more interesting prospects.
“Come, Sydney,” the viscount urged. “The village girls will become available immediately after the betrothed of May is chosen.” Seeing Nick’s unfamiliarity with the phrase, he explained, “A lad of marriageable age lies on the green and pretends to sleep. The girls who are willing to marry him race to be the first to awaken him. The first one to kiss him will be able to claim him as her betrothed.” He smiled lecherously and rubbed his hands. “And theother girls—all in need of consolation—scatter into the forest, waiting to be caught by enterprising fellows such as myself. You should have seen the one I captured last year—black hair and red lips—ah, what a fine little mount she was. Come, Sydney—if you’re fleet-footed, you’ll catch one for yourself.”
Nick was about to refuse when his gaze was caught by a new cluster of girls grasping the Maypole ribbons. One of them seized his full attention. Like the others, she wore a white peasant dress, her hair covered by a red cloth. At this distance her features were difficult to discern, but Nick recognized her at once. A rueful smile curved his lips as he recalled Charlotte’s saying that she intended to stay in her room with a book that night. No doubt the Westcliffs would disapprove of her attending the village festival, and so she had chosen to go in disguise. Fascination and desire swirled inside him as his gaze tracked Charlotte’s slim figure. She wound in and out of the Maypole circle, her hands flung exuberantly high over her head.
“I believe I will join you,” Nick murmured, accompanying the eager rakes down the hill.
Laughing recklessly, Lottie joined the mass of maidens who waited in tense readiness to race to the village green. From what she had been able to deduce, the betrothed of May was an exceptional catch this year—the butcher’s son, a handsome blond lad with blue eyes and a fine physique, and a guarantee of inheriting a profitable family business. Of courseLottie had no intention of trying to reach him. However, it was fun to join in the game, and she was entertained by the excitement of the girls around her.
The signal was given, and Lottie was carried along with the village girls in a frantic rush. The wildness and noise was such a contrast to her quiet existence at Stony Cross Park that she felt a jolt of exhilaration. She had spent so many years learning proper comportment at Maidstone’s, and struggling to remain inconspicuous as a companion to Lady Westcliff, that she couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice. Caught up in the moment, she howled with laughter and screamed as loudly as the determined brides-to-be around her as the group swarmed over the green. From somewhere ahead, a jubilant cry rang over the crowd. The victor, a robust red-haired girl, clambered onto her new fiancé’s broad shoulders, exultantly waving a bouquet of wildflowers. “I did it!” she crowed. “I got ‘im, ‘e’s mine!”
Cheering, the villagers surrounded the newly betrothed couple, while disappointed maidens scattered and ran toward the forest. A host of eager men followed, ready to begin the night’s a-maying.
Smiling, Lottie followed at a relaxed pace, having no wish to be the focus of some overexcited lad’s amorous attention. In a few minutes, the revelers would pair off, and she would sneak back to Stony Cross Park. Stopping at the edge of the forest, she leaned against a heavy-crowned sycamore and sighed in satisfaction. Her knees were pleasantly weak from dancing and wine. This was the first yearshe had actually taken part in May Day, rather than simply watched, and it had been even more enjoyable than she had expected. A tune played insistently in her head, and she sang to herself in a whisper, her eyes closed as she rested back against the smooth, mottled bark.
Go no more a-rushing, maids in May,
go no more a-rushing, maids, I pray,
go no more a-rushing, or
“Come, Sydney,” the viscount urged. “The village girls will become available immediately after the betrothed of May is chosen.” Seeing Nick’s unfamiliarity with the phrase, he explained, “A lad of marriageable age lies on the green and pretends to sleep. The girls who are willing to marry him race to be the first to awaken him. The first one to kiss him will be able to claim him as her betrothed.” He smiled lecherously and rubbed his hands. “And theother girls—all in need of consolation—scatter into the forest, waiting to be caught by enterprising fellows such as myself. You should have seen the one I captured last year—black hair and red lips—ah, what a fine little mount she was. Come, Sydney—if you’re fleet-footed, you’ll catch one for yourself.”
Nick was about to refuse when his gaze was caught by a new cluster of girls grasping the Maypole ribbons. One of them seized his full attention. Like the others, she wore a white peasant dress, her hair covered by a red cloth. At this distance her features were difficult to discern, but Nick recognized her at once. A rueful smile curved his lips as he recalled Charlotte’s saying that she intended to stay in her room with a book that night. No doubt the Westcliffs would disapprove of her attending the village festival, and so she had chosen to go in disguise. Fascination and desire swirled inside him as his gaze tracked Charlotte’s slim figure. She wound in and out of the Maypole circle, her hands flung exuberantly high over her head.
“I believe I will join you,” Nick murmured, accompanying the eager rakes down the hill.
Laughing recklessly, Lottie joined the mass of maidens who waited in tense readiness to race to the village green. From what she had been able to deduce, the betrothed of May was an exceptional catch this year—the butcher’s son, a handsome blond lad with blue eyes and a fine physique, and a guarantee of inheriting a profitable family business. Of courseLottie had no intention of trying to reach him. However, it was fun to join in the game, and she was entertained by the excitement of the girls around her.
The signal was given, and Lottie was carried along with the village girls in a frantic rush. The wildness and noise was such a contrast to her quiet existence at Stony Cross Park that she felt a jolt of exhilaration. She had spent so many years learning proper comportment at Maidstone’s, and struggling to remain inconspicuous as a companion to Lady Westcliff, that she couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice. Caught up in the moment, she howled with laughter and screamed as loudly as the determined brides-to-be around her as the group swarmed over the green. From somewhere ahead, a jubilant cry rang over the crowd. The victor, a robust red-haired girl, clambered onto her new fiancé’s broad shoulders, exultantly waving a bouquet of wildflowers. “I did it!” she crowed. “I got ‘im, ‘e’s mine!”
Cheering, the villagers surrounded the newly betrothed couple, while disappointed maidens scattered and ran toward the forest. A host of eager men followed, ready to begin the night’s a-maying.
Smiling, Lottie followed at a relaxed pace, having no wish to be the focus of some overexcited lad’s amorous attention. In a few minutes, the revelers would pair off, and she would sneak back to Stony Cross Park. Stopping at the edge of the forest, she leaned against a heavy-crowned sycamore and sighed in satisfaction. Her knees were pleasantly weak from dancing and wine. This was the first yearshe had actually taken part in May Day, rather than simply watched, and it had been even more enjoyable than she had expected. A tune played insistently in her head, and she sang to herself in a whisper, her eyes closed as she rested back against the smooth, mottled bark.
Go no more a-rushing, maids in May,
go no more a-rushing, maids, I pray,
go no more a-rushing, or
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