“Never!” August shouted back. “Eliza is keeping me in line.”
Albert laughed then summoned Dorothy for a scone. The Duke looked entirely at peace, and August felt a pang of envy for the simple satisfaction in his father’s face.
A tug on his arm brought him back. Eliza had found a ring-toss game, and without ceremony, she challenged him to a contest.
“Are you any good at this?” she asked, lining up her first throw.
He watched her: sleeve rolled back, eyes narrowed, a smudge of flour still at her wrist from the earlier jam judging.
“I am excellent at losing,” he replied.
She missed the first two then, after a moment’s analysis, adjusted her stance and landed the next three in a row.
He tried, of course, and failed spectacularly. “Do you plan to lord this victory over me?”
“I plan to savor it,” she replied, accepting the prize—an inelegant but charming painted duck—from the attendant.
She cradled the duck as they walked. “Did you ever attend these as a child?”
He nodded. “Every summer. Sometimes my father would race me to the pond, but he always let me win.”
“Do you let yourself win now?” she asked, curious but not unkind.
He considered. “I suppose I prefer not to compete at all.”
“That sounds lonely,” she observed, almost under her breath.
He shot her a look, but she was watching a trio of girls practice a country dance at the edge of the green.
They walked in companionable silence for a while. The sun was low, and the air tasted of grass and woodsmoke.
“You seem happier here,” she observed.
He stopped. “You say that as if it is surprising.”
She shrugged, and the movement made her seem smaller, less formidable. “I am still learning what surprises you.”
He wanted to say something clever, but the words caught in his throat. He found himself staring at her, really staring, and seeing not the meticulous marchioness but a woman who had braved a room full of strangers with her chin up and her wit unsheathed.
She held his gaze, and for the first time, he wondered if she saw through him entirely.
“Would you like a lemonade?” he asked, desperate to redirect the moment.
“I would,” she said, smiling.
He bought two lemonades, and for the price of an extra coin, he procured a sugar twist from the vendor. They wandered toward the edge of the fair, past a cluster of musicians tuning fiddles and a knot of children rolling hoops along the path.
August felt oddly content, as if someone had replaced the bones inside him with something softer and less likely to break.
He noticed the way her hair caught the afternoon light, how the tips glowed against her neck. He noticed the smudge of berry jam at her cuff and the slight wince when she laughed too hard at his jokes.
She was, he realized, the first person in years he wanted to impress, not for the sake of reputation but for the pure, simple pleasure of making her smile.
They circled back to the pond where the wheelbarrow race was just finishing. A pair of boys crossed the line first, but the real entertainment was the aftermath: toppled children, grass stains, and a burly farmer who’d lost his boots in the mud.
Eliza clapped and cheered with everyone else then leaned into him. “You were right. The Sykes twins cheat.”
He grinned. “I am never wrong about village politics.”