Page 54 of After the Spy Seduces

Around them, the festival of St Brendan was in full swing, and the little village had come alive with everyone enjoying themselves in preparation for tomorrow’s more solemn holy day when they celebrated the saint’s feast. That afternoon, a parade of fishermen, sailors, wives, and children had marched from the parish church through the town and down to the water, where the local priest performed the annual blessing of the boats and unofficially began the more raucous celebrations of drinking, eating, gaming, and dancing that would go long into the night.

Rows of vendor stalls and tents crossed the sloping field just above the wharves, and a crush of people filled the space between as they bought food, shopped for trinkets, and drank far more than they should have out of their rented tankards and mugs. Bonfires and torches lit the night. Music drifted from bands scattered across the fairgrounds, punctuated by shouts from the musicians as they encouraged people to dance. Cheers went up around various games from the winners, followed by jeers from the losers. People wearing costumes and masks dotted the crowd, with many dressed up like pirates and mermaids. All of them were having a rollicking good time.

All except Diana.

She was trying. Shetrulywas trying—for Christopher’s sake, if not for her own, because it mattered so much to him that she think about something other than Meri tonight. That for a few hours, at least, she might forget about the French and their threats and simply experience the fair, as if they were any other couple who had come to town for the festival.

So she forced a smile and played along. “What are periwinkles?”

“You’ve never had periwinkles?” Positioning himself beside her so that she wouldn’t accidentally be jostled by the crush of people pressing in around them, he offered her the cone. “They’re mollusks that grow along the coast.” He popped another into his mouth and made a soft sound of appreciation at the taste, clearly exaggerating to prick her interest. “The locals scrape them off the rocks, pluck them from their shells, and then cook them up with some garlic, pepper, and lots of butter.” When she only stared at him, speechless, he stopped in mid-chew. “They’re delicious.”

She screwed up her nose. “They’re snails!”

“Sort of.” He waved the cone temptingly in front of her. “But less French.”

“No, thank you.”

“Where’s your loyalty to England?”

She pushed the cone away. “Snails are snails, regardless of nationality.”

“Try one.” His eyes gleamed, daring her to take one. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

She gestured toward one of the stalls across the way. “I’d rather have the roasted chestnuts they’re selling over there.”

He looked aghast. “Where’s the adventure in that?” Yet he took her arm and escorted her through the crowd in the direction she’d pointed.

She slid him a sideways glance of recrimination. “I have enough adventure in my life right now, thank you very much.”

That mutter earned her a concerned glance from him. In an attempt to focus her thoughts elsewhere, he popped another couple of periwinkles into his mouth and asked between chews, “How did you grow up in so many different places and not develop a fondness for exotic dishes?”

“Or at least a willingness to try unusual ones, you mean?” She stayed close to his side as they continued through the fair, having to lean in to be heard over the music.

“That, too.” He offered the cone again, only for her to push it away with a scowl at his persistence.

“Lots of places, yes, but always on or near British army posts, none of which are known for their daring cuisine.” She gave an exaggerated sigh that drew a smile from him. “You were in the army. You know how it is. In one hand, they give you your uniform, and in the other, a pot of boiled beef and leeks.”

He winced. “Don’t remind me.”

She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips, despite the heaviness that still weighed upon her, and he rewarded her for it by a touch to the small of her back. A familiar and affectionate caress. They had no future, but Diana was grateful to be given this bit of him, no matter how small. For a few precious hours, she could lean on his strength.

He ate the last of the periwinkles, crumpled the cone in his hand, and tossed it away.

“But you’re no longer a soldier,” she reminded him.

No, he was a servant of a different kind to the Crown, yet his life wasn’t so very different from that of her father and Major Paxton. His uniform might be invisible, but he was still obliged to follow orders, still required to do whatever Whitehall wanted from him and go wherever they assigned him.

“What will you do?” Feeling the distance creeping in upon them already, she wrapped her arm around his to keep close to his side. “You can’t pretend forever to be waiting for a living in the Church.”

“No, I can’t,” he agreed somberly. From the way he said that, she suspected that something else weighed on his mind.

And damn the foolish hope that sprung up inside her chest that he might want a life away from service, that made her ask far too breathlessly, “What will you do then?”

He dismissed the question with a stilted shrug. Then, he threw it back at her. “What do you want to do with your life, Diana?”

She froze, surprised at his question. No man had ever asked her that before. They’d just assumed that she wanted the same as all other society misses—dresses, parties, a pretty little townhouse she could waste her time decorating between afternoon calls and teas. But Christopher genuinely wanted to know, and for once, she realized, not because he wanted to distract her.

She pulled in a deep breath and placed her trust in him as she shared, “I want to start a charity that will teach boys how to work with horses, so they can find good positions as trainers, drivers, and grooms. Maybe even secure positions in the cavalry.”