The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2), Sahara Kelly [best thriller novels to read txt] 📗

Surrounded by a farmer, a jester, a would-be knight, and Gabriel—who arrived clad correctly as a Medieval footman—Gwyneth could easily have imagined herself as the Lady of some long-ago manor, about to host the local joust.

When Giles strolled in, garbed as a nobleman, complete with full length tabard, her day was complete.

His pristine white collar topped a chequered tunic; the predominant colours of white and purple the ideal foil for her green overdress. “Giles,” she breathed. “We must stand together all day. How divine we’ll look together.”

He shook his head and grinned. “Women.”

The laugh was general and since this was but a brief respite, tea was hastily drunk and toast equally hastily consumed.

The entire party managed to reach St. Polycarp’s before the service began and there was much giggling, whispering and fussing in the pews as the Wolfbridge group found their respective seats.

In consideration of those behind him, Giles removed his feathered hat. “We’re all going to be sweating like pigs before this day is over,” he murmured.

“I have a feeling you’re correct,” she whispered back. “’Tis much hotter than we’d anticipated.”

He nodded. “Heavy too. Probably a storm later.”

Vicar Thomas walked to the centre of the aisle and received a rumble of appreciation. He wore his robes, of course, but had added a whimsical hat that King Henry the Eighth would doubtless have worn with pride. Large, ornamented most royally, and perched at a saucy angle, the vicar had clearly embraced the spirit of the day.

He continued to demonstrate this by keeping his sermon short and sweet, making sure the prayers were since but brief, and finishing before little Freddy Smith started to wriggle.

Truly a magnificent accomplishment, upon which Gwyneth complimented him as she departed. “Well done, sir,” she smiled at him. “I hope we’ll have the pleasure of your company this afternoon?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, my Lady.” He glanced up at the sky. “Although I’ll wager we’re in for a spot of bother later on…”

“I agree,” responded Giles. “We’ll make sure there’s shelter available.”

“Excellent.”

The Vicar nodded and turned to the next in line, as Gwyneth and Giles made their way back to the carriage, to be joined in a few moments by the four gentlemen. Gwyneth couldn’t help noticing the number of female eyes following the rare display of masculine legs in tight stockings, and bare chests inside loose shirts.

It was good to know those legs and those chests were hers. And she did her own fair share of admiring—since she knew they looked even better when they were completely naked.

*~~*~~*

Wolfbridge looked somewhere between magnificent and ridiculous, mused Giles as he walked around the lawns and observed the multi-hued banners and flags that decorated both tables and tents like massive coloured flakes of snow.

It was probably not dissimilar to something that would have entertained the local serfs in the seventeenth century, but he would wager the food on this day was better.

The scent of roast pork drifted through the crowds, making his mouth water. Evan had several young helpers, and they were eagerly turning the spit for him, at his direction.

He stopped for a moment, caught by surprise at the sight of Royce and Gabriel juggling red, blue and yellow balls with astounding dexterity.

The gaggle of youngsters, and more than a few of their parents, surrounding the two men were laughing and cheering, and Giles noticed the hobby horses and swords—a superb notion that had clearly been a huge success.

The tents were surrounded by a variety of costumes; it would seem to the casual observer that residents of several centuries had decided to gather together to celebrate Pentecost.

There were many tall, pointed hats with veils fluttering in the mild breeze. There were ladies who shamelessly flaunted their assets in heavy corsets, probably raided from their grandmothers’ trunks. One or two boasted panniers, although the fabric covering them looked a bit moth-eaten and they had to take extraordinary care when walking between tables of food.

Overall, Giles was very pleased that everyone was so enthusiastic. Aside from the juggling, the children had other games to play, and Trick was there, on one side of the wide lawn, with more than a few interested faces waiting for a ride on the donkey. Many visitors had their hands full things as diverse as a jar of jam, a cake, or a covered plate of biscuits. Mrs B and Jane were handing out slices of pie, and Jeremy was busy making sure everyone could have several ladles of cold water should they be overcome with heat.

Giles headed to the table where the barrel of ale sat tucked into the shade. It would be his job to tap it and fill the tankards of the thirsty. There would be many on a day like this, he knew. Situated right next to Jeremy, the two of them would work together if need be, and there was a second barrel ready, just in case.

“A good day, Giles,” called Jeremy, wiping his forehead. “But I could do with less heat. Can you do something about it?”

Giles rolled his eyes. “I wish I could.” He began to put empty tankards out on the table, several rows to start with.

“’Tis a fine crowd,” said Mrs B. “I’ll take two o’ these, lad. Jane ‘as a fierce thirst an’ ale’s good fer ‘er.”

Giles filled two tankards. “The day going well for you, I hope?”

“Fine as can be, thank yer. We already sold ‘alf a dozen o’ my gooseberry pies. Them tarts are flyin’ off the table, an’ I reckon we’ll be done a’fore too long.” She glanced up at the sky. “Storm’s a’comin’.”

“I know.” Giles nodded. “Not much we can do about it. But you might let people know that the doors to our ballroom are unlocked. If it turns bad, they can shelter in