“I feel fine, thank you. The sling helps when I am standing for long periods.”
“If I may have a word, my lady?”
Sophie turned to find a man behind her. Round rosy cheeks, heavy jowls, with not a hair on his head, he wore a pink-and-navy waistcoat embroidered with gold threads and teamed with primrose-yellow pantaloons.
Both she and Amelia blinked at the sight.
“I am Squire Pickles, my lady, and we would be honored if you would judge the pie contest,” he said, sinking into a bow that seemed to take a long time and a huge amount of effort. Just when Sophie feared he would topple, he righted himself with a loud bark of laughter.
“Lord Coulter, it seems, is running behind schedule,” Squire Pickles boomed as he looked at his pocket watch.
“He is not here?” Sophie asked. Ribble had said he’d gone on ahead of them to the village.If he isn’t here, where is he?
“Lord Coulter never misses our competition, so I know it is only a matter of minutes before he arrives,” Squire Pickles said. “So, if you would step in until he does, we would be grateful.”
Sophie was not overly fond of pies and had already eaten her fair share of Amelia’s sweets, yet she could see refusal was not an option.
Where is Patrick?Was this tightness in her chest and worry gnawing at her belly what he’d experienced yesterday? Because if so, she was even more understanding now.
“Of course, Mr. Pickles, the countess would be delighted to judge,” Amelia said when she felt Sophie had hesitated too long to give her answer.
“Excellent, excellent! If you will follow me, my lady, we shall begin.”
“I don’t even like pies,” she hissed at Amelia.
Her friend gasped. “But that is sacrilege. In this country, we are born eating them. Get up there, do your duty, and smile while doing so,” Amelia said. “I will sit here and wait for you, Sophie.” Amelia pointed to a group of seats close to the tables set up with pies.
“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” Sophie hissed. “Where is Patrick? He should be here by now.”
“He will be.”
“What if something has happened to him?”
“He has Lord Sumner with him. I’m sure they’ve just been delayed. Now, focus on smiling and being the Countess of Coulter.”
As yet, she had not told Amelia the truth about her identity but knew one day that, too, would have to be shared. She hoped her friend was as understanding as Patrick and Stephen when that time came.
She gave her friend a weak smile. Amelia popped another piece of fudge into her mouth and smiled back.
CHAPTER 42
“At least you get to try a piece of them all. I must buy one of each if I want the same privilege,” Stephen said as they galloped toward the village.
Is Sophie there yet?
“Yes, as you can imagine, judging the pie competition is a day I look forward to every year,” Patrick said.
Stephen had wanted to go to his estate on the way to the fete to check on a foal. As it turned out, the birth was a difficult one, and it had taken both of them to assist the mother in the delivery.
Both were now tucked in a stable, being watched over by Stephen’s staff.
“Squire Pickles will be displeased at your tardiness,” Stephen added.
“I doubt that. The man is always happy no matter what life throws his way.”
“Do you know, if you just told Sophie you were sorry and you loved her, then all the sighing and wringing of hands you’ve done today would cease,” Stephen said as they rode over the bridge and into the village.
Patrick pulled his mount to a halt and looked at Stephen. “I have never once in my life wrung my hands,” he snapped.
