While she talked she kept an eye on her guests, but they all seemed quite taken with this, for them uncommon, slice of English life. Lady Kleber and the general in particular seemed in their element; they’d stopped to talk with the woodcarver.
She was turning away when another large group came through from the stabling area. Michael steered the Swedish and Finnish contingents she’d billeted at the Manor into the main clearing, pausing to point out various stalls. She watched him smile and charm the Verol-stadt girls, but when they went off, parasols gaily bobbing in their parents’ wake, he remained where he was.
Then he turned his head, looked straight at her, and smiled.
A warm glow filled her; he’d known she was there. Not only that, but his smile—the smile he seemed to save just for her—was quite different. Somehow more real. He started toward her; she went forward to meet him. He took her hand, deftly raised it to his lips, kissed it.
His eyes on hers reminded her, stirred memories inappropriate to indulge in while in public. She felt a blush tinge her cheeks, tried to frown. “Don’t.”
His smile deepened. “Why not?” He wound her arm in his and turned her toward the homemade wines. “You look delicious when you blush.”
Delicious. Of course he would use that word.
She retaliated by ensuring he bought two bottles of Mrs. Crabthorpe’s elderberry wine, then guided him around the stalls, loading him with produce, even making him purchase two doilies from Miss Ellerton, who blushed even more rosily than she had.
His eyes laughed at her; indeed, he bore her managing in such good vein she started to become suspicious. Then they came upon Mrs. Entwhistle, who exclaimed at his load and insisted on relieving him of it; all the packages disppeared into her capacious bag while she waved aside his protests. “It’s no difficulty at all, sir. Hardacre’s here— he’ll see me home.”
“Ah, good.” Michael’s expression eased. “Given our guests won’t be returning, I meant what I said earlier— please spend as long as you like here, all of you. I don’t expect to be back until late. After all your hard work, you deserve some fun.”
Mrs. Entwhistle beamed. “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell the others. This
“If I see him, I’ll tell him, but do spread the word.”
They parted; Caro felt her instincts pricking, but she couldn’t fathom over what. Then Muriel saw them and swooped.
“Excellent! Just in time to perform the official opening.” Muriel ran her eye critically over Michael, as if expecting to find something to correct.
When she frowned, defeated, Caro hid a smile; for this setting, for his role, Michael was sartorially impeccable in a perfectly tailored riding jacket in brown-and-green tweed, his cravat snowy white, simply styled, his waistcoat an understated brown velvet, his breeches tight-fitting buckskins that disppeared into gleaming topboots. He looked the part he was there to play, the part he wished to project to this audience, that of a gentleman accustomed to moving in the highest circles, but who also was one of them, approachable, not above riding through their lanes, a man who appreciated their country pleasures as they did.
Had Muriel really thought he’d falter?
More, that if he had, that she, Caro, wouldn’t have put him right?
Linking her arm more definitely in his, she nodded to a dray drawing up before the stalls. “Is that the platform?”
Muriel looked. “Yes, indeed! Come along.”
Muriel strode ahead, calling to others to gather around. Seeing Reverend Trice, she imperiously directed him to the dray.
Michael caught Caro’s eye; the glance they shared was one of complete understanding and politely suppressed amusement.
Reaching the dray, Caro slid her arm from Michael’s and stood watching as he climbed up, assisted Reverend Trice up, then looked around, nodding and exchanging salutes with those he’d yet to chat with while they waited. Muriel came striding back; at her sharp command, numerous hands helped her up to the dray’s tray.
Regaining her balance, Muriel smoothed down her skirts. She was a large woman, taller than Caro and rather heavier; in her dark green gown she looked imposing and severe. In a ringing voice, she called the crowd to order; briefly mentioning the long history of the fete and its purpose in raising funds for the physical betterment of the church, she graciously if somewhat superiorly thanked those who had assisted in staging today’s event.
Muriel stepped back, inviting Reverend Trice to address the crowd. His tones imbued with the authority of his office, he accepted the support of the community and thanked all who had assisted and all who had come to share in the event in the name of the church and the Almighty.
Michael spoke last; it was instantly apparent he was the most gifted speaker of the three. His attitude was relaxed, his message succinct, his tone and inflections natural and assured as he applauded their community spirit, alluded to its strength, and how it owed its existence to each and every one of them. With just a few words, he bound them together, made each individual feel personally included. Then, drawing on local lore, thus subtly underscoring that he was one of them, he made them laugh, and then, speaking over the laughter, owned himself honored to declare the fete officially open.
The emphasis he placed on “officially” left everyone with a smile on their face; in true country fashion, no one had waited for any official sanction.
Caro had heard many such speeches, but not before from him. Yet she knew talent when she heard it; the Prime Minister’s push to promote Michael into the Cabinet, where his eloquence would be of even more use to the government, now made complete sense.
Watching him shake hands with Reverend Trice and exchange a few words with Muriel, she sensed he was a politician who, although already successful, still had further to go. He had the talent to be a real power, but had yet to fully develop his strengths; to her experienced eyes, that was very clear.
He jumped down from the dray and rejoined her. Smiling, she took his arm. “You’re very good at that, you know.”
Michael looked into her eyes, read her sincerity, lightly shrugged. “It runs in the family.”
Her smile deepened and she looked away; he seized the moment to tuck the compliment safely away in his mind. Such praise from her would have been gold in any case, yet now it meant much more.
The crowd had returned to the stalls and the various activities— the horseshoe throwing, the woodchopping and archery contests, among others. Despite her long absences, Caro was popular; as they strolled, people came up to greet her. And him. She was easy to spot in her summery gown of wide white and gold vertical stripes. She hadn’t bothered with a hat; a gauzy gold scarf lay about her throat, protecting her fine skin from the sun.
Many members of the Ladies’ Association stopped them, congratulating her on her idea of steering her ball guests to the fete, thus, as was quite evident about them, ensuring a special success for the day. Again he was struck by her facility for knowing what was happening in the lives of so many, even though she so rarely resided at Bramshaw; she picked up snippets from this one and that, and always seemed to remember to whom they applied when she next met that person.
He had more than one reason for clinging to her side; she commanded his attention on so many levels. Luckily, the fete was primarily Muriel’s responsibility; when he asked, Caro confirmed that, as he’d supposed, once she’d delivered her guests as promised, her duty was discharged.
And she was free.
He bided his time, buying a selection of savories and two glasses of Mrs. Hennessy’s pear wine to take the edge from their visceral hunger.
Normally, at such gatherings most participants would remain all day. The ball guests, who to a person had attended, had made their own arrangements for departure, instructing their coachmen to stop in the nearby clearing at prearranged times. There was no reason, therefore, that he and Caro could not remain until late afternoon.
He gave her no hint that he planned anything else. Arm in arm, they wended through the now considerable crowd, meeting others, in between amusing each other with observations and anecdotes that, un-surprisingly, were
