The Game and the Governess (34 page)

The final hand is not always the last one played.

T
he Hollyhock Summer Festival—usually held three weeks later into the summer, when earls were not present—was enough of an event that it drew farmers and tradesmen from all corners of Leicestershire to sell their wares and to connect with friends not often seen the rest of the year. Local gentry was of course an attraction, and with the news that an honest-to-goodness earl would be the honored guest at the festivities—well, even the hasty change in the festival’s dates did not deter the populace.

As promised, Rose rode—slowly—into town on her own, on the back of Turner’s mare. Luckily it was a very sweet-tempered horse and gave Rose no trouble. Ned made certain to stay beside her, having requisitioned Abandon for the purpose. If Turner had anything to say about it, Ned didn’t care. As it was, Turner rode into town with the countess and the Widcoates in
the incredibly shiny carriage. Since the house was so full of people, Kevin the groom—and today, carriage driver—had to go back for the Ryes and Miss Benson. Henry was quite happy to ride in the cart with the cook, her tarts, Nanny, and Miss Baker. Everyone else walked the short two miles to Hollyhock.

When Ned and Rose crossed into town, it was to cheers from Sir Nathan, who was as enthusiastic about his daughter’s learning to ride as he was usually indifferent to everything else. He helped Rose down from the horse and lifted the girl in the air. Of course, that lasted about three seconds, until Sir Nathan saw someone he needed to speak to and Rose was deposited safely in Phoebe’s care. But it was a start.

Lady Widcoate, who’d stuck her head out the carriage window during the entire journey, watching Rose ride, gave Ned a grudging nod. As she stepped away to greet the vicar and other gentry she knew from the far side of Midville, the party began to mill and disperse. Ned moved immediately to join Phoebe and the children, until a hand slapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Turner said with apparent calm. “I am afraid I am going to need you by my side for the festival.”

Ned shot him a look that could flatten a walrus. “Whatever for?”

“I have no doubt I will be assaulted by any number of people wanting me to judge who has the biggest ear of corn, or some such nonsense. You have to help me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Ned assured him, removing Turner’s hand from his shoulder. “Cut a ribbon, pick your favorite ear. Even you can manage that.”

“And yet I insist.” Turner smiled tightly.

Ned rounded on Turner. “You are just trying to keep me from Miss Baker.”

“You are absolutely correct,” he replied.

“She had an audience with the countess and Lady Widcoate yesterday,” Ned speculated. “Nanny told me she thought it was about me.”

“You are getting along quite well with the help, aren’t you?” Turner drawled. As Ned’s eyes narrowed to slits, he sighed. “Yes, I asked the countess to appeal to her common sense. A governess should not be accepting offers of escort from anyone, let alone a secretary who made advances to Mrs. Rye barely a week ago.”

“Did you impugn my character, Turner?” Ned asked, his eyes wide in false shock. “That is against the rules. Should I write to Rhys?”

“I was not in that meeting,
Ned
, so I could not impugn anyone.” He kept his voice low, but the harshness of his whisper stung. “I believe there is gray area on that score.”

“You ganged up on her. You had two ladies of high rank and her employer try to sway her opinion.”

“Yes, I did,” Turner said simply.

Ned fumed. He thought of Phoebe in that room, her back straight and her head held high, and a strange, soaring sensation grew in his chest at the thought. She could face down anything, it seemed. An earl, a countess, anything.

“I wish I still liked you, Turner,” Ned said under his breath.

“I wish I still liked me too,” he replied, his voice unable to hide the regret.

Unable or unwilling to ask what that meant, Ned turned away and scanned the crowd. His eyes found hers. She was ushering the children toward a stall whose painted sign declared “Fish for Prizes!” and Henry was already trying his hand with a fishing rod, trying to hook a straw doll on the other side of the stall. Phoebe smiled widely, showing her dimples when she saw Ned looking at her.

“Since it apparently had no effect, I will not call the game on a technicality,” Ned decided, trying to let his blood calm with the sight of her smile. However, that did not keep Ned from twisting the knife just a bit. “Besides, I am going to win, so any of your trickery can only be summed up as foolishness.”

“You won’t win if I can help it.”

“I already have the handkerchief. Tonight I’ll have the dance. And then . . . who knows?”

“Who knows if you’ll be able to find out, considering you will be stuck to my side all day today and all night tonight,” Turner declared, before looking over Ned’s shoulder and booming out a greeting.

“Mr. Fennick! And Mr. McLeavey and Mr. Dunlap! How pleasant to see you. Again.”

“My lord, a pleasure!” The vicar came forward, edging out his two companions with his hand forward and his smile firmly in place.

“Oh, yes, my lord,” Dunlap spoke up, his usual hungry look turned blasé by the festivities. “I’ve been so busy with the mines, a day off to spend time with people of worth is so, so enjoyable.”

“Could you gentlemen point us in the right direction?” Turner asked. “I am supposed to be doing some
thing with my master of ceremonies title, but I have no idea what.”

“Of . . . of course!” Mr. Fennick squeezed his way in. “So pleased that you are enthusiastic about the honor, sir!” Mr. Fennick did everything he could to restrain himself from pumping Turner’s hand, Ned noted wryly. “I’ll escort you now. And of course, I would love it if we could talk for just a moment and finalize the sale of your mother’s property? It would put such a capper on the day, my lord!”

“Yes, yes.” Turner waved. “As Mr. Turner will be spending the day with us, you two can discuss to your heart’s content.” He smiled at Ned wolfishly. “Come along, Mr. Turner—we have ribbons to cut and ears of corn to pick.”

Ned shot a look over his shoulder, hoping to find Phoebe and her smile in the crowd again. But alas, it seemed that Henry had won the straw doll and given it to his sister, and they had moved on.

PHOEBE COULD NOT
believe the day sped by so quickly. Having Rose and Henry at her side constantly made the festival come alive in the way that only a child’s enthusiasm can. Nanny had disappeared in the crowd with her beau—which was the concession Phoebe had made so she could have tonight.

Rose and Henry had each been given a sixpence and could not decide where to spend it first. The caramel apples? (Which, truth be told, could have used those few extra weeks on the tree that moving the festival had stolen from them, but the caramel made up for the
sourness.) The tart stall, where Cook’s blackberry tarts competed with cherry and gooseberry? Or perhaps they could go look at the livestock, the pigs and the sheep, the goats and the cows that farmers brought to show off—and possibly to sell, if the price was right. Rose started pulling them toward the Punch and Judy puppet show, while Henry wanted again to play the game where you use a fishing rod to snare a prize.

When the earl stood on the dais erected in the center of town, they dutifully went and watched as he was presented with a key to the town. Mr. Turner was next to him the entire time, the oversize iron key being passed off to him by the disdainful earl. He found Phoebe’s eyes in the crowd, and gave a shrug and a grin that said,
Look! I’ve got a key!
like the eager and exasperating man she was getting to know better with every breath.

The vicar and the ladies representing the bathing committee then read a statement
each
. They started short, but got longer and longer, so that by the time the vicar began pontificating, the crowd was twitching with desire to get back to the enjoyable parts of the festival.

Sir Nathan got up last, and thankfully kept it short: “Now that that’s over, let’s have some food and drink!”

The crowd cheered, Henry and Rose grinned, and a singer who had been brought in from Midville’s best pub took the stage and started a rousing rendition of a song with its words modified for children.

They stopped at every stall, each sixpence spent on sugars and sweets that had the children spinning in circles, their minds overloaded with colors and activity. From time to time they passed Mr. Turner, who seemed to have been roped into attending the earl that
day. He would tip his hat and, being pulled away by the earl, shrug and roll his eyes as if to say
I would rather be with you.

But one time, he did not get pulled away immediately, and they managed to exchange a few words.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.” She could not suppress the upturn at the corners of her mouth. “Again.”

“Are you having a good time?” he asked, turning his attention to the children.

“I had three tarts!” Henry cried, practically vibrating from the sweets. “And marzipan.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he replied drolly. “And you, Phoebe? What do you think of Hollyhock’s festival?”

She looked around at the festival. The people, the pageantry. The efforts of an entire town, coming together to make something wonderful. “I think it’s brilliant. Marvelous,” she replied simply, which made him grin.

“Miss Baker, can we watch the bruisers?” Rose asked, as only a bloodthirsty child can.

“Absolutely not. Young ladies do
not
go anywhere near the amateur boxing matches.”

“They are not running you ragged, are they?” he asked, nodding to Rose and Henry, who pouted only long enough for something new to catch their attention, this time a man walking a house cat on a leash.

“No,” she sighed. “Last year I had only been their governess for about a month before the festival. I was scared to death they would get hurt and I would get sacked. The nerves kept me on edge all day, then I went home and collapsed. Now I know they are basically in
destructible. Besides, this time I have wisely requested that we go back to the house when the other ladies do, to rest before the evening.”

“Ah,” he replied, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, that is indeed a fortunate suggestion.”

They stood there, in the middle of the festival, the world loud and laughing around them. But for that moment, when neither of them had a thing to say, lost in each other’s eyes, Phoebe could not help but feel as if she and her Mr. Turner were the only two people in the world.

“Mr. Turner!” called the earl, beckoning him.

He nodded at Rose and Henry. “Have a lovely rest of the afternoon, young Master Widcoate, Mistress Widcoate.” Then he tilted his head in toward hers and impulsively lifted her hand to his mouth. “And I will see you tonight.”

THE CHILDREN AND
Phoebe were loaded into the cart back to Puffington Arms, along with empty trays once filled with Cook’s tarts and a few of the ladies’ maids. The sugar was wearing off, Rose and Henry both glassy-eyed and tired on the drive back. The other ladies had squeezed themselves into the carriage. Lord Ashby and Mr. Turner would ride their horses back, and Sir Nathan was happy to be collected at the pub later.

Once they were back at Puffington Arms, the maids were immediately set to work, laying out gowns and gloves and pearls, drawing baths, and serving tea while the ladies of the house leaned back and relaxed into the
summer afternoon, happy to be away from the noise and excitement of the crowds.

Phoebe took the children to the nursery, undressed them, and made them lie down for a nap. By the time she had convinced them of the virtues of sleep, Nanny had returned, flushed with joy from a day spent in the company of her young man.

“I’ll take over watching them,” she said with a wink. “But first, come with me—I’ve got a surprise.”

A little bewildered, Phoebe took Nanny’s hand and was led quickly down to the bathing room on the second floor. There Nanny took a bob out of her pocket and handed it to Lady Widcoate’s personal lady’s maid.