Chapter Six
The Little Chillendale church hall was a fine edifice, having been built around the ruins of a fifteenth century priory. It was next door to the church, boasted a covered path between the two buildings, and the windows featured odd little designs in colored glass—remnants of the original stained glass creations in the church itself.
There was a large fireplace in which a massive log burned on this special evening, sending warmth throughout the space and over all the villagers who had come to enjoy the Fête. Chairs were arranged around the room, interspersed with long tables almost sagging under the weight of food.
The sound of young voices rose above the murmur of adult conversations, as every little one caught the excitement of being out with their families well past their bedtimes, and their eyes widened at the sight of so many different treats.
Lady Jocelyn and Sir Rodney were occupying the seats of honor, nearest the fire and farthest away from the noisiest of the children’s games. Although Lady Jocelyn had a small girl on her lap, and Sir Rodney a young boy at his feet playing with a very colorful windmill. His parents looked quite at home.
Reid smiled. They knew how to blend, how to be everything that they were born to be. They were honored, revered, and above all,liked. He hoped he would turn out the same way. There was one large chair off to the side of the fireplace, shrouded in a horse blanket. Reid would be sitting there in his incarnation as the Mistletoe Marquess. Since he was wearing a jacket and trousers made of deep green wool, all he had to do was place a wreath of mistletoe on his head and the thing was done. But he still enjoyed the excited looks he received from some of the older children who had attended the Fête several years in a row.
A stir heralded the arrival of the Southwicks, and Lady Mary led Emmeline inside with her head held high and an air of consequence. Many could be forgiven for assuming the tall lean man in brown behind them to be a servant or a coachman. In fact, he was neither of those things. He was Lord Southwick.
He must have been attractive when younger, mused Reid, watching them wend their way through the room. But now he seemed tired and gaunt. Of course, given who he was married to, Reid wasn’t surprised.
Being leg-shackled to a woman like Lady Mary would be enough to wear the strongest man down to the bone.
Putting on a socially acceptable expression of welcome, Reid strolled over and greeted the newcomers.
“Reid, dear. How lovely. And here’s Emmeline, looking just adorable this evening, wouldn’t you say?”
“My Lady.” Reid bowed over her hand. “And Miss Emmeline. Lovely as always.”
“So kind.” There was the blush and the giggle.
“My Lord. Good of you to join us.” Reid saluted Lord Southwick.
“Not much of a chance of doing otherwise,” sighed the older man. “You serving your ale, Reid?”
“Indeed yes.” He turned and pointed to the far side of the Hall. “If you’ll notice a basket full of holly over there? We’ve set up for a small tasting on that table.”
“You’re a good man. I’ll stop by and say hallo to your parents soon.”
“Very good, sir.” Reid bowed as Lord Southwick made a hasty departure toward the ale.
“Now Reid. We must talk about arrangements for the Ball, you know.” Lady Southwick had her hands clamped around his arm. “It’s getting quite close, and Emmeline…”A loud laugh distracted her and she turned toward the door. “Good heavens. Isn’t that Brent Rowdean?”
“Indeed it is. Although he’s properly known as Viscount Rowdean of Minter now, I believe, since his father passed.”
“AViscount?” Her grip on Reid’s arm lessened. “I had no idea.”
Reid was about to make some comment when another figure entered the hall behind Brent. It was one he recognized all too well.
“And who is that with the him, I wonder?” Lady Southwick dropped Reid’s arm completely.
“I shall make it my duty to find out, Ma’am. Excuse me.”
He managed not to run. He also managed not to shout out her name, but it was a close thing. Finally, he arrived at her side, hoping he hadn’t trodden on too many children to get there.
“Good evening.” It seemed such a mundane thing to say, but every other word seemed to have vanished from his brain.
She smiled at him, doing serious damage to his few remaining working brain parts. “Hullo.”
Brent grinned. “Reid, I’d like you to meet my cousin. Lady Prudence Eldridge. Pru, this is my oldest friend, Reid Chillendale. For several centuries, his family has been responsible for the best ale you’ll ever taste. Nobody knows how they do it, but there it is. Personally I think they’ve all got a touch of magic.”
Prudence laughed. “If it’s as good as you say, then I think you’re right. Magic it is.” She held out her hand. “Mr. Chillendale. Good evening.”
To his surprise, he took it and raised it to his lips. “You are most welcome to our little Fête, Lady Eldridge. Let me find you a seat.”
