down in the world,” John
Fortnum stated.
“How’d you figure
that?” Phillip asked.
“In three weeks’
time, she’ll be queen of Fair Badden,” John offered.
“Queen?” Ash Merrick asked as the others laughed.
“Queen of the May,”
Susan explained, her tone resigned. “Three years running now. ’Tisn’t fair.”
“True enough,”
Edith cut in. “I don’t see an end to it until the girl is wed and ineligible.
Only virgins can rule on May Day, you know.”
“No,” Ash said. “I
didn’t.”
“Never fear, Miss
Chapham,” Phillip said. “I can promise you Rhiannon won’t be eligible next
year. Or next month, for that matter.”
The way he looked
not at her, but at the group of their friends, as though he spoke for their
benefit more than hers, made Rhiannon uncomfortable.
“What say we get
married earlier, Rhiannon, and give these other beauties a chance at the
crown?” he asked, smiling.
The chattered
gaiety faded in awed interest. The proposed marriage of Phillip Watt to
Rhiannon Russell was the most extraordinary—and in some people’s eyes the most
foolhardy—piece of romance within Fair Badden’s memory. Phillip’s father,
because he was enormously rich—and some said enormously dotty—had not only
agreed to the wedding, but had settled enough money on his son so that Phillip
could take the bride he desired and not the one he needed. And that woman was
Rhiannon who, though pretty and darling, had no name, no family, and no dowry.
She could not help
but leap at the chance to legalize her union early, before Phillip or his
father came to their senses. They all looked at her, awaiting her flattered and
hasty acceptance.
“No,” Rhiannon
said.
“No?” Phillip
echoed.
Several jaws grew
slack. Few people had ever heard Rhiannon utter that syllable, and never so
flatly.
She fidgeted, her
twisting fingers betraying an unease her cheerful voice did not. “I... I
willingly if shamefully concede my greed. If there’s any chance I should be
fortunate enough to be May Queen again, I’ll snatch it.”
“But you’d be queen
of my heart,” Phillip said. “Is that not kingdom enough?”
Pretty words. A
lovely sentiment. But Phillip’s back was still to her and he had opened his
arms in the direction of their friends, appealing to them, not her. Several
nodded in agreement. If he had just looked at
her
when he said it...
Ash Merrick was looking at her.
Of all those
present, he was the only one. He watched her intently.
Her heartbeat
hastened. His regard was more than a summation of her physical self. He gauged
her, weighing her reaction, studying her as if all his conscious thought were
centered on her. She had never been the focus of such acute concentration. Not
even Phillip’s.
Phillip glanced
over his shoulder at her, awaiting her reply. She should say yes. She should be
grateful. She
was
grateful. Phillip could have chosen a gentlewoman,
an heiress, perhaps even better, but he had chosen her. He represented
everything she had ever needed. She would wed Phillip and be safe and happy in
Fair Badden for the rest of her life.
But not yet. Not so
soon.
“I have admitted my
greed,” she said, forcing a bright smile to her lips. “I cannot help it that I
want both crowns.”
Phillip blinked.
Indeed, the entire party seemed nonplussed.
“If that can please
you, Phillip?” she added faintly, suddenly despairingly aware of what she’d
risked with her ill-advised teasing. For that was all it was... teasing. Of
course she would marry Phillip. Tomorrow if he insisted. But deep within, a
half-drowned Scottish-tinged voice begged different.
Phillip’s face grew
ruddy.
“Ach, you great
oaf!” Edith suddenly barked into the quiet room, stomping forward to cuff
Phillip smartly on the ear. He yelped and jumped back from her onslaught.
“Have you no finer
feelings? No dab of sentimentality?” Edith demanded. “Can you no see the gel
wants her wee bit of courting and the
Fortnum stated.
“How’d you figure
that?” Phillip asked.
“In three weeks’
time, she’ll be queen of Fair Badden,” John offered.
“Queen?” Ash Merrick asked as the others laughed.
“Queen of the May,”
Susan explained, her tone resigned. “Three years running now. ’Tisn’t fair.”
“True enough,”
Edith cut in. “I don’t see an end to it until the girl is wed and ineligible.
Only virgins can rule on May Day, you know.”
“No,” Ash said. “I
didn’t.”
“Never fear, Miss
Chapham,” Phillip said. “I can promise you Rhiannon won’t be eligible next
year. Or next month, for that matter.”
The way he looked
not at her, but at the group of their friends, as though he spoke for their
benefit more than hers, made Rhiannon uncomfortable.
“What say we get
married earlier, Rhiannon, and give these other beauties a chance at the
crown?” he asked, smiling.
The chattered
gaiety faded in awed interest. The proposed marriage of Phillip Watt to
Rhiannon Russell was the most extraordinary—and in some people’s eyes the most
foolhardy—piece of romance within Fair Badden’s memory. Phillip’s father,
because he was enormously rich—and some said enormously dotty—had not only
agreed to the wedding, but had settled enough money on his son so that Phillip
could take the bride he desired and not the one he needed. And that woman was
Rhiannon who, though pretty and darling, had no name, no family, and no dowry.
She could not help
but leap at the chance to legalize her union early, before Phillip or his
father came to their senses. They all looked at her, awaiting her flattered and
hasty acceptance.
“No,” Rhiannon
said.
“No?” Phillip
echoed.
Several jaws grew
slack. Few people had ever heard Rhiannon utter that syllable, and never so
flatly.
She fidgeted, her
twisting fingers betraying an unease her cheerful voice did not. “I... I
willingly if shamefully concede my greed. If there’s any chance I should be
fortunate enough to be May Queen again, I’ll snatch it.”
“But you’d be queen
of my heart,” Phillip said. “Is that not kingdom enough?”
Pretty words. A
lovely sentiment. But Phillip’s back was still to her and he had opened his
arms in the direction of their friends, appealing to them, not her. Several
nodded in agreement. If he had just looked at
her
when he said it...
Ash Merrick was looking at her.
Of all those
present, he was the only one. He watched her intently.
Her heartbeat
hastened. His regard was more than a summation of her physical self. He gauged
her, weighing her reaction, studying her as if all his conscious thought were
centered on her. She had never been the focus of such acute concentration. Not
even Phillip’s.
Phillip glanced
over his shoulder at her, awaiting her reply. She should say yes. She should be
grateful. She
was
grateful. Phillip could have chosen a gentlewoman,
an heiress, perhaps even better, but he had chosen her. He represented
everything she had ever needed. She would wed Phillip and be safe and happy in
Fair Badden for the rest of her life.
But not yet. Not so
soon.
“I have admitted my
greed,” she said, forcing a bright smile to her lips. “I cannot help it that I
want both crowns.”
Phillip blinked.
Indeed, the entire party seemed nonplussed.
“If that can please
you, Phillip?” she added faintly, suddenly despairingly aware of what she’d
risked with her ill-advised teasing. For that was all it was... teasing. Of
course she would marry Phillip. Tomorrow if he insisted. But deep within, a
half-drowned Scottish-tinged voice begged different.
Phillip’s face grew
ruddy.
“Ach, you great
oaf!” Edith suddenly barked into the quiet room, stomping forward to cuff
Phillip smartly on the ear. He yelped and jumped back from her onslaught.
“Have you no finer
feelings? No dab of sentimentality?” Edith demanded. “Can you no see the gel
wants her wee bit of courting and the
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