“Exactly. The fact you seemed impressed made me feel good. It was a confidence boost. I wanted to do well for you. At dinner each night, I couldn’t wait to update you on what I’d achieved.”
It was incredibly sweet. I wove my fingers through William’s and brought his hand to my lips to kiss it. His cheeks were wet.
“And then I go and do something stupid and prove I’m a himbo on horseback after all.”
“You’re not a himbo,” I said. “I never thought that. I’m sorry I said it. But if you are, you’remyhimbo. I am proud of you for what you’re achieving.”
William shook his head. “It’s humiliating. I’m a dumb rugby jock who’s unfit to be the lord of Buckford Hall, and thanks to that newspaper article, now everyone knows it. And today, I have to spend the whole day with my community, knowing they’ll all be thinkingWell, he’s clearly useless, we’re better off without him anyway.”
“They won’t,” I said.
“They will.”
“No, they’ll be thinking the new Lady Buckford looks fantastic in that vintage Westwood coat.”
“You aren’t?”
“I bloody well am. I’ve got prizes to hand out. Jumaane couriered it up from London especially.”
William laughed. “I love it. I know you’ll look beautiful.”
“And I’ll be right there beside you, whenever you need me. We’re a team, remember?”
William rested his head against mine. “Thank you.”
“Iamproud of you, William.” I wiped his wet cheeks with the cuff of my sleeve and kissed him. “And I’m going to be so proud to be seen on your arm today, in the village, in front of everyone, in defiance of the crap that’s been printed. The Buckfords are a united team.”
I kissed him gently on the lips. Then swung a leg around and straddled him, kissing him more deeply—his hands gripping my waist and pulling me down onto him.
“So tiny,” he said. He nodded towards Achilles. “I do have to finish this, though. You’re not the only one who needs to look their best today.”
“Achilles is coming to the fair?”
“Coming? He’s the star! Which reminds me. Did you happen to see if Bramley has finished polishing my suit of armour?”
“Pardon?”
Chapter 36
William
The sun was shining, children were running around squealing with delight, and the sweet smell of sugar filled the air. Newton Bardon Common was alive. Large marquees were buzzing with deliveries of things in want of judging—cakes, jams, flowers, poultry, handicrafts, and rudely shaped vegetables. The great and the good of the village were throwing balls at coconuts, dipping hands into the tombola, and shooting corks from wonky rifles to win highly flammable prizes. I was peering out at it all like a coward from the safety of the jauntily medieval red-and-blue-striped tent that was my base camp for the annual re-enactment of the Battle of Buckford Field. I stood at the tent flap, worrying it with my fingers.
Petey rested his chin on my shoulder. “I’m meant to be judging jam in forty-five minutes. Shall we go show our faces to your people?”
“Please don’t call them my people.”
“Well, aren’t they? You literally own the village.”
“I don’t own the people, though.”
A fellow in a Yorkist uniform walked past the tent and doffed his helmet in acknowledgement. “Morning, my lord.”
“Morning, Andy. I hear young Matthew is joining us for the first time this year.”
“That he is.”
“Well, he’ll make an adorable addition to the battlefield. Tell him if he can fight his way to me, I’ll kill him myself.”
