Page 33 of The Trials of Alaric
His expression appeared alarmed. “Your first? And I kissed you in a closet among the linens? You deserve better than that.”
“I think a kiss any better than that would kill me, Alaric,” she replied.
*
A kiss thatwould kill her! Bea’s innocent remark had Alaric thinking about what the French calledla petite mort—“the little death.” That brief loss of consciousness accompanying the most exquisite of climaxes. How he would love to bring Bea to that moment, and to watch her as she experienced her firstpetite mort.
He would have preferred to linger in the linen closet remembering their kisses. Or to go for a long walk to think about what made that kiss different to anything he’d ever experienced before. Sadly, he was needed at the fête. Anything might have happened while he was absent.
Luke had everything under control, however, though he was pleased to hand over the responsibilities to Alaric. With the increasing number of arrivals, Luke was needed to supervise those who were shepherding carriages, carts, and horses to the prepared waiting areas, and checking pedestrians as they entered at the outer gatehouse.
After that, Alaric had no time to think about anything but the contests, the contestants, and the judges. Or, at least, all the judges who did not happen to be gentry. Beverley was being diligent about looking after the upper class only. The middle sort and the working class were beneath his attention, and Alaric didn’t want to make a fuss while others were around, so he got away with it, the arrogant blellum.
By the time Lord Claddach announced the opening of the fête, the grounds were already crowded. “Has everyone on the entire island downed their tools for the day to come to the fête?” Alaric wondered aloud. The people who were waiting patientlyin the sun for the produce tent to open chorused a resounding, “Yes,” though one woman added, “Those who can be spared.”
The contest schedule and Maddrell’s pocket watch were seldom out of Alaric’s hand after that. He had a cadre of contest stewards—footmen, maids, and volunteers from the town—but not a minute went by without a question to be answered, a difficulty to be smoothed, an ego to be stroked. Thank goodness many of the stewards had done this before and could help out when he was stumped.
He moved from contest to contest, staying long enough to congratulate winners, commiserate with losers, and thank judges, then hurry on to the next. Beverley appeared occasionally, escorting a judge he regarded as lofty enough to merit his consideration.
In the heat of the sun, Alaric soon left his cravat in his coat in one of the judges’ tents. Even so, he welcomed the moments under one of the marquees erected to shade the animals, even with the noise and accumulating smell.
Beverley was least in sight when several of the bull pens proved to be more fragile than intended, and a trio of bulls made a break for the pens holding the heifers.
Fortunately, one took exception to the romantic intentions of the other two, and while they were disputing the matter, Alaric managed to organize the owners of the bulls and a number of other islanders, sending a contingent to shore up the bull pens, and setting the others to diverting the bulls toward the pall-mall alley, with its sturdy walls.
Thank goodness for Luke! He saw what was happening and brought the men answering to him to help with the herding, so the incident was soon over, and Alaric could get back to the next contest.
When the last of the contests ended, he still was not finished, though Beverley had left with the judges who were invited todinner. Someone had to supervise an orderly clean up, and Alaric supposed that someone would be him.
A group of three people—two men and one woman—approached him. Alaric, with an internal sigh, gave them a smile and prepared to listen. He’d met them all in the course of the day, though he’d lost their names in the flood of introductions the day had held. A church warden from the other side of the island, the wife of the island’s foremost boatbuilder, and the town’s mayor. The church warden spoke first.
“Well, boyo, it’s a good job ye’ve done this day.”
“Aye,” said the mayor, “the job of three men.” He chuckled. “Or, I should say, of two men and one woman.”
“And that we know for a fact, you darlin’ man,” declared the boatbuilder’s wife, with a broad smile. “For would’na we three have been after doin’ what you did today if his lordship had’na set you to the task?”
Alaric stared at them, speechless.
“Aye, lad,” the mayor confirmed. “Ye’re looking at the contest steward.” He spread his hands in a gesture that included all three of them.
“We’ve come to take over, boyo,” the church warden told him.
“Ye’ve earned a rest, and so you have,” the boatbuilder’s wife said, kindly.
“Besides, ye’ve got a fine dinner to dress for, I understand,” the mayor reminded him.
It crossed Alaric’s mind to wonder if this was one of Lord Claddach’s tests. Was he supposed to insist on working on till everyone had gone home? But the woman was right. If he did so, he was likely to be late for dinner.
Then Luke strolled up, with Meadowsweet and Fairweather. “Ah, good,” he said, with a nod and a smile at the three islanders.“I see you’ve got your marching orders. Come and walk up to the castle with us.”
Looking up at the path to the castle, Alaric could see others walking that path. “Howard and Dashwood have already gone,” Luke told him.
It must be right, if the others were gone.
He shook the hands of each of the islanders, thanking them. “Not at all, lad,” the mayor said.
“You did us a favor, boyo,” the church warden told him. “First time in years I’ve had fête day off.”
