Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(72)

“Well, of course they are,” Gwyneth said. “Dad and Aled will be at the church until the children and young people in the choir stage some sort of mutiny.”





Chapter Eighteen





Devlin had not expected to be gone so long. He would stay perhaps an hour with Idris, he had thought. He had certainly not expected to have all his emotions wrung dry. The more fool he, to let them come bubbling up like that, as though he had learned nothing in six years.

He had intended to call at the village inn on his way back to Ravenswood. And he would, by God, do it anyway, he thought, gritting his teeth as he left Cartref behind. It was something that needed doing, and he was not going to have wrung-out emotions dictating his actions and driving him home to hide.

The choir practice was still on at the church, he could hear as he rode past. Poor Steph. She would be hoarse. Though she had been a loyal member of the choir when she was a child and must have remained loyal ever since then. He would ask her what singing meant to her. He was terribly out of touch with his siblings’ lives.

There were a few people in the taproom at the inn—all men. They all looked a bit wary when he stepped inside the room. An awkward silence fell. Jim Berry, the innkeeper, was behind the counter, wiping it off with a wet cloth.

“Good afternoon.” Devlin included everyone in his greeting and his nod.

There was a low growl of returned pleasantries.

“What may I get you, my lord?” the innkeeper asked him.

“A glass of ale would go down nicely,” Devlin said, and he stood at the counter to drink it after the tankard had been set before him, foam all but spilling over the brim. He was trying not to remember that his father had died here.

“That’s a wicked scar you have there, my lord,” the innkeeper said.

“I like to think it makes me look more manly,” Devlin said, and everyone chose to laugh heartily, as though he had just made the joke of the week—as they had used to do almost every time his father opened his mouth. “I understand there is to be an assembly upstairs here next week, Jim.”

Jim Berry had resumed his task of wiping off the counter. His hand paused midswipe and he looked warily at Devlin. “Aye, there is,” he said.

“The assembly rooms are small, I remember,” Devlin said. “I thought we might hold it at Ravenswood again. The ballroom there is a bit more spacious.” A lot more, actually.

“Aye, that it is,” the landlord agreed.

“I believe everyone pays to attend the assemblies here,” Devlin said. “To cover the rental cost.”

“And other things,” Jim Berry said. “The orchestra. Extra hands to help. And more.”

“You normally provide all the drinks?” Devlin asked.

He was aware that everyone else in the taproom was avidly listening.

“I do,” the innkeeper said, his hand still motionless as it held the cloth. “I have already put in an extra order. And the missus has ordered what she will need for the food.”

“The admission charge covers all those expenses?” Devlin asked.

“With a bit of profit for me and the missus,” the landlord said defensively. “There is a lot of work involved, my lord. It is a business I am running here, not a charity.”

“We never had to pay nothing in them days when the assemblies was at the hall,” someone said from a dark corner of the room.

“You will not have to this time either,” Devlin said. “Perhaps I can send some wagons here on the day, Jim, to carry everything over to the hall. I can arrange for Mrs. Berry to talk with my cook if she would like. Perhaps she can direct operations and do the cooking there. Maybe you would care to serve the drinks, with a bit of help from some of the footmen at the hall. You can make an estimate of the number of people who attend and I can pay you the full fee, just as if the assembly had been held here. What do you think?”

Jim Berry looked at him with slightly squinted eyes. “The old earl never paid me nothing,” he said. “And he had the countess do all the planning. And all of you. The servants did all the cooking and serving.”

Really? His father had taken away what must have been fairly lucrative business from the innkeeper without thinking to compensate him?

“Them rooms are a bit on the small side, though, when everyone decides to come,” Jim admitted. “You would let me serve the ale and spirits, my lord? At Ravenswood? I don’t have no fancy uniform to wear.”

“I do not believe any of the guests would have a fit of the vapors at the sight of you as you usually look,” Devlin said.

“Wear a clean apron, though, Jim,” one of his other customers said.

“Will it be workable?” Devlin asked. “Or would you rather keep things as they are?”

“We can work in partnership for other assemblies too?” Jim asked, swiping again at his already clean counter.

“It sounds like a good idea to me,” Devlin said. “My mother will no longer be burdened with the planning of every social event at the hall. I may hire someone to do it, or—”

“People around here would be only too happy to get back to all their old committees, my lord,” Jim Berry said, cutting him off. “The way things used to be when I was little more than a lad. Everyone pitched in to plan and help and we didn’t have to pay nobody to do it for us. We was a real community then.”