Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,82

she had probably never ridden in a private carriage before. First, the reference to Clopdon and then the offer of a carriage. Rowden must be quite hungry to be going to such lengths to persuade Mrs. Blimkin to come to Wentmore.

“Well, I would be honored. I need to stop in at the vicarage and gather a few supplies and set something out for dinner.”

“We shall come by in a quarter hour for you,” Rowden said.

“Oh! Yes. Well.”

“Good day, Mrs. Blimkin,” Rowden said. Nash echoed the sentiment. With a light touch on Nash’s arm, Rowden indicated he would begin to walk again. Nash started after him, trying to keep the little vision he possessed on the shadowy form of his friend. Thank God for Mrs. Blimkin. This torture was almost at an end. All that remained was to call at the store and then collect Mrs. Blimkin from the vicarage.

The vicarage. Where Pru lived.

“You won’t believe who is striding toward us right now,” Rowden murmured under his breath.

Somehow Nash already knew. The air had shifted just a moment before, and he’d known she was close. It was as though he had conjured her with his thoughts. That was ridiculous, of course. She’d no doubt heard he was in the village and came to...what? Tell him off? She wasn’t the sort to pretend to feel anything she didn’t truly feel.

“I wish you could see her,” Rowden continued. “She’s wearing a dress I haven’t seen before and she looks...hmm.” He made a sound of approval that Nash didn’t care for. He wanted to punch his friend for looking at Pru that way, but instead he tried to prepare himself for the lash of her tongue.

Perhaps that was the wrong terminology as it produced a very pleasant image in his mind.

“Mr. Pope and Mr. Payne, how unexpected this is!”

Nash frowned, hearing neither real warmth nor wrath in her voice.

“What brings you into the village?” she asked. Nash realized she was providing him the perfect opportunity to answer the question probably everyone in Milcroft was wondering.

“Well...” Rowden began, but Nash cleared his throat, cutting his friend off. Rowden had been doing all he could to save him from the asylum. It was time Nash saved himself.

“Good day, Miss Howard,” he said, giving her a slight bow, which served to remind the curious villagers that he was the son of an earl and a gentleman, not some monster at the castle on a cliff. “I have fond memories of Milcroft from my childhood. I told Mr. Payne I wanted to stop in at some of the shops now that my—er, health has improved.”

“I see,” she said. They must have several people around them because she wasn’t chastising him for the way they’d last parted. “I won’t keep you then. Good day.” Her step sounded on the stones, and Nash struggled for a way to keep her from walking away.

“Miss Howard,” he said, grateful when her steps halted. “We are on our way to the vicarage after this stop to collect Mrs. Blimkin.” He didn’t know why he said this, other than to keep talking to her. Perhaps to let her know the best way to avoid him...or to see him again?

“The vicar is not at home today,” she said. “After the rains the other night”—there was a slight pause that he thought perhaps only he detected—“the field where we had thought to hold the autumn festival is now far too muddy. Mr. Higginbotham went to inspect several other possible settings.”

“Autumn festival?” Rowden said, and Nash did not like the tone in his voice. “What is an autumn festival?”

“Oh, but you must come,” said a woman’s voice. “It is ever so diverting.”

“We have food and games and fellowship,” another woman added.

Clearly, Rowden had some admirers here in Milcroft. Nash didn’t know anything about an autumn festival. It must be something that had begun in recent years.

“Of course, we will come,” Rowden said. Nash muttered, “Speak for yourself,” under his breath. He was not going two miles within range of an autumn festival. He’d had enough people looking at him for a year.

“In fact,” Rowden added. “I think we should host the festival at Wentmore.”

Nash jerked in surprise.

“The grounds are extensive enough, and we have enough workmen at the house to...er, tidy them up.”

Nash had not seen the grounds, of course, but he imagined they needed more than tidying.

“When is this festival?”

“Saturday,” Pru said, her voice catching Nash’s attention. She was too far away to touch, which was