“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 hi
mself 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 the 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.