Page 28 of Goodbye, Earl (Ladies’ Revenge Club #4)
“Are there any sports women can do?” Dot wondered, tilting her head. “I wouldn’t have thought so.”
“Oh, yes,” Tommy said with a nod. “They put a nice dress on a pole and wrangle us up like sheep. When they open the gate, we all go on a violent tear to get it first. Many tears and maimings are had.”
“Oh,” said Dot. “Silas, do I need a new dress?”
“Hm,” Silas replied, frowning.
“Mama, look!” Oliver gasped suddenly, coming to full attention over Freddy’s head and pointing down at the central festival area. “A castle!”
Indeed, down in the valley between the wolds, a little castle had been erected in what looked like very thin, very cheap wood, and painted in the style of old, mossy bricks. “I see it, my love,” Claire told him. “Look at that, they’ve painted shields on the side.”
“They have,” Tommy agreed, “and one of them is House Bentley’s. See the cannons? Those are real.”
The crowd applauded as they came into view, with several alarmingly large men rushing forward in their enthusiasm to greet Tommy, specifically.
“Our Lady of the Games!” one called her, and the others repeated it with a cheer.
Claire glanced at Silas, who nodded and smirked.
“Papa, I want a stick,” Oliver was saying ahead of them, pointing to a line of men with long switches in their hands. “Can I have a stick?”
“Only if you are a stickler,” Freddy replied, stopping and stooping to let Oliver climb back onto the grass, “and my boy, you are most assuredly not.”
“What is a stickler?” Claire wondered, walking up to join them, and touching Oliver’s chin so he would look up at her and allow her to dab any remaining pie debris from his perfect little face.
“A rule keeper,” Freddy said, watching her wield his kerchief with the kind of pleased glow that Claire thought was likely dangerously conspicuous out here in the open. “To prevent more nail-studded boots and the like.”
“Stickler,” Claire repeated thoughtfully, glancing back at him with a fraction of a smile. “I could be one, if not the boy.”
“You could be,” Freddy agreed softly, “but you’d be easily compromised.”
“Me?” she answered with amusement. “I think not.”
Tommy, at that moment, whirled around to Silas with her eyebrows raised and made the other man sigh.
“Pay up, boy,” she said to her grandson, holding her hand out for three shiny shillings that were passed over in good order.
Claire chose to ignore that.
Freddy, to his credit, glared at them.
Dot looked perfectly serene.
“My lords and ladies,” said one of the burly men who’d previously greeted Tommy, jogging up to the space between Claire and Freddy. “The podium is just over here by the castle. This is where you’ll signal the cannons.”
“The cannons?” Claire said with a little start. “I thought we’d be cutting a ribbon.”
The man grinned widely. “No ribbons today, my lady. The games are for noise.”
And so it seemed they were. It explained why Tommy had left Abra at the cottages for today. The little dog would have been beside herself with terror at the resounding boom the things made when the time came.
Oliver, however, was beyond delighted, even if he had just suffered a permanent blow to his hearing.
“Can they do it again, Mama?” he said afterward, tugging at her hand and jumping on his heels. “One more time?!”
Freddy had put his hands in his pockets and observed the exchange with open enjoyment. “Yes, Mama,” he had repeated, “just once more? We all enjoy a good repeat explosion.”
“I will suffocate you in your sleep, Freddy Hightower,” she responded serenely, beneath the cover of the cheers.
“I was counting on it,” he replied, leaning a little closer and grinning at the way she immediately turned pink.
The first games, mercifully, were not the kicking of shins or the slapping of beer towels, but instead some more standard sporting fare. There were some combat bouts with wooden swords and cudgels on one end of the field, and on the other some sort of display with small horses.
Claire was overruled for which they would attend, unable to dissuade her son from the siren’s call of swords and hammers. Admittedly, it was rather thrilling, once she got settled in to watch.
“Care to place a bet, Lord Bentley?” came the call of one of the game masters, approaching Freddy through the crowd like he’d known him all his life. “We’ve got good odds on a few of the players.”
Claire froze, her fingers tightening on Oliver’s little shoulders. She couldn’t even force herself to turn her head to watch the exchange, its words floating untethered in the air around them.
But then Freddy shook his head, clapped the man on the shoulder, and said, “I’m not a betting man.”
I’m not a betting man .
Claire couldn’t help but look then. Couldn’t help but turn her head and see her own look of shocked incredulity reflected in the games master.
“A joke, my lord?” the man said with a crooked tilt to his head.
“Ah, I am a joking man,” Freddy said with an easy grin, “but I’ll have to think of a good one later. The fight is about to start.”
Claire blinked and quickly diverted her attention back to the arena, not wishing to embarrass Freddy or otherwise cause him discomfort by merit of her presence for the interaction.
To her surprise, he did not seem to falter or grieve for the resistance he had just displayed to his most potent compulsion.
It didn’t seem to trouble him at all.
He moved closer to them, closer to Claire and Oliver, and looped an arm around her waist, dropping his hand over hers on their son’s shoulder.
When she did glance at him again, because she simply couldn’t resist at that point, he only spared her a quick flick of his eyes, half a smile, and a wink.
She didn’t intend to do it, but by the time the bout had ended, Claire realized she had come to lean against him, as though she might share in his newfound strength.
And he let her, because he seemed now to have plenty to share.