Gyles finished the plum, then looked up at his wife. “Shall we?”
She laughed and reached for more plums.
There was a competition running to see which group could denude the first tree. Edwards was the judge. When whoops announced one group thought they’d finished, he stumped up, scrutinized the tree for any missed plums, then declared the competition won.
The successful group whooped and danced. The others cheered, then quickly returned to finish their trees, then move the ladders to the next row.
There were twenty-four plum trees in the orchard, all gnarled veterans kept in excellent condition by Edwards’s focused attention. The dray was sent rolling, groaning under the weight, to the kitchens twice before they reached the final trees.
The sun peeked out from under grey clouds, sending golden beams slanting through the trees as first one group, then another, finished their last tree. The ladders were carted away. Cook and Mrs. Cantle gathered the kitchen maids and hurried off to the house. Anticipating the fare to come, those already finished crowded around, helping those still picking.
Ten minutes later, just as the final plum was picked, Cook and Mrs. Cantle reappeared, leading a procession of maids each bearing a tray loaded with scones, freshly churned butter, and the last of the previous year’s plum jam. Four footmen followed, carting two huge urns of tea.
A cheer went up, then rose even higher as Cook led the way into the orchard. Francesca stepped off her ladder. Gyles took her hand, and they walked to meet Cook.
She bobbed a curtsy and served them. They both took a scone, buttered it, and piled it high with jam. Then Francesca turned to the waiting multitude.
Smiling, she raised the scone to them. “Thank you all-for today and tomorrow.”
“And my thanks, too.” Gyles raised his scone high. “To Lambourn!”
The rousing cheers raised the birds from the branches. With a wave, Gyles directed everyone to the trays. Exchanging a glance, he and Francesca retreated to where Mrs. Cantle was serving his mother, Henni, and Horace.
All three were liberally stained with plum juice. They were beaming.
“My dear, this has been a wonderful event.”
“We’ll have to do it next year.”
“Every year.”
Gyles checked; other than a few splatters, he’d escaped lightly. Francesca’s gown was smeared at hip and breast, where she’d forgotten and wiped her sticky fingers.
Two grooms produced flutes. As the scones were washed down, a party atmosphere took hold. Gyles and Francesca, side by side, passed through their people, thanking and being thanked.
“No need to rush in again,” Gyles told Wallace, ignoring the red juice running down the side of his dapper majordomo’s face. “Everything’s done. They deserve to enjoy themselves.”
“The evening will bring a natural end to things.” Francesca leaned on Gyles’s arm and smiled at Wallace.
He smiled back. “Indeed, ma’am. We’re on top of everything and can rest on our laurels, so to speak.”
“Enjoy our laurels,” Gyles murmured as they moved on. “Tomorrow’s for the estate, but the plums are the Castle’s harvest. This is the Castle’s celebration.” His arm slid around Francesca’s waist and tightened-he swung her into the country dance just beginning, much to the delight of the staff.
Francesca laughed and danced, following his lead, his directions. People clapped and cheered them on; they whirled until she was giddy and breathless, drunk on happiness.
“Oh!” She collapsed against Gyles when he finally drew her from the throng.
“Mama’s leaving.”
They waved to Lady Elizabeth, Henni, and Horace, then watched the three stroll away across the park. The sunlight was dimming, the last westering rays fading, yet the party in the orchard was still in full spate.
Gyles bent his head and murmured in Francesca’s ear. “I think we should leave them to it. If we stay, we’ll remind them of their duties.”
Francesca leaned back against him, folding her hands over his at her waist. “If they see us leaving, they’ll feel compelled to come inside, too.”
“In that case, it behooves us to slip away without them seeing, somewhere other than inside.”
The seductive murmur tickled her ear. She smiled. “Where do you suggest?”