A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(72)

“Hardly.” But Bram had taken the picnic invitation in earnest. In anticipation of their guests, his militia volunteers had set out canopies and blankets and heaped a table with refreshments, courtesy of the Blushing Pansy. At least, he assumed the Fosburys’ establishment was back to being the Blushing Pansy. The building was returned to rights, but last he’d been in the village, no sign at all had swung above the red-painted door.

“Rufus and Finn seem to have mended their differences,” she observed.

“They’ve learned their lesson. That they’ll catch more female attention united in mischief than divided by rancor.”

The twins had tied a scarf to that dratted lamb, and offered a prize to the first girl to remove it. Giving chase, Charlotte dashed after Dinner for the full length of the keep, only to catch her toe on a rock and sprawl to the ground.

Beside him, Susanna gave a sharp gasp. She clutched Bram’s hand. Even through her gloves, her fingernails bit into his flesh.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “They’re made of India rubber at that age. She’ll bounce back up.”

He understood, in that moment, how keenly she felt it when any of her young ladies suffered the smallest humiliation or pain. When the situation demanded it, as was the case during Diana’s attack, she could be strong and collected and brave. But here with him, she didn’t hide her concern. She would allow him to comfort her. And perhaps, someday, she would listen patiently if a dark, dreary night found him well in his cups and he drunkenly confessed to still feeling scores of wounds that weren’t his own, but those of men under his command.

As they looked on, Mr. Keane helped Charlotte to her feet. The girl gamely brushed out her skirts. Fosbury offered a consolatory teacake, and everyone watching had a good-natured laugh.

“She’s unharmed.” He squeezed her fingers, only too glad for the excuse. “See?”

“Poor dear.” She didn’t withdraw her hand. Instead, she leaned into him, just a little. “But after that disaster with the tea shop, it’s good to see them all like this. The ladies and men together, enjoying each other’s company.”

“They’d best enjoy themselves now,” he said. “After this morning, there’ll be no time for amusement. Every soul in Spindle Cove will have a great deal of work ahead of him.”

“Or her,” she finished pointedly. “Right. We should go down and make the announcement. If we’re asking them to work together, I think it’s important we present a united front.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, as they descended the circling stone staircase. He paused, just before they stepped onto the green. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t I introduce you as the future Lady Rycliff?”

Her eyes flew wide with panic. “Because I’m not?”

“Not yet.” But you will be. She ought to know he had no idea of abandoning his suit, only postponing it. He considered. “The future future Lady Rycliff, perhaps? Or I could just call you my mistress.”

“Bram!” She nudged him in the ribs.

“My illicit lover, then.” At her pained look, he said, “What? So long as you refuse to marry me, that’s exactly what you are.”

“You’re horrid.”

“You love it.”

“God help me,” she whimpered, as he tugged her out of the keep and onto the bailey green.

“Gather round,” Bram called as they came to stand in the center of the grassy expanse. “Miss Finch and I have some announcements to make.”

At his use of her proper name, Susanna exhaled with relief. She hoped Bram wouldn’t be so bold as to announce their tryst as a matter of public business . . . but after that narrow escape with Papa yesterday, she wasn’t sure she could put it past him.

All around the green, the ladies and men exchanged intrigued glances as they set aside their teacakes and lemonade to listen.

“As you all know,” Bram began, “I’ve given my word to Sir Lewis Finch, and by proxy, the Duke of Tunbridge, that Spindle Cove will present a field review. A precise, choreographed display of our military might and readiness on the date of the midsummer fair, scarcely more than a fortnight away.”

The men looked to one another.

Aaron Dawes shook his head. “Rather a daunting task, my lord.”

“A daunting task?” Fosbury said. “Try ‘hopeless.’ We can’t march in a straight line.”

“We don’t even have proper uniforms,” Keane added.

A murmur of general agreement rippled through the crowd.

“We’re not hopeless,” Bram said, in an authoritative voice that made everyone present snap to attention, Susanna included. “Nor even daunted. We have manpower. We have supplies. And we have a plan.” He waved to her. “Miss Finch will explain.”

Susanna held up the list in her gloved hand. “We’re all going to work together. The ladies and the men.”

“The ladies?” Mrs. Highwood exclaimed. “What place have ladies in planning a militia review?”

Susanna replied calmly, “In Spindle Cove, ladies can do anything. I know it’s outside the realm of our usual activities, but on this short notice, everyone must contribute according to his or her strongest talents. The men need our help, and we need the men to succeed. If the militia is found lacking, do you think the duke will leave the castle unprotected? No. He will surely send other troops to encamp here. And needless to say, if a company of strange soldiers encamp on these bluffs, Spindle Cove as we know it”—she turned her gaze from lady to lady—“as we love and need it, will cease to exist.”