Charlotte leaped to her feet. “We can’t let it happen, Miss Finch!”
“It won’t happen, Charlotte. We just have to show the duke and a few visiting generals that Lord Rycliff’s militia is ready and able to defend Spindle Cove.”
Bram took over. “All volunteers will encamp here, at the castle. Your time and full efforts, sunup to sundown, will be required. We’ve worked out a schedule. Corporal Thorne will take charge of drilling you through the formations. Prepare to march your feet to stumps. The lines must be crisp; the formations, exact. Lord Payne”—he shot a look at his surprised cousin—“with his natural talent for explosions, will be in charge of artillery. As for firearms . . .” He motioned in Susanna’s direction. “Miss Finch will lead daily practice in marksmanship.”
A murmur of surprise swept the assembled ladies and men.
“What?” Mrs. Highwood cried. “A lady, teaching men to shoot?”
“Didn’t you know?” Bram asked, sliding her a knowing look. “She’s a thing of beauty with a gun.”
Fighting a blush, Susanna returned her attention to the list. “Miss Taylor will suspend her regular music lessons to give Finn and Rufus Bright intensive tutoring. Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Fosbury will jointly lead the uniforms committee. All available ladies will assist with the sewing in the evenings.” She lowered the paper. “It’s vital that the men look their polished and tailored best, to make a good impression.”
Bram added, “It’s also vital that the visitors be entertained. They’ll be guests at—”
“Summerfield,” Susanna finished, growing a touch excited despite herself. “We’ll be hosting an officers’ ball, to follow the field review.”
“A ball?” Mrs. Highwood said. “Oh, that is good news. At long last, my Diana will have her chance to shine. She’ll have recovered her health by then, don’t you think?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“And Lord Payne, you devil . . .” The matron’s face creased with a smile as she waved her handkerchief at Colin. “You must promise her a nice, slow quadrille this time. None of that wild country dancing.”
Colin bowed. “As you like, ma’am.”
Hoping to redirect the conversation, Susanna cleared her throat. “Now, for preparations. I will ask Miss Winterbottom and Mrs. Montgomery to assist with the menus. Sally Bright and Mr. Keane—you two possess the best eye for color, so decorations are yours. Miss Taylor is the natural choice for music, and Mr. Fosbury, I do hope you’ll bake us some cakes. Our chef at Summerfield can’t match your confections.” She smiled at him over the paper. “Now, Mrs. Lange—”
The woman in question sat tall. “You don’t have to ask. I’d be glad to compose a poem for the occasion.”
“That would be very . . .” Susanna paused. “Special,” she finished. “Thank you, Mrs. Lange.”
“What about me?” Charlotte waved her hand. “Everyone else has a task. I want one, too.”
She smiled. “I have a very important job for you, Charlotte. And I’ll explain it to you later, back at the rooming house.” She lowered the paper. “It goes without saying, our usual activity schedule is suspended.”
“We have a lot of work ahead of us,” Bram said. “And it starts this afternoon. Finish your refreshments. Pack away the blankets and canopies. Take the scarf off the sheep. All men should assemble for drill in a quarter hour’s time.”
“Ladies,” Susanna called out, before the entire group dispersed, “we will adjourn to the inn to begin cutting pieces for uniforms.”
As the men and women rose from their blankets and began to remove all evidence of merriment, she turned to Bram. “I think that went as well as could be expected.”
He nodded. “It went well indeed.”
To be truthful, she’d enjoyed the past quarter hour immensely. Standing next to Bram as an equal, rather than squaring off against him. Speaking together, instead of over each other’s words. As they’d addressed their friends and neighbors, the air had hummed with a pleasant chord of harmony, and she’d almost felt as if . . .
She dropped a step back, cocked her head, and peered at him.
“What is it?” he asked, looking self-conscious.
“It’s just . . . You look very lordly, all of a sudden. Standing there in front of the keep, addressing all the villagers. It’s as though you were born to the Rycliff title, instead of gifted it a week ago.”
“Well, I wasn’t.” His brows drew together. “My father was a major general, not an earl of any sort. I don’t mean to forget that, ever.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way. Your father was a great man, and naturally you’ll always be proud to be his son. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be proud of you today, does it?”
He had no reply to that. After a prolonged pause, he said, “I’d best go ready myself for drill.”
“Yes. I suppose I should be going, too.”