Page 46 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

“But there could be fire swallowing. You don’t know. You weren’t there.”

Kenneth’s mouth thinned. He glanced at Alice, and she saw a flicker of discomfort cross his features before he mastered it. He had not been to a village fair in years, she suspected.

Charlie sat beside her, his telescope balanced on one knee, his gaze fixed on the green blur of hedgerows beyond the glass. His elbow brushed her sleeve when the carriage swayed.

Miss Leyton occupied the remaining corner, her hands folded around a small reticule. She kept her mouth set in a line that suggested she understood precisely how difficult managing the twins would become once the carriage door opened.

The fair announced itself before the carriage crested the final hill. Music floated up from the valley, a fiddle and a squeeze-box tangled in some country reel.

Freddie scrambled across to the window and pressed his nose to the glass. “I can see tents. And a flag. There are people everywhere.”

Kenneth descended first. He offered his hand to Alice, and she took it, conscious of Miss Leyton climbing down behind her and the boys spilling out of the carriage door before the step had been properly lowered.

Langton Cross had transformed. The village green, which on ordinary days hosted nothing more exciting than a flock of geese and a war memorial, was crowded by canvas stalls, bunting strung between the elms, and a press of bodies that smelled of roasting meat and crushed grass and cider. A man in a leather apron was turning a pig on a spit near the church wall. Children darted between the stalls, clutching sticky buns. A woman sold ribbons from a tray balanced on her hip.

Alice could hardly believe how all this had come together so easily. Of course, her part in it was more that of a silent patron than an organizer. But it had kept the boys busy enough and had shown the tenant families her willingness to be involved in their lives.

Freddie seized her hand and pulled. “Sweets. I can smell them. This way.”

He dragged her through the crowd before she could object, and Charlie followed at a trot. She looked back over her shoulder to see Kenneth follow them leisurely.

The sweets stall occupied a prime spot near the maypole. Glass jars lined the table in rows: barley sugar, bull’s-eyes, pear drops, treacle toffee wrapped in wax paper, sugared almonds in three colors. The stallholder wore a stained apron and a grin that suggested she had been selling sweets to children for decades and found the work endlessly amusing.

“One each,” Alice said.

Freddie chose a paper twist of treacle toffee without hesitation. Charlie studied the jars for a full minute before pointing to the sugared almonds.

“Pink or white?” the stallholder asked.

“Pink, please.” Charlie took the small bag and held it against his chest.

“And you, Alice?” Freddie was already unwrapping his toffee. “You have to pick one. Fair rules.”

“I do not believe those are the rules.”

“They are now. I just made them. Pick.”

Alice pointed to the pear drops. The stallholder scooped a generous handful into a paper cone and winked.

Kenneth materialized beside her and paid for the pear drops. He stood close enough that his sleeve brushed hers, and she became aware of his height in a way she had not been since the carriage ride after the dinner party, when his body had filled her field of vision and his mouth had covered hers.

She took a step sideways.

Freddie, toffee bulging in one cheek, pointed across the green toward a cluster of barrels arranged beneath a canvas awning. “Apple bobbing! Alice, you must try it. You must.”

“I am a duchess, Frederick. I cannot put my head in a barrel in public.”

“Why not? Duchesses don’t eat apples?”

“Duchesses do not submerge their faces in water at village fairs for the entertainment of strangers.”

“Coward,” Freddie said, grinning.

Alice looked at the barrels. A line of children waited their turns, and a red-faced farmer presided over the contest, bellowing encouragement. The apples bobbed in the grey water, glossy and defiant.

She unfastened the ribbons of her bonnet and handed it to Miss Leyton. “Hold this, please.”

Kenneth’s eyebrows rose. She ignored him.