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Lady Cecilia turned up her hooked nose. “I don’t think I’d find the Duke of Westmere anything but… intimidating,” she said. “That scar and those eyes make you feel like you’re being stalked by a feral beast. It’s no wonder he’s called the Beast of Westmere. But what’s this? Is there any reason for Lady Cuthbert to be concerned with the Duke?”

Emma cut a sharp glare at Annabelle then, and her friend winced.

“I am merely concerned about my son, My Lady,” she responded, straightening her back.

Lady Cecilia tilted her head and then nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere near a man with his appearance. Your poor boy must be quite frightened, too.”

Annabelle’s response was smooth. “Some men have more substance than just looks, My Lady. Though I suppose that’s a bit beyond the concerns of those who worry about which ribbon to wear with their bonnets.”

Lady Harwick bristled at the slight to her daughter, but before she could speak, another voice intervened—the honeyed tone of Lady Penelope Morton.

“Speaking of considerations,” she said, casually twirling her mallet between her gloved fingers, “I can’t help but wonder why you haven’t thought more about finding a proper guardian for your boy, Lady Cuthbert. You know, all those manly pursuits do need a man’s guidance. A boy without a father is at such a disadvantage, especially one who has inherited a title.”

Thick tension hung in the air. Emma felt a chill settle in her stomach, but she held herself together with a firm grip.

“What my son needs—” she started, but Annabelle stepped in before she could finish.

“How very kind of you to worry about Tristan’s well-being, Lady Penelope,” Annabelle said, her tone sweet but laced with sarcasm. “Especially considering your lack of experience with raising children—or securing a husband, for that matter.”

Lady Penelope’s face flushed a mottled red with anger. “I simply pointed out that a boy needs a masculine influence?—”

“And I simply pointed out,” Annabelle interrupted, “that unsolicited opinions on other people’s lives are rarely appreciated, not to mention unmannered. Perhaps you should focus your considerable analytical skills on your own life, which likely needs more immediate attention.”

“Friend,” Emma said softly, placing a calming hand on her friend’s arm, “it really is quite all right.” She turned to Lady Penelope, her expression neutral. “I appreciate your concern for my son’s well-being, My Lady, but I assure you, I am more than capable of deciding what’s best for Tristan on my own.”

Lady Oakley, who had been watching the exchange, nodded in approval. “Well said, Lady Cuthbert. Now, shall we continue our game? I believe it’s my turn to show how this sport is played by those who have experience, rather than just strong opinions.”

The tension eased as everyone shifted their focus back to the game, but Emma couldn’t help stealing glances at the woodland path.

“He’ll be fine,” Joanna reassured her, picking up on her worry. “Lord Griggs is very attentive to the younger riders.”

“I’m not worried about Lord Griggs’ attention,” Emma confessed softly. “It’s Lord Sidney’s lack of it that really troubles me.”

“That man,” Joanna said, her disdain evident, “has never cared about anything beyond his own immediate pleasure.”

Just then, Annabelle, having skillfully maneuvered her ball through two wickets, returned to Emma’s side with a victorious grin.

“Your son has more support than you think,” she whispered. “I saw the Duke of Westmere keeping a close eye on him as they left.”

Emma’s eyes went so wide they nearly bugged out of their sockets. “The Duke? You cannot mean that.”

“Unless there’s another brooding, scarred duke with striking blue eyes among us,” Annabelle teased, one eyebrow arched. “Yes, the Duke. He seemed quite concerned about Tristan’s struggles with his horse.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Emma insisted, though a warm feeling spread through her at the thought. “The Duke has made it clear that he sees both Tristan and me as nothing but an inconvenience.”

“Your turn again, Lady Cuthbert,” Lady Harwick snapped, her tone indicating she was less than pleased with the private chatter during a game she was currently losing.

Especially since she’d just lost rather publicly and spectacularly in a verbal battle that she’d instigated all on her own.

Emma stepped up to take her turn, but her mind was still torn between worry for her son and a growing curiosity about the Duke’s unsettling interest in her son.

Did he plan to teach her son a lesson for all the times the boy had trespassed on his property? Why else would the Beast of Westmere watch her boy as Annabelle claimed?

“I hope they come back soon,” Lady Cecilia said as Emma got ready to take her shot. “These hunting trips can drag on forever, and I’m already feeling quite hungry.”

“Maybe if you had eaten more than just one strawberry for breakfast, you wouldn’t be on the brink of starvation before noon,” her mother shot back, mixing a bit of criticism with genuine concern, which was typical of their dynamic.

“Speaking of food,” Lady Oakley chimed in, “I heard Lord Griggs will set up a luncheon on the southern terrace for when the hunting party returns. I think Cook will whip up her famous game pie. Though I really hope Lord Sidney’s aim has improved since last season. I found shots in almost every bite last time.”