Page 76 of Bane Bloom

“I—no—I just . . .”

Putting an end to my flailing, he said, “I don’t much mind unfriendly stares, being used to them. But I wouldn’t like you to be subjected to them. So tell me, lass, is this really what you want?”

I bit my lip and looked toward the inn. The old couple had gone inside, though their smoke lingered in the still, damp air.

“You’ve done nothing to deserve their scorn,” I said. “If they can’t be kind to you, why should I care for their regard?”

He didn’t reply for some moments, and I turned to find him watching me, a softness to his features. “Why don’t you go in first, and I’ll follow in a few minutes? No reason to set them gossiping right from the start.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to ignore me the whole evening, are you?”

He gave me a wry, squinting smile. “Not if you don’t wish me to.”

I nodded and was turning to go when he reached a hand toward me, causing my breath to catch. He gave the flower crown a slight adjustment, then brushed a wisp of hair back from my face, igniting a now-familiar flame in my belly.

“These cowslips haven’t wilted a jot,” I said, a tremor in my voice. “Have you had something to do with that?”

His eyes glinted. “Might’ve. I’ll see you inside, lass.”

I took a deep breath and started toward the inn, maneuvering around the other carts that had assembled. As soon as I opened the door, I was flooded by animated conversation and mouthwatering cooking smells. I picked out a few familiar faces from Sunday services, but most were new. In hindsight, I wasn’t sure why I had so readily agreed to this. I was gregarious enough in London, even at gatherings where only my father was known to me, but here I felt every bit the fish out of water that I was.

“I see you’ve taken my advice.”

I smiled as I noticed Annie approaching.

Her gaze lifted to my head. “Cowslips.”

“Oh, yes.” I touched the crown lightly. “Thomas made it for me. He finds my way of dressing . . . melancholic.”

Annie laughed. “Well, that’s rather the pot calling out the kettle, isn’t it?” There was a knowing quality to her smile that raised heat to my cheeks. She glanced at the front windows. “He has refused to come, then?”

“No, in fact. He’s only seeing to the horse.”

“Ah,” she said, pleased, “good for Thomas.”

She had a hand pressed to her back, and I said, “I worry you’re wearing yourself out, Annie.”

Sighing, she replied, “I’m afraid I’m one of those people who thinks things can’t be managed properly by others. But Bill has been a great help today. And his mother is doing most of the cooking.”

“Is there anything I can help you with? I can’t promise to do it as well as you would, but I’m willing.”

She laughed and thought for a moment. “As a matter of fact, if you’ll come with me to the bar, I’ve got cider that needs serving.”

“Of course.” Truth be told, I was grateful to have a task that would help me get my bearings.

When we reached the bar, she began filling glasses from a cask and placing them on a tray. “Here,” I said, “let me do that.”

“All right. When you’ve got what you can carry, take them around and offer them—will be a good way for you to meet people. Keep going as long as they’re wanted, or until you tire, whichever comes first. People will eat and drink and talk, and we’ll have dancing. Once it’s dark, there’ll be a bonfire. It’ll go late into the night, and I’ll be twisting your arm later about staying with us so you’ll be here for the maypole tomorrow.”

“Does anyone ever say no to you?”

She winked and turned toward the kitchen.

I continued filling the half-pint glasses with the cool, golden liquid and then went around to the other side of the bar and carefully lifted the tray.

I tried to be unobtrusive as I distributed the drinks. Some people were deep enough in conversation that they barely noticed me, while others greeted and thanked me. I noticed I wasn’t the only one wearing cowslips. There were stems in buttonholes, and several ladies had included cowslips in their hair arrangements. One young girl wore a circlet of bluebells.

The tables had been shifted to the edges of the dining room and decorated with jugs of spring wildflowers. While some people sat at them—such as Mrs. Clifford from The Fish Inn, who introduced me to her husband—most were milling about the room, talking with their neighbors.