unless….” She seemed reluctant to continue.
“Unless?” Both Adam and his friend prompted in unison.
“Well, on rare occasions travelers in these parts have reported receiving timely help from a mysterious woman. No one knows who she is. Some say she is a ghost, or an angel. Some report her as old, some say young. They just call her The Lady. And if she gave you assistance, it just confirms your presence here was ordained by higher powers!”
Cassie saw Lord Forthhurst exchange a quick lift of an eyebrow with Mr. Haslitt. Clearly they were doubters. She wasn’t sure if she believed the tales of the Lady herself, but if ever such a thing might be true, why not at Christmastide?
Apparently the idea of the Lady’s intervention cheered Lady Anne, for her enthusiasm returned. “I would say you were quite blessed! Not only because she brought you here, but you might have had a much longer walk in the snow if you had headed towards Fritchley–‘tis five miles with hardly a house or farm along the way. Mr. Pratt has walked that today in the cold just so he could join us for our evening’s activities. He is very devoted to his duties.”
Cassie cast a sidelong glance at Lady Anne. Why was she praising the curate to these London gents? Perhaps she thought to bolster Mr. Pratt’s confidence to make dinner more comfortable?
“It seems Mr. Claypool is rather derelict in his duties as road warden,” Lord Forthhurst observed.
“You liked him well enough as a singing companion last night.” Cassie couldn’t hold the comment back. “He is elderly and he drinks too much, but no one has the heart to take the job away from him. It is his one source of pride, even though he doesn’t actually perform it.”
“I see. Well, perhaps the Lord of Misrule can step in and solve this. I’ve been told I have absolute power. Suppose I order up a team of people to fill the rut and fix the signpost, perhaps as a “forfeit” for losing tomorrow’s street-ball race? I could set Mr. Claypool in a supervisory role so he doesn’t feel displaced. If people wish to avoid an additional forfeit, the work would get done.”
Squire Hammon struck his fist on the padded arm of his chair. “By Jove that sounds like a brilliant solution!”
It did, Cassie had to admit. Lord Forthhurst was an intelligent man, and clearly he was also sensitive to the feelings of an old man. He kept surprising her–a far more complex man than David Pratt.
“I am eager to hear about the plans and forfeits you have been dreaming up as our Lord of Misrule,” Lady Anne said to him. Cassie had to admit that she was eager, too. She thought there was more to be said about the wagering, for one thing, but she was curious to know what activities were in store for everyone. Just as Lady Anne spoke, however, the footman arrived to announce dinner.
“Come then, everyone, let us remove into the dining room. We will pick up the conversation when we are resettled with our soup.”