A shadow fell across the bench as Tristan leaned in closer.
"Ladies," he said, "is this the proper use of a fan?"
"Perfectly proper," Lavinia replied. "We are practicing conversation. Would you care to join us, Your Grace?"
He inclined his head. "I am not skilled in the use of fans."
"You may substitute a handkerchief," Lavinia offered. "Or simply your hand, if you are so inclined."
Sophia looked between them, then to her father. She closed her fan. "Father, would you like to play a game with us?"
Lavinia glanced at the Duke, unsure if he would acquiesce or dismiss the idea as childish nonsense.
He said, "What game?"
"Blind Man's Bluff," Lavinia answered quickly, seizing the moment. "It is excellent for teaching balance and composure under unexpected circumstances. All that is required is a scarf."
Sophia’s face lit with delight. "May we, Father?"
He looked directly at Lavinia, a single eyebrow arching. "Is this part of your instruction?"
"Indirectly," Lavinia said. "But I find indirect methods are often the most effective."
There was a pause so long that Lavinia feared she had overstepped, but finally, the Duke nodded. "Very well. Proceed."
Lavinia withdrew a silk scarf from her reticule—a pale green, shot through with silver threads, once her mother's favorite—and turned to Sophia. "Would you like to be the first?"
Sophia nodded.
"Very well, close your eyes." Lavinia tied the scarf around Sophia’s head, careful not to catch her hair. "Can you see anything?"
Sophia giggled. "No."
"You must catch one of us, and only by sound." Lavinia stepped back, and the Duke did the same, though his arms remained folded.
"Begin," Lavinia called.
Sophia took two cautious steps forward, arms extended, her footfalls muffled by the grass. She veered left, then right, her hands waving like a divining rod. The Duke, for his part, remained perfectly still, so Sophia drifted toward Lavinia, who retreated with exaggerated care.
Sophia’s hands brushed the edge of Lavinia’s skirt.
"Got you!" Sophia cried, triumphant.
"Very good," Lavinia said, clapping. "You may remove the scarf."
Sophia did, her face red but glowing. "Now Father’s turn!"
Tristan appeared startled by the prospect, but Sophia’s hopeful expression was impossible to refuse.
"Very well," he said, extending his hand for the scarf.
Lavinia approached him, and for a moment, as she tied the scarf over his eyes, she was acutely aware of how close they stood, the warmth radiating from him, the scent of sandalwood and shaving soap. His jaw flexed as she secured the knot.
"Can you see anything, Your Grace?"
He shook his head. "Not a thing."
Lavinia fought the urge to smile, then addressed Sophia. "You must be very quiet, Lady Sophia. He is a predator, and you are the prey."
