Page 34 of The Raven’s Lady

“No thank you,” said Henry. “May we keep looking? Charlie and I want to find something we can keep.”

Mr. Ruggles laughed. “There’s a raven’s nest. Can you find that? The birds keep stealing our markers.”

The boys’ faces lit up. “May we, Papa?” Henry asked.

“One hour.” Mr. Montford wiped his brow. “Don’t miss your mother’s picnic. Now Ruggles, take us to those mosaics.”

The boys dashed off, and the rest of the party moved at a languid pace toward the area covered by a tall shed. Raven looked for an opportunity to walk with Lady Cassandra, but Mr. Duncan offered her his arm, and though she declined, she fell into step beside the widower.

Raven was used by now to her dipping walk and her refusal to accept help. One could not call her gait graceful, but her back was straight, her head high, and her movement had a character he could only call strength of will. She was far from decrepit.

Beside him, Miss Montford put her arm through Raven’s, her parasol angled to shade her face. “I must say I have a poor idea of these Romans, if their Oxford Street was a narrow lane of fish sauce vendors.”

“You think these Romans were a dull lot, here in the country.”

“Their town did die,” she said.

“Point taken,” he agreed. He smiled at her. He had been marked to be her partner. If his plan for the day was a bust, the gentlemanly thing to do was to play the part he’d been handed with good grace. But he would do nothing to raise maidenly or maternal hopes. His interest lay elsewhere. Miranda Montford was a pretty girl, fair-haired and rosy-cheeked with round blue eyes. He wondered that he didn’t find her frankness engaging. It was not her fault that she lacked Amabel’s unusual beauty or Lady Cassandra’s wit.

Though the barnlike shed erected to protect the mosaic floor offered shade, it was quite warm inside the structure. A raised wooden walkway surrounded the old Roman floor with its outer border of blue and white tiles in interlocking loops and its central figure of a man on a raft in a stormy sea. When Mr. Montford identified the figure on the raft as Ulysses of the ancient epic and began to explain the story to Lady Cassandra and Mr. Duncan, Miss Montford tugged on Raven’s arm and gave him a pleading look.

“It’s too warm for Miss Montford,” Raven said. “Let me get her into the air under the trees.”

*

They were not long in the shade of the oaks at the top of the hill, before the rest of the party joined them. Raven was glad to see that Lady Cassandra did not appear fatigued.

Cloth-covered platters filled two tables. The older ladies of the party sat in folding chairs, and rugs spread on the ground invited the rest of the party. A welcome puff of breeze stirred the air. There was a bit of bustle and milling about with Mrs. Montford advising them all of the menu and directing her guests to places on the rugs. Once again, the arrangement separated Raven from Lady Cassandra. He saw Miss Montford settled on a patch of rug and went to procure her some lemonade. As a maid poured, he looked over a platter of sandwiches.

Lady Cassandra appeared at his side. “What do think?” she asked. “The soused lamb, or the cold chicken?”

He glanced at her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. The lace at her bodice clung to her warm skin. “Where is your suitor?” he asked. The question, which had unexpectedly popped into his mind, sounded cross even in his own ears.

Her brows went up. “Mr. Duncan, who is not my suitor, is very properly seeing to his mother’s comfort. And, if you don’t wish to offend our hostess, go for the soused lamb. It’s her specialty.”

She turned away, leaving Raven staring at the sandwiches and cursing his own clumsiness in shutting down the only conversational opening she’d offered him all day. He chose the soused lamb for himself and the cold chicken for Miss Montford. With any luck the heat would soon put an end to the picnic.

*

Cassie sipped her lemonade and picked at her sandwich, breaking it into bites. No one paid any attention to her. The Romans had not disappointed, but it was lovely to sit in the shade and feel the breeze. A few gray-bellied clouds sailed past overhead, fluffy harbingers of rain.

Cassie was only slightly vexed with Sir Adrian. She could not blame him for thinking of Mr. Duncan as her suitor. Plainly, Mrs. Montford had included him in the party so that Miranda could have Sir Adrian to herself. Cassie hoped his attention to the girl had raised no expectations. She supposed he was waiting for Lady Amabel’s arrival in the country to reveal where his heart lay.

A little cry from Mrs. Montford interrupted her thoughts. “My strawberry tarts!” She held a checked cloth above an empty plate.

Her husband came to her side. “What is it, my dear?”

“My tarts are gone.”

“All of them?”

Mrs. Montford glanced around. “Where are the boys?”

“They’ve gone in search of a raven’s nest.”

Mrs. Duncan shuddered. “Nasty, ill-omened creatures with their great beaks.”

Sir Adrian stiffened but said nothing. Cassie rose to her feet. “Clever and cheeky more like,” she said, looking at him.