“And these are Anna and Isabelle, right?” Mason nodded to the two servant girls, who nodded in agreement.
Then, one of the girls leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice as though she were sharing the most precious of secrets. “If you make your way past the fountain and toward the green, YourGrace, you’ll come to the Maypole. They’ll be starting the ribbon dance soon; it’s the prettiest part of the festival.”
The other nodded eagerly. “And if you stay until dusk, there’ll be lanterns lit all along the square. Looks like a sky full of stars come down to earth.”
Mason inclined his head, smiling. “We’ll be sure not to miss it. Thank you both.”
Cordelia’s eyes lit with that eager curiosity he had already grown fond of, and she added warmly, “Yes, thank you. It sounds perfectly magical.”
The girls beamed at them, cheeks pink with pleasure, before offering another quick curtsy. “Enjoy the day.”
And with that, they vanished into the moving swell of villagers, their laughter trailing behind them as they were swallowed by the crowd.
Mason stood for a moment watching them go, then glanced at Cordelia. She looked just as delighted as when they’d first stepped into the square, as though she intended to drink in every sound, every color, every moment. He felt a quiet satisfaction at the thought of showing her more.
Cordelia tilted her head at him, an amused sparkle in her eyes. “I must say, I did not expect a duke to know his servants by name.”
Mason arched a brow, feigning offense. “And why not?”
She smirked. “Oh, I suppose I imagined you had far too many to keep track of.”
“But you’ve forgotten the fact that old families such as mine like to have the same servants for years, decades even,” he explained.
She smirked. “But those two,” she gestured in the direction the girls had gone, “can’t have been in your service for very long. They’re far too young.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s because they’re the daughters of my gardener, Mr. Robinson. Both born at our house here. I’ve known them since they could barely toddle without falling into the flowerbeds.”
“Ah,” she said with mock solemnity though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “That makes sense. I shall forgive your suspiciously familiar knowledge of them, then.”
“Glad to hear it.” He offered her his arm, his smile deepening. “Now that I’ve explained myself enough to satisfy your curiosity, would you care to see the ribbon dance?”
Her eyes brightened at once. “Yes, please,” she said with the unguarded enthusiasm of a child promised a sweet.
The sheer delight in her voice was enough to make his own chest feel lighter. “Then we mustn’t waste a moment,” he said,matching her quickening step, her joy so infectious that he found himself grinning like a fool without even trying.
Mason followed Cordelia toward the Maypole, his gaze never leaving her. The square seemed to fade around him, the bustling crowd, the fiddles and flutes, the scents of roasted nuts and fresh bread, all of it melting into a blur as he watched her.
She darted ahead a step then paused, eyes widening with delight as the dancers twirled around the tall pole, long ribbons streaming in a rainbow of color. The sunlight caught the ribbons and made them glitter like spun sugar, and the gentle wind tugged at Cordelia’s gown, causing her skirts to flutter and her dark hair to lift slightly.
He noticed how her pale blue eyes caught every detail, how her small hands reached out as if she could touch the ribbons themselves. The faintest laugh escaped her lips, light and musical, and he felt it echo in his chest, tugging at him in ways he hadn’t yet allowed himself to admit.
The smell of warm earth, mingled with fresh-cut flowers tied to the Maypole, seemed to follow her as she stepped closer. He could see the soft curve of her shoulders, the graceful tilt of her head as she absorbed every movement, every color, every sound. Even the squeals of children racing around the edges of the circle seemed to frame her, highlighting her presence.
She spun in a small circle herself, just enough to let her gown swirl lightly, and he caught the tiniest of smiles playing at her lips. His own lips twitched in response before he even realizedit. He could not stop thinking how utterly alive she seemed, how impossible it was to look at her and not feel drawn in completely, as though every other detail of the world existed only to showcase her delight.
Cordelia’s voice rang out across the Maypole, bright and teasing. “Come, Mason! Surely even a duke can manage a ribbon or two!”
He shook his head, attempting a mock grimace. “I’m afraid I am utterly hopeless at such… coordinated feats.”
Her laughter rang clear, full and unrestrained, and it had a way of breaking down his stubborn resistance. She stepped closer, and he noticed her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Oh, nonsense! You only need a partner, and I insist on being that partner.”
He tried to protest again, but the warmth of her gaze and the playful lift of her chin rendered him powerless. “Very well,” he admitted. “If you insist, I suppose I must endure.”
Cordelia clapped her hands in delight, and he took her hand carefully, as though it were the most precious thing he might ever hold. The music started again, and together, they approached the ribbons.
Their first steps were tentative, stiff, as Mason tried to follow her lead. Cordelia, ever patient, laughed softly with each small misstep, her hand firm yet gentle in his. He stumbled a little, she twirled, and the ribbon between them wove in a chaotic, yet somehow perfect pattern.
By the third turn, he found a rhythm. It was not perfect, but it was steady enough, and the awkwardness faded into something sweeter. He caught the look of pure joy on her face, the sparkle in her eyes, and he could not help but smile fully, allowing himself to be lost in the moment.
