“I am indeed,” I replied, taking his arm as we began making our way toward the festival grounds.
We were early, but the crowds were beginning to form. It seemed as though half the village had arrived already, and we exchanged greetings with several villagers as we reached the outskirts of the festival. There was a celebratory mood in the air, and everyone seemed bright-eyed and jolly.
I noticed that the clothes of the attendees were as brightly colored as the festival flags. Several of the women had brought out their spring florals, and most of the men had shed their tweeds in favor of lighter linen and seersucker.
Even Milo, whose sartorial choices tended toward darker colors, wore a pale blue jacket with light-colored trousers. He went hatless as he was often wont to do in fair weather, and his hair gleamed blue-black in the sunlight.
We crossed the green and made our way into the maze of tables and tents. In addition to edible wares, there were vendors selling an impressive array of local items. I spotted finely crafted wooden furniture, whittled decorative pieces and intricately carved walking sticks, homemade soaps, and quilts and beautifully knitted blankets among the wares for sale. I made a mental note to purchase some items for the baby before we left for the day.
A tent was set up for the competitions. As we passed by it, I saw that already a table full of a variety of pickled vegetables in gleaming jars and a table of pies and cakes were awaiting judging later in the day.
In another section of the grounds, there were games set up where one might win a variety of prizes. Several young men in smart clothes and straw boaters were attempting to claim trophies for their ladies, who cheered and clapped their gloved hands at the antics of their suitors.
Children ran here and there in packs, playing and laughing in delight as they spied the various amusements. I reflected again how glad I would be to share this happy tradition with our child.
There was, amid the hubbub and gaiety, a sense of anticipation in the air. In the village, the Springtide Festival marked the symbolic beginning of spring. And today felt like spring. The air was light and warm, as though with the promise of blue skies and blooms in the days to come.
I spotted Lady Alma in the crowd as we wandered leisurely through the grounds. It was not difficult to do, as she was dressed in tan trousers tucked into boots and a blazer of bright red tweed. As usual, one had the impression that she might leap onto the back of a horse and gallop away at any moment.
She was talking animatedly to Mr. Yates, a local farmer, but then she looked up and spotted us. She said something to the man and then strode in our direction.
“Ames, glad to see you,” she said without preamble when she reached us. “I’ve just acquired a mare I want to breed with that brute of yours.”
Though this subject was a bit less-than-polite conversation, I knew the two of them were accustomed to discussing such matters whenever they were together. They played their horses against each other like other people played chess.
“Good morning, Lady Alma,” Milo replied. “I’m afraid I’ve more pressing matters of breeding near at hand, but we can certainly discuss it in the future.”
This uncouth reference to my pregnancy earned Milo an elbow to the ribs, and he suppressed a smile.
“Come by anytime,” said Lady Alma. “My mare is called Medusa. She’s black as sin, twice as mean, and three times as fast. Sired by Damocles. Nearly won the Derby, you remember?”
“Yes, he was a fine horse. I’d heard he’d sired a foal a year or two back. High-tempered, is she?”
She nodded. “A nasty beast, to be sure. Bites and kicks with no provocation. Most of my grooms won’t go near her. But she’s a beauty and runs like the wind.”
“There was a lot of talk about the potential sale when she was born, and then I heard nothing more about it.” Though he didn’t sound particularly interested in the matter, I suspected Milo was irritated he had missed out on the sale.
Lady Alma seemed to have intuited as much, for she gave him a sly smile. “One has to stay on top of these things, Ames. The owner died, and I talked his heir into selling her. Cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you, but I think she’ll be worth it. Bred with your Xerxes, I can’t imagine a finer racer. I’ll pay you a handsome stud fee.”
I blinked but hid my surprise, reminding myself that such plain speaking was common among horse breeders.
“I’ll come by one day next week to discuss it with you,” Milo said.
This transaction concluded to her satisfaction, Lady Alma’s gaze finally came to me. “And how are you, Mrs. Ames?”
I was always a bit amused by the way in which the daughter of an earl was so careless of social niceties. In a way, I appreciated that she followed her own rules. I knew all too well how tedious the traditions of society could be, and there was something admirable about Lady Alma’s disregard for them.
“I’m very well, thank you, Lady Alma. And you?”
“Excellent, excellent. This is my favorite time of year.” She ran her eyes over me as she likely did her horses. “You look well. A bit rounder, I think, than when we last met at the vicarage. Won’t be long before there’s another fine addition to the Ames stables, eh?”
“I … ah … I suppose so, in a manner of speaking.”
“It’s an excellent time for offspring,” she said. “I look forward to hearing news of the new arrival at Thornecrest.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, there’s old Henson,” she said suddenly. “I need to speak to him. Excuse me, will you?”
And then she was gone.
I looked at Milo, who smiled broadly. “If Lady Alma says this is an excellent time for offspring, you’re fortunate indeed.”
“I’m doubly lucky, really,” I replied as I began to walk away. “I didn’t even have to pay a stud fee.”
He stared after me for a moment before laughing heartily and striding forward to catch up with me.
* * *
AS THE MORNING wore on, Milo and I continued our amble through the festival grounds, taking our time enjoying what the various booths and stalls had to offer. As we walked, we enjoyed huffkins, the dimpled pastries filled with stewed cherries and topped with a dollop of fresh cream.
Though Milo was much more at home in the smoky confines of nightclubs and gambling parlors, he seemed to be enjoying the simple country amusements as well as the sunshine and fresh air. He looked particularly at ease this morning—his eyes bright, his smile flashing often—as we walked along, greeting the various villagers. Milo, despite his somewhat reckless reputation, was well-liked among the people of the village. The women found him handsome and charming, as women generally did, and the men found him knowledgeable and ready to converse on everything from horses to the state of their hops crop.
I was glad that he seemed to be enjoying himself, though I knew that the matter of what to do about Darien must still be on his mind.
I wondered if his contentment had something to do with the festival itself, and I realized suddenly that I had never thought to ask him about his early experiences here.
“Did you look forward to the festival as a child?” I asked.
“Before I was sent off to school, it was one of my favorite amusements. Almost as good as Christmas.”