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“ A t least you get to try a piece of them all. I must buy one of each if I want the same privilege,” Stephen said as they galloped toward the village.

Is Sophie there yet?

“Yes, as you can imagine, judging the pie competition is a day I look forward to every year,” Patrick said.

Stephen had wanted to go to his estate on the way to the fete to check on a foal. As it turned out, the birth was a difficult one, and it had taken both of them to assist the mother in the delivery.

Both were now tucked in a stable, being watched over by Stephen’s staff.

“Squire Pickles will be displeased at your tardiness,” Stephen added.

“I doubt that. The man is always happy no matter what life throws his way.”

“Do you know, if you just told Sophie you were sorry and you loved her, then all the sighing and wringing of hands you’ve done today would cease,” Stephen said as they rode over the bridge and into the village.

Patrick pulled his mount to a halt and looked at Stephen. “I have never once in my life wrung my hands,” he snapped.

“You never sighed before either, and let us not forget you did not dispute the love claim,” Stephen added, moving a couple of paces from Patrick’s whip, which was twitching in his large hand.

“Shut up, Sumner, and sort out your own love life before you start venturing an opinion on mine,” Patrick said, dismounting and handing his reins to a young boy.

“Thank you. If you could see them fed and watered.” He then handed him a few coins.

They walked to the village green, where everyone had gathered. He acknowledged people as they moved aside to let him and Stephen through. Being taller, he was able to look over the heads of the crowd gathered to oversee the judging. He saw her nibbling on a pie before she saw him.

“Is that Sophie judging?”

“Yes,” Patrick said, finding his first smile today.

“At least she’s wearing her sling,” Stephen said.

She sat beside Mr. Brundell, a crotchety old curmudgeon who liked no one, looking so bloody sweet, it made an ache form deep in his chest. Her bonnet was pale blue, matching the roses on her cream dress, and framed her pink-cheeked face.

She was saying something to the man, and then Sophie patted his hand and smiled after he’d nodded at her.

“Good Lord, did you see that, Colt? Mr. Brundell just smiled at your wife. I didn’t know he knew how.”

Patrick snorted. He had been the recipient of Sophie’s smiles and knew their effect. The tension inside him eased. She was here, and for now, that was all that mattered.

“Buy a pie,” he said to Stephen and then headed for his wife. She didn’t see him coming. Moving behind the table, he took the empty seat to her left. She turned, and Patrick saw her relief at seeing him. “Sorry for the way I spoke to you yesterday, Sophie.” He kissed her cheek.

“Are you all right? I was worried?—”

“Everything is fine.” He ran his thumb over her lips. “We will talk more later, love. Will you let me help you with the judging?”

“Yes, please, I am rather full,” she said, looking a little green as she studied all the pies yet to be tasted.

“Stand aside, then, my sweet—this is not a job for the fainthearted. However, it is the perfect job for a man who has forgone his midday meal.”

There were over twenty pies, and each was cut up into small segments. The savory were on one end, and the sweet were at the other end of the table.

“I have tasted a few of the savory,” Sophie whispered, leaning closer. “The one before me is my favorite so far.”

“I will confer with you, then, after I have sampled them,” he said around a mouthful of beef pie.

She laughed as Patrick waggled his eyebrows to indicate he liked what was in his mouth.

“Fair brings tears to your eyes,” Grandma Puckett said to Mrs. Stigg. Both were close enough for Patrick to hear every word, but he ignored them in favor of his next bite of pie.

“’Bout time, I’m thinking,” Mrs. Stigg agreed. “It’s love, of course. You can see it as plain as the nose on my face. The young earl has found love.”

Patrick looked at Sophie and saw the color filling her cheeks. He leaned in and spoke. “It’s true.”

“What’s true?” she said, still facing forward.

“I love you.”

The breath hitched in her throat, and then she swallowed.

“Is a public setting such as this one the right place for a declaration of love?” Sophie whispered.

“It could not wait,” he said.

“Very well. I love you too, Patrick.”

“Who knew the earl had dimples?” young Bessie Stigg said from beside her mother. “Right handsome it makes him too.”

Sophie giggled; Patrick tried not to smile as he reached for the next pie. The villagers had only ever seen him look serious. Sophie loves me.

“That smile has to be a good sign, Ma,” Bessie added as he took a bite of what was clearly her mother’s pie.

“We’ll see.” Patrick watched Mrs. Puckett purse her lips until her entire mouth seemed to fold in on itself.

When he finished the savory, he moved onto the sweet and nudged the two plates close to Sophie he liked best.

“The two in front of you I like,” he said so only she could hear.

“I agree and will mark the numbers on the card.”

Sophie pinned the sash to Mrs. Stigg’s dress for the best savory pie and congratulated her on her win minutes later. Patrick presented the winner of the sweet pie award to Mrs. Puckett.

“If you and Amelia will just wait a few minutes, Stephen and I will accompany you home,” Patrick said as he led her back to the carriage after the ceremony was completed. “There is just a matter of the ale competition to judge.”

“These people love having you here for this day. Many of them have told Amelia and me that,” Sophie said.

“Stay and do your duty to them, Patrick. We made the journey here safely, and we will make the return journey the same way.” She squeezed his hand.

“Come along, Amelia. We will get back to Timmy and make sure he is not running Letty ragged.”

“Sophie—”

“I will be fine.” She brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Hurry home,” she whispered.

Patrick’s sigh was loud as he looked down into the twinkling eyes of his wife. “All right, you win,” he said, kissing her on the mouth this time. “Behave yourselves.”

“I find that comment offensive,” Amelia said as he handed her into the carriage behind Sophie. “We always behave. It is you men who can’t be trusted to do so.”

“Right, of course that’s the truth,” Stephen drawled from behind Patrick.

They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the carriage roll over the bridge and disappear from view.

“She forgave you, then?”

“So Miss Logan appears not to yield to your charms as others so easily do. I shall enjoy watching whatever is between you unfold,” Patrick added.

Stephen muttered something foul and headed for the ale tent.