To his surprised she rolled her eyes a little. “Please, Daniel, it is an enjoyable day once per year. My father even once took part in the competition. He bowed out after the third glass of ale, but he had a grand time. So will you. And Bridget is eager for you to take part. And win, I imagine.”
He noticed the hint of displeasure on her face, but it disappeared in a moment.
“It could be a way to impress her and win her heart. I am sure she has her hopes pinned on you winning and bestowing the coveted kiss onto her. Besides, it seems Mr. Mavis has no reservations. What is the worst that could happen? You find yourself having a good time?”
He swallowed. She truly had no idea and he did not wish to envision just what could happen.
Am I too worried? Could it really be that bad? Surely, I would find a way to manage. I always have. And she is right, I have made it known I wish to marry Bridget. As such, this would be a perfect opportunity to let the whole village know that…
He stopped himself mid-thought. The entire village would be there. He remembered the way Mr. and Mrs. Turvis had looked at him, full of alarm.
“Certainly, the villagers will not want the son of the mad Earl at their Harvest Festival,” he whispered to Penelope, who at once shook her head.
“It is exactly why you should come. I saw how they looked at you while we passed out our tidings. I know how much it bothered you. But please rest assured, it is only because they do not know you. If they did, they would react much different. They would surely respect you just as all of us in this group do. Come to the celebration, take part. Show the people who you really are.”
He sighed. “I suppose,” he said in an annoyed voice to Penelope. “But promise me that you will keep an eye on me. Should I begin to act out of sorts, or out of character due to the drinking, I’ll expect you to stop me.”
“I’ll look after you the same way I always did. Do not fret.”
“What is all of this whispering?” Alistair demanded. Daniel shook his head.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Lady Penelope has just convinced me that I ought to partake in the Harvest Festival. And so, I will.”
Bridget clapped her hands together. “It will be marvelous. You won’t regret it!”
“And the competition?” Mr. Hughes asked with a grin. “We could use some good competitors lest the baker win again like last year.”
“Yes,” he agreed with a groan. “And the competition.”
The party dissolved into cheers and claps, while Daniel stood silently by and fought the desire to rush back to the estate, jump upon his horse and ride somewhere far away where none of them would ever find him again.
Chapter 19
Daniel was seated in his study later that evening as he pored over the books of the estate to keep his mind off the upcoming Harvest Festival. It seemed his previous steward, Mr. Scott, had been as honest and honorable as he’d always suspected, as the books here were in order. More than in order. In fact, the steward had implemented a rigorous system to ensure anyone stepping into his shoes, even someone with as little experience at estate-keeping as Daniel, could follow and understand it.
There was a knock on the door, then Broward, the butler, entered.
“I am sorry to disturb you, My Lord. Mr. Percival is here to call on you.”
“Mr. Percival? At this hour?” He frowned but then shrugged. “Have him enter.”
A moment later, the elderly man made his way into his study, his arms full of papers and journals.
“Good evening, My Lord. I hope I am not disturbing you. You seem rather occupied.”
Daniel shook his head and motioned for Mr. Percival to sit. “Not at all. Only familiarizing myself with the estate business. It is fortunate Mr. Scott was such an excellent record keeper. I must say that I’d be lost otherwise.”
Mr. Percival smiled, which caused the gentle lines around his eyes to deepen. “They do not teach you much about estate keeping at Eton, I suppose?”
“Nothing, I declare. Nothing at all. It is all Latin, and math, and globes, and this history and that history. I can recite the entire monarchy: every King, Queen, and Regent all the way back to William the Conqueror, but I cannot tell you how to go about collecting taxes off my tenants.”
Mr. Percival grinned. “That is why you employ a steward. Most of us might not speak Latin, but we do know how to collect rent and taxes and deal with assorted issues that come up day-to-day. We each play our roles, do we not?”
“Indeed, we do. Now, what has brought you here at this late hour?”
The man nodded and placed his ledger on the table. “Right, well. As promised, here is a more throughout review of the men I deem suitable as stewards to succeed poor Mr. Scott. I hope they will be found with your approval. Some of them are currently employed, but I find that with the right incentive, that is not always a hindrance.”
Daniel took the ledger which contained what seemed like hundreds of pages on various suitable men. He slid it in his drawer.
