“I am sure Ian will exercise great restraint when playing with his new toy, won’t you, Ian?” Isabella said. Efficiently scooping up the soldiers from the floor, she quickly straightened out the room.
“It is nearly time for afternoon tea, children,” Damien remarked. “Run down to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Amberly she may serve tea for the four of us in the drawing room. I’m sure Lord Poole will be otherwise engaged and unable to join us. However, Miss Browning and I will be in the drawing room shortly.”
The room quieted when the children left. Damien peered curiously into the large open box on Isabella’s desk, discovering Catherine’s new doll.
“Poole always did have a keen eye for the expensive,” Damien said soberly. He experimentally tugged on a long golden curl that sprang instantly back to the doll’s head upon release. “I suppose Catherine was enchanted.”
“Not especially,” Isabella replied. She carefully replaced the cover on the box, effectively hiding the toy. “I honestly think she would have preferred a sword like Ian’s.”
“Don’t tell Poole, or one will appear with the morning post,” Damien said with a mocking laugh.
“Your place in their affections is hardly threatened by a few toys.” Isabella reached out and softly stroked the earl’s forearm, . sensing his discomfort. “Lord Poole cannot buy your children’s regard, no matter how elaborate or expensive the gift.” “Perhaps,” the earl responded, his eyes troubled. “Yet he most assuredly will try.”
“This seems like a good spot, children,” Isabella announced. “Let’s set up our picnic here.”
Last night’s heavy rains had thoroughly soaked the ground, but the section of open meadow not far from the house Isabella had selected for picnicking was covered in thick grass. Brilliant late-afternoon sunshine and unseasonably warm spring weather had combined successfully to dry out the worst of the puddles, although there was a thin layer of mud clinging to Isabella’s boots and hem.
As she arranged the blanket, Isabella conceded it was rather late in the day and a bit too soggy to be eating out of doors, but the children had been in such high spirits after meeting their uncle that it seemed like the perfect idea. Anal frescodinner. Away from the subtle tension and veiled hostility of the house. And the fresh air might even make Mrs. Amberly’s overcooked fare a tad more appetizing.
“We shall double our blankets so the dampness of the grass will not seep through,” Isabella informed the children. “It will make for a cozier seating arrangement.”
As soon as the simple meal of cold beef, cheese, warm bread, and milk was unpacked the children began eating with gusto. Isabella poured herself a cool mug of cider and helped herself to a small wedge of cheese.
“I do wish you had allowed me to bring my new sword, Miss Browning,” Ian said between bites of beef. “This is the perfect place to play pirate attack.”
“Pirates is a stupid game,” Catherine sulked. “Ooooh, that’s horrid, Ian. Don’t talk when you have food in your mouth. I can see inside.”
“Hush now,” Isabella commanded softly, suspecting Catherine was more upset over not having a sword like her brother’s than having to watch him eat his meal.
The children had quarreled heatedly over the toy after tea, leaving Isabella no choice but to confiscate it. She had hidden the sword in her room hoping, yet not really believing, that Ian would eventually forget about the cursed thing.
Deciding to take advantage of the momentary peace between the children, Isabella opened the large book she had brought and began reading aloud. The quiet meadow soon echoed with the soothing tone of her voice and the enthusiastic munching of her charges.
“An early evening picnic? Lucky for me, I’ve brought something to share. May I join you?”
The earl’s startling appearance caused Isabella to lose her place in the story. Flustered, she repeated a sentence twice, then finally gave up and ceased reading.
The children clamored to their feet and eagerly embraced their father.
Without waiting for an invitation, Damien sprawled down on the small blanket, insinuating himself next to Isabella.
Her nose caught the tantalizing sweet smell of fresh berries. Damien held out a basket of fragrant strawberries.
“Try one,” he coaxed.
Isabella shifted uncomfortably. The deep, silky pitch of his voice brought to mind all manner of sensuous pleasures that had nothing at all to do with fruit. Blindly, she reached out and filled her hands with the luscious berries.
Lounging back against the blanket, Damien propped himself up on his elbows, crossed his ankles and inquired casually, “Is that one of the barn cats over there on the hill?”
“Where? Oh, where?” Catherine shrieked, whipping her head about and dropping a half-eaten strawberry on the ground.
Damien grinned. “Right there, on the hill.”
The earl pointed toward the top of a small grassy knoll, where a substantial-looking cat was languidly resting in the grass, washing himself in a dignified manner.
Catherine and Ian both jumped instantly to their feet, exactly as Damien had planned.
“I can see it! I see the cat!” Ian shouted. “It’s the big orange tabby, my favorite.”
