The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3), Sahara Kelly [english novels for students .TXT] 📗

“To which you, of course, answered yes,” teased Harry.

“Well certainly. I didn’t want to disappoint them. I told them it was a secret, though, and they promised not to tell.”

Royce watched as the humour and jests continued, the teasing gentle and fun, and Gwyneth, still attired in her fanciful draperies, was a sight for his hungry eyes.

Her pleasure in the afternoon’s activities was obvious from her genuinely happy smile. But it seemed a little different somehow, as if something had touched her deeply enough to reveal the Gwyneth that had been hiding for quite some time.

That thought led him to wonder what she would have been like if her life had been a happier one. If she’d had reason to smile more often, instead of finding it this late.

Then he shrugged the question away. They were all what they were and where they were at this moment because of their pasts. And right now, a mood of contentment rested on all of them.

“Well then,” said Gwyneth. “Did any of you hear from the adults? Do you think our point was made?”

Jeremy nodded. “Oh yes. Not directly, but Mrs B caught up with me just before she left. It seems our little entertainment did encourage several of the tenants to support the school idea.”

“I’ll wager Mrs B had something to do with it too,” remarked Evan. “I’m only sorry that Trick and Jane didn’t attend, but I understand the baby is colicky, so they decided to stay at home.”

“Just as well in this weather,” nodded Jeremy. “Besides, if he’d seen us in our costumes, we’d never hear the end of it. The way you clanked around…”

The laugh was general.

“I think brandy is in order. We’ll dine like princes and princesses tomorrow, but tonight…” Gwyneth stretched. “I don’t need another thing. Just a glass of brandy.”

“Your food was magnificent, Evan,” complimented Royce. “You hit the mark between children and their parents, and everyone seemed very surprised and happy at the spread you laid on. Thank you.”

“Bravo,” agreed Gwyneth, applauding.

The others joined in and Evan blushed. “Oh pshaw. You all helped. And Mrs B, bless her, did all the pies. I was just glad to get the armour off. Lord knows how those knights of yore did all that jousting. They must have had blisters everywhere.” He stood, looking a bit embarrassed by the praise and the attention. “Right then. Brandy it is.”

“So I expect we’ll hear from a few men when we start the rebuilding of the new school,” mused Harry. “I’d like to make sure the roof is intact, repair any outside walls that might need it, and then move indoors.”

“If the weather permits, that should be a workable schedule,” replied Royce. “I’ll get the names of the tenants involved so that we can pay them for their work. Another incentive, I think, to involve as many as we can.”

“You believe in this, don’t you?” Gwyneth looked at him, her head tilted to one side.

“I’ve always believed in the idea that everyone should be able to read,” he agreed. “I’ve not been convinced that those who can’t would encourage their children to learn, though.” He nodded his thanks to Evan, who handed him a glass of brandy. “Perhaps we’ll see some adults expressing an interest. I’d very much like that.”

“So,” said Gabriel, feet up on an ottoman and his drink nearby, “What shall we do this Christmas Eve?”

“Well,” Harry leaned back. “If we were high-born members of the Ton, we would be enjoying the festivities. Some charades, perhaps, singing songs, or acting out plays for the entertainment of our equally high-born guests.”

“We’ve already done the play, and the rest of it sounds quite hideous,” snorted Jeremy. “I’d rather play a game of Spillikins.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I was dreadful at that.”

Evan nodded. “Me too. Always lost.”

“And charades are definitely not for me,” sighed Harry. “Never liked the damn things. Everyone ends up embarrassing themselves.”

“Anyone sing?” Royce raised an eyebrow.

Total silence fell. Not even a pop or crackle from the fire.

“In that case, I propose a game of dice.”

“Oh.” Jeremy blinked. “We have dice?”

“We do.” Royce stood and reached into an inside pocket of his coat. “Found these lovelies the other day in one of the bottom drawers in my study.”

He rattled them in his hand. “What shall we play?”

“How about a few hands of Hazard?” Harry grinned. “I think there are enough of us to make for a lively game.”

Gwyneth blinked. “I’ve never played.”

“We’ll teach you, love,” Jeremy came to her chair and extended a hand. “It’s fun.”

The furniture was moved around, and a table placed prominently in the centre, close enough to the fire for warmth, but with enough room for everyone to move without hindrance if they needed to.

Royce began, rolling the dice with ease, and showing Gwyneth the numbers. Since he was the ‘caster’ he chose seven as the main.

“Now we all wager on whether he’ll throw the main,” explained Jeremy.

“Um.” She frowned. “I have nothing to wager.”

Everyone looked at everyone else.

“Vouchers? We could use paper vouchers…” Harry glanced at Royce.

“Or…” Gabriel’s grin was pure and complete wickedness. “We are all wearing boots or shoes. I’ll wager my right boot…winner gets to put theirs back on.”

Evan chuckled. “Yes. I like that.” He took off his boot.

Others joined the pile, and Gwyneth tossed her slipper on top. “Right then, roll away Royce.”

He did, falling back into the well-remembered pattern of shaking the dice high up by his head, then tossing them onto the table.

And by God, he still had the magic touch. A seven appeared, courtesy of a four and a three.

The shout echoed around the room.

“Damn you,” laughed Harry. “I should’ve guessed.”

“How did