Neil hadn’t raised his voice, but suddenly it seemed very loud. He was vaguely aware that the chatter and laughter amongst the stalls had faded. Aunt Harriet had appeared from somewhere.
“I—I beg your pardon?” Lord Farendale stammered.
“I am the Duke of Burenwood,” Neil said, his tone quiet and deadly clear. “It is tradition that the duke attends the fair, and his household with him. My aunt invited you here as my guests; that makes you part of my household. Therefore, you will attend.”
Lord Farendale opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Surely you can’t mean—” Lady Constance began, her voice breaking into a nervous laugh. “Think of the filth! The impropriety! Papa never lets us—”
“You will all stay,” Neil said, slowly, deliberately. “You will smile. You will be civil to my tenants. And you will not embarrass yourselves—or me—further. If you do, you will learnexactlywhy they call me the Gambling Devil. Do you understand?”
There was an instant of shocked silence. Then Lord Farendale nodded tightly, swallowing.
“I’ll manage her, your Grace,” he muttered.
Neil turned on his heel and walked away. This time, nobody followed him.
***
By about one o’clock in the afternoon, the fair was bustling with activity. The makeshift boardwalks were thick with mud, barely indistinguishable from the mud surrounding them. At least a dozen people slid off the boards and fell flat into the mud, to the hilarity of their companions. However, at least six or seven of them had been overindulging at the cider stall, which ought to be taken into consideration.
Lord Farendale and his daughter had diligently avoided Neil since their altercation. He was not much surprised. He suspected that they would make their excuses and leave. Frankly, he was relieved. Their presence was cloying, a memory of a world he’d rather leave behind.
Abruptly, he turned a corner and found himself face to face with Maggie, Jenny, and Emma.
“Uncle!” Emma squealed, holding up her arms for a hug. He swept her up, laughing.
“Are you enjoying the fair, my darling?” he asked, grinning.
“She is, very much,” Maggie spoke up, laughing. “She ate quite a bit of marzipan from one of the stalls. I should have stopped her, I think. She’ll never eat her dinner.”
Neil chuckled, tapping the tip of Emma’s nose. “Ah, a small indulgence is permitted at the fair. Have you seen the game stalls? Won anything?”
“No,” Emma sighed. “Jenny wanted to try, but I didn’t want her to spend her ha’penny on me.”
“Very noble,” Neil said. “Fortunately, I have plenty of ha’pennies to waste.”
He carried her toward a shy—a game of throwing stones at glass bottles. The boy at the counter straightened at the sight of him.
“Five throws, Your Grace. Knock down three, and you win sweets. Four, a small prize. Five, one of the toys.”
Neil studied the prizes lined up along the shelf. The sweets were the same kind sold elsewhere—brightly coloured, cloying, and far too sugary. The smaller prizes were marbles and a handful of carved wooden animals. The larger ones were ragdolls, each with its own crooked charm.
Grinning, Neil took up his first stone. Beside him, Emma rose on her tiptoes to peer over the counter. Jenny bent to whisper something in her ear, and Emma gave a small, delighted giggle.
Maggie stood silent, and still he felt her gaze—steady, curious, impossible to ignore.
He threw. One bottle fell, then another, then a third.
“Hooray, Uncle!” Emma squealed, clapping.
Neil smiled tightly, the muscles in his neck taut. Four bottles. One left.
He dared not glance at Maggie. If he did, he would miss.
The fifth bottle clattered to the ground.
“That one!” Emma cried, pointing to a red-haired doll. “Can I have that one?”
