Page 16

D iana peered out the carriage window as they approached Lord and Lady Morsley’s villa.

It was a lovely property an hour’s drive north of London.

Since their wedding four years ago, Lady Morsley had given birth to two black-haired, blue-eyed boys named Michael and Colin.

Knowing that his wife cherished the work she did for the Ladies’ Society for the Relief of the Destitute, the charitable society she had founded, Lord Morsley had purchased this property so that she could be within easy reach of London without exposing their children to the sooty air and infectious maladies that plagued the capital.

Although it did not compare to their family seat, Ravenswell, they had about four acres that included a small garden, a manicured sweep of lawn, and a little copse of trees at the top of the rise that provided a pleasant view from the house.

The earl and countess were planning a picnic along with some friendly sporting competitions. That most likely meant lawn bowls and shuttlecock, but Diana had brought her sword and fencing costume, just in case.

Lady Morsley greeted them at the door and informed them that everyone was gathering in the back garden.

Diana saw that many of the guests had already arrived.

Aunt Griselda had brought along a trio of her brown and white speckled pointers, and Michael and Colin came toddling up to pet the dogs.

Aunt Griselda produced a ball from her pocket, and the boys, including Alaric, ran off toward the lawn.

Ceci looped her arm through that of Lady Thetford, and they began a leisurely stroll through the garden. Marcus went to join his friend, Lord Fauconbridge.

Diana was looking around for Izzie and Lucy when someone stole up next to her.

She smiled when she saw it was Harrington. “Lieutenant Astley, you startled me.”

He grinned. “Sneaky fellows, us Riflemen.” He dropped his voice low. “I need to speak with you.”

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “More political machinations?”

He froze. His face looked slightly green, and Diana didn’t think it was due to the sunlight reflecting off his officer’s jacket.

She seized his forearm. “What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer right away, so she continued, “Has William Windham given you another assignment?”

“He has.” He somehow managed to infuse his chuckle with despair. “I thought the last one was just about impossible, but this one…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes closed.

“What is it?” she whispered, curiosity ablaze.

He cringed. “Do you by any chance speak Swedish?”

Now her interest was truly piqued. “I do. Why do you?—”

“Lieutenant Astley. Good afternoon.”

Diana glanced up to see Marcus hovering like a great golden mother hen. She cast him a warning look while Harrington returned a polite greeting.

Marcus gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “Lovely day for a picnic,” he said in a clipped voice.

“It is, indeed,” Harrington agreed.

An awkward silence ensued. Diana appreciated that Marcus was trying to be civil.

But she could not help but wish he would be civil from a distance.

She and Harrington were merely talking, and they were doing so in broad daylight, surrounded by twenty people.

Even the notorious sticklers who served as patronesses at Almack’s could find no fault.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I did not mean to interrupt. Please, continue your conversation. What were you discussing?”

“Politics,” Diana supplied.

Marcus nodded tightly. “Excellent. As you know, I am a member of the House of Lords, so it is a subject of interest to me as well.”

Diana bit back a groan. Marcus obviously did not plan on going away anytime soon. “Lieutenant Astley was recently rallying votes in support of the Pensions to Soldiers Act.”

“I was, indeed,” Harrington said. “Your sister was kind enough to advise me regarding my strategy.”

Marcus glanced back and forth between them, his lips turning into a slight frown. “But that vote has already taken place. Surely the lieutenant is no longer in need of your advice.”

Diana hesitated a beat too long. “True.”

Marcus eyed Harrington suspiciously. “Yet you were discussing it again?”

Harrington cleared his throat. “Not precisely.”

Marcus’s eye twitched. “Then what, may I ask, was the topic of conversation?”

Harrington tugged at the stock around his neck. “I am not at liberty to say.”

“Not at liberty to say?” Marcus snapped. “I should like to know what you mean by that.”

“Marcus!” Diana switched to German. “We discussed this. You promised you would give him a chance.”

Marcus answered in the same language. “How am I supposed to give him a chance when his behavior is so obviously suspect?”

“There is nothing suspect about his behavior,” Diana countered. “We were merely talking!”

Marcus remained unmoved. “A likely story!”

The words must have sounded harsher in German than they truly were, because Harrington stepped between them, his brow creased. “Don’t talk to her that way.”

Marcus rounded on him, scowling. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

Harrington bristled. “What are you suggesting?”

Marcus took a step forward. “That you are in no position to criticize the propriety of my behavior!”

Harrington’s hands clenched into fists. Diana could almost feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. “It’s not like that. I didn’t say anything untoward.”

Marcus made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Then what, exactly, were you discussing?”

“I cannot tell you,” Harrington bit out. “I promised to keep the matter in confidence.”

Marcus’s voice started to rise. “Any topic that is appropriate for my sister’s ears you can have no qualms in speaking of before her brother.”

Now, Harrington looked annoyed. “Well, I can’t! Now, if you would be so kind as to sod off for five bloody minutes?—”

“This is your notion of appropriate language to use in front of a lady?” Marcus snapped.

Diana rolled her eyes. “Really, Marcus, you used that very word at breakfast this morning. And Aunt Griselda says the equivalent every time she opens her mouth. I’m hardly going to fall into a swoon.”

Marcus’s nose curled. “That is not the point. The point is?—”

He was interrupted by a feminine clearing of the throat. Lady Morsley stood before them, flanked by Izzie, Lucy, and Izzie’s husband, Thorpe. She smiled anxiously, clearly eager to diffuse the tension. “I believe everyone has arrived. Shall we play a few games before lunch?”

“That’s a fine idea, Anne,” Harrington said. He glanced at Marcus, his brown eyes sparking. “In fact, why don’t we lay some odds on the outcome?”

Marcus met his glower. “What are you suggesting?”

“A tournament,” Harrington proclaimed. “The winner shall receive a boon from one of the other participants.”

Marcus stepped forward so they were standing mere inches apart. “And what boon did you have in mind?”

Harrington didn’t flinch. “Your sister.”

Other than Lucy’s gasp, there wasn’t a whisper of sound as everyone in the party stared raptly at the two men.

Diana felt a flush rising to her cheeks as several pairs of eyes shifted to her. It wasn’t really a declaration, but it certainly sounded like one.

She lifted her chin. Let them stare. And let them conclude that she and Harrington were courting. If she had her way, they soon would be.

Harrington blinked, seeming to realize the extreme impropriety of what he had just said. “That is… I should very much like to have the pleasure of Lady Diana’s company during the picnic.” He turned to face her, sketching an elegant bow.

Marcus smirked, practically radiating confidence. “Fine. But you’ll have to get through me. At swords.”

“Targets,” Harrington countered, miming the shooting of a gun with his hand.

Just like that, they were nose-to-nose and snarling once more. “Swords!” Marcus spat.

“Targets!”

“Swords!”

“Targets!”

“My gracious!” Lucy laughed awkwardly. “Perhaps we should play shuttlecock instead.”

“No!” both men snapped in unison.

Lucy winced, and Thorpe cast a reproachful look at Harrington and Marcus. “I should be glad to play shuttlecock with you, Lady Lucy.”

Harrington shot his sister an apologetic look. Lucy laughed, waving it off. “Thank you, Thorpe. Let’s have a game after luncheon. After all, we don’t want to miss the show.”

“Swords it is,” Marcus said, attempting to bowl over everyone, as usual.

“We’ll draw straws,” Harrington countered.

Marcus’s lip curled, and Diana knew her brother well enough to know that he was really, truly angry. But he snapped, “Fine!” and stalked off.

Lord Fauconbridge cut two blades of grass. He held them out for Harrington and Marcus to inspect, then turned his back, arranging them in his cupped hands. “Trevissick will draw. Close your eyes.”

Marcus did so, fumbling until he managed to grasp one of the ends sticking up from Fauconbridge’s fist. He pulled it out, revealing the long straw.

Her brother’s smile as he turned to Harrington was vindictive. “Fetch yourself a mask, Astley. You’re going to need it.”