The nerve of the man! Kit glared at him. "Thank you, my lord, but I fear another pain has come along to take its place."

He grinned.

The dowager looked askance at her. Kit raised her chin.

"I have brought some good news," he announced. "If the weather cooperates, we shall picnic on the lakesh.o.r.e this afternoon."

"A picnic?" The dowager raised a doubtful eyebrow. "And whose suggestion was this?"

He c.o.c.ked his head toward her. "Her Grace thought it might give us all a chance to enjoy each other's company in a more informal setting, and to allow the children to spend some time with you."

Kit threw a wary glance at the marquess. A picnic? The fussy, prim-and-proper d.u.c.h.ess had proposed a picnic? Her eyes narrowed. Fustian. Either this was Lord Bainbridge's doing, or the duke was putting the screws to his grandmother, showing her just what she would be denied if she did not capitulate. How could anyone be so cruel? She pressed her lips together.

A visible struggle between delight and despair crossed the dowager's face. "Well, I must compliment my grand-daughter-in-law on such a fine idea. The children will be delighted."

"Take heart, Your Grace," Kit said softly. "Everything will work out."

"Has something happened?" the marquess asked, frowning.

The young woman regarded him sadly. "His Grace has issued an ultimatum. If the dowager does not do what he says, he will prevent her from seeing his children."

Bainbridge swore under his breath. Then he straightened his shoulders, reached down for the dowager's hand, and bowed over it. "I a.s.sure you, ma'am, that I will not allow this to happen." He shot an intent look at Kit.

A sad smile curved the dowager's lips. "You are a dear boy, Bainbridge, but I doubt you will be able to change that ninny's mind. He can be so d.a.m.nably stubborn."

"He can indeed, ma'am," agreed the marquess in a steely tone. "But so can I. Mrs. Mallory and I believe we might be able to make him rescind his decision about the children."

"Oh you can, can you?" The dowager looked pointedly between the two of them. "And what hugger-mugger is this?"

Bainbridge lanced another significant glance at Kit. "Mrs. Mallory and I spoke yesterday afternoon regarding our mutual concern for Your Grace's happiness, and we may have come up with a plan."

An odd expression crossed the dowager's face. "And what sort of plan is this?"

"Both you and the duke are very set on having your own way," Kit ventured.

"Are you calling me bullheaded, child?" demanded the dowager.

Kit did not flinch. "Yes, Your Grace. Both of you are stubborn, bullheaded, and obstinate. If both of you insist on getting your own way, then both of you will end up monstrously unhappy. Lord Bainbridge and I care for you a great deal, and neither of us wants to see that happen."

The dowager's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at, child?"

"Very well, ma'am-I shall be blunt. We want to find a compromise, something that will satisfy both you and the duke."

"A compromise?" The dowager's painted brows shot upward.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Just as quickly, her eyebrows plummeted into a scowl. "Well, if by compromise you mean giving in to that little twit, I won't do it."

"But, Your Grace-"

"I won't do it. I will not let that young popinjay dictate to me. I will not!"

"Please, Aunt," Bainbridge began.

The dowager rose, her bosom puffed out like a pigeon's. "I had thought better of you, Bainbridge, than to ask me to surrender my dignity. I will not budge, do you hear? Not one inch!" With that, she pulled her shawl around her and swept down the garden path.

The marquess grinned as he watched Her Grace flounce into the house. "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

Kit rolled her eyes. "Well? She categorically refused us!"

"What did you expect?"

Kit put a hand to her temple. "I don't know. Suspicion, doubt, relief . . . anything but an explosion like that. This will not be easy."

"Did you think it would be? Did you think we would propose this cozy arrangement and have everyone agree to it just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

"No, of course not," Kit snapped, irritated.

Bainbridge rubbed his chin. "We are dealing with two very proud, very obstinate individuals."

"That much is obvious, my lord," she replied with no little sarcasm.

He sighed. "I'm saying that we must proceed with caution. I fear that both of us speaking to the dowager like this put her on the defensive; she suspected that we were trying to force her to change her mind."

Kit considered a moment, then bit her lip. "I had not thought of that," she admitted. "So what do we do now?"

The marquess clasped his hands behind his back. "I propose a two-p.r.o.nged attack: I will deal with the duke while you plead our case to the dowager. Then, and only then, do we put them together to finalize the agreement."

"Do you think we can succeed in only a week?"

"We must, if we don't want them to be completely forlorn for the rest of their lives. And I, for one, don't particularly like dealing with miserable people; they tend to make everyone around them miserable, as well. Short of locking them in a room together and refusing to let them out until they agree, I see no other option."

Kit picked up the linen napkin and toyed with one embroidered edge. "All right. Now that we have settled on a method, what sort of compromise do we intend to propose?"

Bainbridge began to pace on the path in front of her. "That should be simple enough."

"Then why haven't they come up with it themselves?"

"Because everyone in this family takes a sort of perverse pleasure in being difficult."

"I'd noticed," she mumbled.

He chuckled. "Let us look at the facts. Wexcombe wants his grandmother to retire to the dower house."

"Which Her Grace will not even consider," Kit said.

"So she says. And now the duke has threatened to keep her from seeing the children."

She sighed. "Which will break her heart."

"We need to come up with an arrangement that will give them both what they want."

Kit nibbled on the end of her thumb, her brows drawn in a pensive line. "What if . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What is it?" prodded the marquess.

"What if the dowager d.u.c.h.ess agreed to stay at the dower house for part of the year, say . . . from Lady Day to Michaelmas. The rest of the year she would be free to travel. The chill winters prove difficult for her, but she could spend that time in Bath, or even in a warmer climate if she wished. It would mean no more prolonged voyages to India, but I suspect she will be able to live with that."

Bainbridge gazed at her with dawning comprehension. "And if she is at the dower house during the Season, Wexcombe wouldn't have to worry about any of what he calls her 'embarra.s.sing exploits.' And she can spend the summer with the children, which will delight them all to no end. It's perfect."

"I only hope Their Graces agree," she murmured.

"We shall have to ensure that they do. It is my hope that the picnic this afternoon will put everyone in an amiable frame of mind, and receptive to our suggestion."

"I will see if I can speak to the dowager before that," said Kit. She picked up her napkin and climbed to her feet. "I want to apologize for upsetting her."

"Good luck, then. And Kit?"

He'd used her nickname. How intimate it sounded coming from him! Against all reason, a tiny spark of delight shivered all the way down her spine. "Yes?"

He held out a hand to her. "Well done."

She stared at his broad, calloused palm and remembered what had happened the last time she'd given him her hand to kiss. With an insouciant smile, she dropped her napkin-wrapped scone into his grasp. "Thank you, my lord," she said, then turned and marched back to the house.

His resonant chuckle drifted after her.

That afternoon, a carnival atmosphere reigned along the sh.o.r.e of the lake below Broadwell Manor. A large blanket had been spread beneath one of the stately oaks that grew not far from the lake, with liveried footmen putting away the remains of the repast that only recently covered it. Woven picnic hampers large enough to hold the small feast sat off to one side. Rowboats sat snugged up to the pier; the duke, in his shirtsleeves, rowed the d.u.c.h.ess across the middle of the lake's placid blue surface. By the water's edge, Emma and Nathaniel shouted and clapped with joy as the dowager presented them with toy wooden boats, complete with canvas sails. The nearest Kit could tell, judging by the shrieks and yells and vocalized booms, was that the dowager was playing a menacing Bonaparte, while the children and Miss Pym defended the sh.o.r.es of England as the Royal Navy.

Kit laughed and took one last bite of her apple, relishing the crisp burst of flavor on her tongue. Never did an apple taste so good as it did on an idyllic afternoon, and this one certainly qualified for the honor; so far, no one had spoken so much as one angry or provoking word. That was mostly due to the interference of the marquess, who managed to deftly change the subject whenever the conversation took a dangerous turn.

The marquess. Her eyes seemed to stray to him no matter where he was, and at the moment, he and Lady Elizabeth were walking along the sh.o.r.e of the lake, engrossed in conversation; the drifting wind carried the lady's trill of delighted laughter to Kit's hearing. Her fingers tightened on what remained of her apple, and she flung the core as far as she could.

Why would she be upset that the d.u.c.h.ess's sister was flirting with him? Or was he flirting with her? She unclenched her fingers and flexed the tension from them. He was an unrepentant rake, after all. She should expect as much from him.

So why could she still taste bitterness at the back of her throat?

Another burst of laughter, this time of the juvenile sort, diverted her attention. The dowager climbed the gentle slope toward the trees, accompanied by the bouncing children and the red-faced and perspiring Miss Pym.

Kit waved. "Did your new ships keep England safe from that Corsican monster?"

"We blew Boney-part up!" Nathaniel exclaimed, then laughed uproariously.

"And he won't come back!" added Emma, not to be outdone.

Kit applauded. "Good show! That will teach him." She turned to the dowager. "How very obliging of you, Your Grace, to act on behalf of the enemy."

"Someone has to," the dowager chuckled. She lowered herself onto the blanket, waving away the two footmen who hurried to a.s.sist her. "Go away, you foolish boys. When I need your help, I will ask for it."

Kit hid her grin behind her hand. She cleared her throat. "So what will you do now that England's greatest enemy is vanquished?"

"We came back up here because the children have asked for a story," said the dowager. She slanted Kit a look rife with mischief. "But I have told them that your stories are better than mine."

"My stories?" Kit echoed.

"Yay! A story! A story!" yelled Emma.

"Lady Emma, control yourself!" huffed Miss Pym, an expression of abject horror on her round face.

The dowager frowned and waved a dismissive hand in the governess's direction. "Oh, enough of your harping, woman. Let the children be children, for heaven's sake!"

Miss Pym fell silent, abashed.

"Now then," continued the dowager, "I have told Emma and Nathaniel that you have a favorite story about a prince who goes on a quest to find his princess. You should know it by heart; you've been working on it long enough."

"Indeed I have," Kit agreed with a laugh.

"Please, Kit?" Emma pleaded.

"Please?" echoed her brother.

Kit raised her hands. "All right. I will tell you the story."

Emma and Nathaniel appeared ready to erupt in yells of triumph once again, but a quelling look from Miss Pym nipped any such impulses in the bud. Still wriggling with excitement, the children began to settle on the blanket.

"What is all this commotion about?"

Kit's heart leaped into her throat at the sound of the marquess's voice-whether from pleasure or annoyance, she couldn't tell, but she didn't want to think about it too closely.

"I . . . I was about to tell the children a story, my lord," she faltered. She raised a self-conscious hand to the battered chip-straw bonnet she wore as the marquess and Lady Elizabeth drew near. In her gown of lemon yellow sarcenet, with matching ribbons and plumes on her bonnet, the earl's daughter appeared more prepared for a fashionable tea party than an informal picnic.

"A story!" cooed Lady Elizabeth. Her pale blue gaze spat poison. "How delightful. I'm sure you're simply wonderful at telling stories."

"Indeed," Bainbridge seconded. A faint smile quirked his lips. "May we join you?"

"Well, I don't know . . . ," Kit said, tapping one finger against her cheek.

"Oh, come now," the marquess drawled. He winked at her.

She replied with a raised eyebrow. "Very well, my lord, but I will require that everyone partic.i.p.ate."

"What's party-see-pate?" queried Nathaniel, his face scrunched in confusion.

Kit smiled down at him. "It means that everyone gets to act out a part of the story."

"That sounds fun!" Emma proclaimed. "May I be the princess?"