“No ‘firstly.’ No ‘secondly.’” Frederick drew closer, his voice lowering in clear warning. “I cannot protect every lady in Haverford from your ‘attentions,’ but I can protecther.”
“That is monstrously unfair! You already have Miss Keats secured, and now you would bar me from another lady?” Timothy’s shoulders fell, his tone growing exasperated. “But I suppose it is rude of me to risk your standing with yoursweetheart if things sour with Miss Ashbrook. You were there first, and all that.”
Instinct urged Frederick to correct the misunderstanding, but as it served his purpose, it mattered not one jot if his brother believed his motives were mercenary. Besides, it was true in its way: he would not allow another to hurt Thea, not even indirectly. Miss Ashbrook held a piece of her heart, sharing her pains as if they were her own, and for that alone Frederick would protect the lady—even if she had not been worthy of his care and respect in her own right.
Timothy shuffled in place, glancing out at the gathering (though his gaze did not return to Miss Ashbrook), and a moment later, he wandered off. Frederick hoped and prayed that the ladies of Haverford had protectors. Even if transactional marriages were “the way of things.”
That blasted phrase.
The more he thought on it, the more it itched and pinched like a poorly constructed garment. It smacked of childhood, excusing one’s own conduct by pointing to the failings of others and laying responsibility anywhere but at one’s own door. But common consent did not validate cruelty and selfishness, and others’ poor behavior did not absolve one’s own.
And what difference was there between Timothy tricking a woman into marrying him or robbing the tradesmen to bolster the Vosses’ lifestyle? For all that Devins’s words were enticing, both options ended with others being made to suffer for another’s poor financial decision. To pay for Mr. Ephraim Voss’s wild speculation.
Those thoughts followed Frederick as his gaze drifted across the village green. There was still no sign of Thea, though he knew her to be here. Somewhere. And then, there was the issue of Miss Ashbrook. Timothy likely wouldn’t return to her side, but could he risk it?
Frederick slipped into the seat beside the lady, and she gave a start, though her expression softened when she spied which of the Voss brothers sat beside her. She glanced over his shoulder, but Frederick waved her concern away.
Drawing in a breath, the lady let it out, her shoulders seeming to sag with relief. “My apologies, Mr. Voss. I am a bit… anxious this afternoon.”
“I apologize on my brother’s behalf, Miss Ashbrook. He shan’t pester you again.”
“I… I didn’t mean to imply… I…” Miss Ashbrook’s cheeks flushed as she stammered, but Frederick held up a staying hand.
“I know precisely what was happening, and you needn’t worry that it will continue.”
That drew forth a deeper blush, but gratitude shone in her warm eyes, and for the first time in some days, a genuine smile crossed Frederick’s lips. Though small, a good deed was a good deed, and after weeks of receiving complaints and condemnations, he was pleased to have brought someone joy.
A hush rippled through the crowd, spreading outward like a breeze through tall grass, and all eyes turned toward the makeshift stage near the edge of the green, where a cluster of men in costumes stumbled into view as the villagers cheered.
Clothed in a mountain of furs bound about him with a thick leather belt, Winter emerged with a face powdered white and a grizzled-looking beard affixed to his face. Lumbering across the stage, the figure bemoaned the coming warmth, shaking his cudgel at the sky while the children shrieked with delight and jeered at him in turn.
A ruckus erupted as Spring emerged from the wings, tendrils of ivy coating every inch of him and trailing along the ground behind. The bringer of life and light challenged the old tyrant, and their mock battle began in earnest. The blows wereexaggerated and clumsy, the dialogue shouted over the crowd’s laughter, yet the rhythm was familiar and comforting.
Even the most respectable of Haverford’s citizens leaned forward in anticipation, eyes bright and lips twitching with amusement. This rough little play, with its jumbled verses and patched costumes, was ridiculous—and yet it was theirs. The laughter was shared, the delight infectious, until even Frederick forgot himself for a moment and joined in the applause as Spring claimed victory at last.
As the final cheer faded, the makeshift stage dissolved into cheerful chaos, and someone called for the next round of races to begin whilst musicians struck up a jaunty tune that had couples forming lines for a country dance. Around them, the clamor of the crowd swelled again, the music spilling bright and careless over the green. The noise, the warmth, and the living pulse of the village filled him, bringing Frederick to his feet with renewed vigor.
Offering his hand to Miss Ashbrook, he helped her from her seat.
“Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Voss, but I think I ought to find my cousin,” said the lady. “You are welcome to join me. She would be quite grateful for your company this afternoon.”
There was a pointedness to the statement. Or rather, it was as pointed as a lady like Miss Ashbrook was bound to be. Even as she spoke that innocuous statement, her cheeks colored.
“That was the very thing I was attempting to do before I noticed a fair damsel in need of rescue from a certain irritating brother of mine,” said Frederick with a saucy grin, but Miss Ashbrook’s eyes widened.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to importune you—”
Frederick held up a staying hand. “No, I apologize. That was an attempt to make you laugh, not laugh at you.”
Nodding, Miss Ashbrook’s expression softened, though her cheeks burned bright. “And if I weren’t such a ninny, I wouldn’t have taken it thusly—”
“Not another word, madam,” said Frederick, offering up his arm. “Your tender heart is your greatest asset. Do not apologize for it.”
Miss Ashbrook slipped her hand through his arm, looking somehow both pleased and discomforted by that pronouncement, and Frederick set to work making ridiculous comments about the various sights and people around them until he drew forth her smile.
“And there’s Mrs. Pritchard again, guarding the pie table as though it contains the crown jewels. Heaven help the man who approaches without proper deference.” He nodded at the woman in question, who was at that very moment interrogating someone who desired a slice of her minced meat pie. “No doubt, she will insist on character references before she allows him near her precious pastry.”
A smile tickled Miss Ashbrook’s lips, and though she didn’t add to the ridiculousness or chastise him with mock solemnity as Thea did, those little signs of humor were reward enough as they wandered the village green, searching the crowds for his sweetheart.
