“I’ll spread the word and speak to my lads.” Edwards bowed and strode off.
“I must come over,” Horace said as they moved to the now vacant doorway. “Sounds quite an event in itself.”
“Do come,” Francesca said. “We can have tea and scones as a celebratory picnic at the end.”
“What a delightful idea!” Lady Elizabeth declared.
Gyles noted the look in Francesca’s eyes-the look she got when she was busily scheming.
She flashed them all a smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Wallace immediately.”
“Of course! We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” They waved as she disappeared back into the house, then Henni took Horace’s arm and they stepped out onto the path.
Gyles gave his mother his arm. He helped her out onto the flags, conscious of her gaze on his face. She didn’t move to join Henni and Horace, strolling slowly toward the park. Resigned, he met her gaze, then arched a brow.
She smiled. “You’ve been unbelievably lucky, you know.”
He held her gaze. “I know.”
Her smile deepened. She patted his arm, then set out in Henni and Horace’s wake.
He knew very well how lucky he was.
The next afternoon, Gyles walked beneath the plum trees, surrounded by every last member of the Castle staff as well as those from the Dower House, and drank in the music of their chatter. His mother, Horace, and Henni had arrived-Francesca had presented them with baskets and directed them to a section of low-hanging branches. Henni had plum stains on her old dimity gown; both she and his mother were giggling as they picked.
Ladders were set up around six trees; there were two pickers on every ladder and four gatherers beneath waiting to place the fruit in the big wicker baskets. The orchard was a hive of activity, powered by a celebratory air.
The preparations for the Festival were complete. Everything was ready; the staff had thrown themselves into Francesca’s revised plans with single-minded determination-the present exercise was their reward.
A time to play after all their work. Francesca had turned what was usually viewed as a chore into an entertainment. As he searched for her, Gyles felt sure he was witnessing a tradition in the making.
“We’ll just take this basket to the dray, ma’am.”
“Be careful.”
Gyles looked up. His exquisite wife, dressed in a simple apple green day gown, was perched high on a ladder. She reached for two plums, deftly plucked them, then cradled them to her bosom and waited for her helpers to return.
Gyles moved into her line of vision.
She smiled gloriously. “I wondered where you were.”
“I’ve been chasing you.” He reached up, and she handed him the plums.
Then she opened her arms wide. “Here I am.”
Their eyes met. “So I see.”
One hand on a rung, she reached out and picked another plum, then carried it to her mouth and took a bite. Red juice stained her full lips as she chewed, then swallowed.
“They’re luscious.” She took another bite, then held the fruit out to him. “Try it.”
He hesitated, then reached up and took the plum, turned it and bit, drew in a mouthful. His gaze never left her. The fruit was as luscious as she’d said. He savored the taste as he watched her tongue slide out and around her lips.
“My lord?”
Gyles looked down. Francesca’s assistants had returned with a fresh basket. “Leave it there.” He nodded at the ground beside him. “I’ll gather for her ladyship. There’s others who need help.”
The boys grinned and dashed off, eager to check on their friends.