“I haven’t been to a fair in years,” the duchess said happily. “I am looking forward to Drabblefield.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Thaddeus said. “No one of quality or fashion would attend such a ramshackle event.”
He had clearly descended into an even worse humor than he’d been in an hour ago. “Full of the tents of the wicked,” Joan said, giving him a sparkling smile, just to irritate him.
She planned to give up their childish squabbles later, when she wasn’t wearing breeches any longer. Meanwhile, she might as well enjoy herself.
“Musty gingerbread, rotten eggs, and cutpurses galore,” Thaddeus replied, folding his arms over his chest. “Satin waistcoats stripped from dead men and called brand-new. Malt-horses marketed as stallions, every rib showing like the tooth of a saw.”
Joan blinked at him. His voice rarely changed from its civilized drawl, but the last description came out with a sharp edge.
He turned his head and looked out the window. It was annoying how broad his chest was. Her own, in comparison, was very narrow. Elegant clothing couldn’t turn her into a forceful man, like Greywick.
“I’m happy that you’re accompanying us, Thaddeus, even though you feel uncomfortable,” the duchess said, leaning forward and touching her son’s knee. “I was disappointed when you refused to come with me to the auction in Wilmslow.” She turned to Joan. “You may have heard of our delightful excursion, during which your sister Betsy and I donned male clothing and went to an auction.”
“I was there as well,” Aunt Knowe put in.
“On that occasion, you were accompanied by Lord Jeremy Roden and his father,” Thaddeus said woodenly. “You were in no danger and did not need my company.”
“I wouldn’t fit into those breeches now,” Her Grace said, rubbing her rounded belly.
“My father would relish this excursion,” Otis said to Joan, as the duchess and Aunt Knowe digressed into a vigorous debate regarding the merits of a cucumber and vinegar diet.
“Sir Reginald seems a happy man,” Thaddeus said, rather unexpectedly.
“He’s lonely,” Otis said. “Still misses my mother and refuses to contemplate marrying again. Now that my sister’s married, if I’m not home, he rattles about in the London house like a dried pea in a pail.”
Joan stopped listening and returned to secretly ogling Thaddeus from under her lashes. She wasn’t in the habit of lying to herself, and it was disconcerting to realize just how much she enjoyed his looks.
Ironically, if her mother had remained faithful, Thaddeus likely would have courted her as the logical third choice after her sisters Betsy and Viola. Perhaps he would have courted her before Viola, because Joan was a few months older. What’s more, Joan was the daughter of the second duchess, and Viola was the daughter of the duke’s third duchess. Joan ranked higher, in strict terms.
The only qualification Thaddeus seemed to have in mind was “duke’s daughter.”
Clearly, Thaddeus had determined that Viola fit the definition, and Joan did not.
Annoying though it was to admit, she had the feeling that her acting abilities were owed to her adulterous mother, who by all accounts relished the performance required by a duchess in the public eye conducting a clandestine affaire.
Thaddeus’s chiseled profile was so tempting because . . . why? London had its share of handsome men. His wig was perfectly positioned; his boots without a smear or speck of dust; his lips set in a firm line.
He hated being in this carriage. He loathed her breeches; he’d made that clear.
But he was here. She stole another look at him.
His eyes were unreadable, whatever he was thinking shuttered behind an expression of polite interest. And yet she was certain that he was brewing with anger.
Interesting.
He denied the ability to act, but she suspected he played a role a good deal of the time. A future duke, presented to the world in continuous performance.
It sounded exhausting.
Drabblefield didn’t have its own fairgrounds, like Bartholomew Fair in London, or the fairs that took place on the outskirts of Bath. It was held in a large field, whose high grass hadn’t even been scythed, though it would be trampled to the ground by the end of the week. One edge was marked by a thicket; another by ramshackle market stalls, some with a hastily erected wooden structure, and others making do with an old table. The third side was lined with animal pens, and the fourth by a series of tents offering refreshments or entertainment.
They were greeted by shouts from the tents and stalls: “Bottle ale!” “Cure for the pox!” “Best pig this side of London!” “Boiled eels!” “Hot tea, hot brandy, hot treacle pudding!”
Joan choked back a huge grin and set out from the carriage in a long stride.
“Wait for us!” Otis bellowed from behind her, apparently forgetting that he was dressed as a woman and ought to sound like one.
Joan wheeled about, discovering that the ladies had only just managed to clamber down from the carriage. “I’m sorry!” she cried, trotting back to them.
“Gentle ladies, the weather’s hot and the fair is dusty; cool yourself in the shade!” a man bawled from one of the tents.
“I’d like a cup of Waddy’s tea before venturing any further,” Aunt Knowe said firmly.
Thaddeus opened his mouth. He was going to say something about unclean tin cups, or tea that was merely water colored by molasses, so Joan gave him a kick, which was pleasurably easy when unhampered by skirts.
He turned to her, his eyes like chips of ice. “Yes?”
“When you’re at the fair, you’re at the fair!” she told him.
Other than his eyes narrowing slightly, he showed no response.
She sighed. “We’ve been coming every year since we were wee children, and nothing’s happened to us other than the odd upset stomach. It’s an adventure, you see?”
“No,” he said uncompromisingly.
“Waddy’s tea is marvelous,” Aunt Knowe told Otis and the duchess. “He is the one shouting over there. He’d be hurt if I didn’t visit him first.”
“Excellent,” Her Grace said eagerly. “I’ve never had tea from a tin cup, but I understand that it adds something to the experience.”
“Will you join us?” Otis asked Joan. “Though perhaps you should stride around the fair and practice looking more manly.” They all stared at Joan.
The duchess shook her head. “She’s too pretty.”
Joan set her jaw and widened her stance.
“Pretty and indecorous,” Her Grace amended.
Sighing, Joan adopted Thaddeus’s customary expression.
“That’s it!” Aunt Knowe crowed. “Now you’re getting it. All right, my dears, tea. Joan, go forth and polish your manhood. Otis will practice being ladylike with a tin cup while sitting on a stool.”
Otis looked alarmed.
“Low to the ground in case you topple off,” Aunt Knowe told him. “Come along!”
The three of them moved toward Waddy’s tent, followed by Peters, the duke’s groom.
“You’re welcome to accompany your mother,” Joan said to Thaddeus. “I’m very comfortable at the fair by myself.”