The last thing she needed was for Sinjin to show up at the picnic. His presence would only complicate the already delicate situation.
“The Pickering-Parks are hosting a picnic at their Hampstead estate,” she said reluctantly, “but I’m certain you won’t want to go. It won’t be your sort of entertainment at all.”
“My sort?” His brows rose.
“Mostly wallflowers and dowagers will be attending. And gentlemen willing to sift through the dregs of the marriage mart. So it won’t be a fashionable crowd, and I’m sure the entertainments will be exceedingly dull—”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” His gaze was all too keen. “Why do I have the distinct feeling that you don’t want me there?”
“I think you’d be, um, bored is all.” Realizing that further protests would only deepen his suspicion, she adopted a tone of indifference. “But go ahead and attend, if you like.”
“As it happens, I don’t have an invitation.”
“You won’t be missing much,” she said lightly.
Thankfully, he let it go at that, and the ride home was spent in lively banter. He escorted her all the way to her doorstep, bowing over her hand.
“Until tonight, kitten,” he rasped, “when we meet in our dreams.”
She floated, rosy-cheeked, through the front door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day, Polly and Thea arrived to find the picnic in full swing. The Pickering-Parks’ Hampstead estate bordered on the picturesque Heath, and the al fresco event was being held behind the sweeping Italianate manor house. The two were greeted by their hostess, Mrs. Pickering-Parks, a rail-thin woman whose preference for the color pink was shown not only in her wardrobe but that of her only son as well. Nigel stood beside his mama, perspiring in pink and brown plaid worsted, his protruding midsection highlighted by a fuchsia waistcoat.
“We’ve recently restocked the Chinese Pond with carp,” Mrs. Pickering-Parks was saying. “After luncheon, you must allow my son to guide you ladies on a tour.”
“Indeed.” Nigel addressed Polly. “Have you finished the book I sent you for your birthday?”
She hadn’t even started it. “Um… not quite yet. But it was very thoughtful of you to—”
“It’s unfortunate that you haven’t read the treatise,” he interrupted, “for it would help you to understand the significance of my latest acquisition—”
“Leave off the old bones for now, dearest,” his mother said hastily. “I’m sure Lady Tremont and Miss Kent would like to refresh themselves first.”
“Perhaps we could, um, talk later?” Polly said to Nigel.
At his beaming smile, her discomfiture grew. She hoped that he wouldn’t take the news she had to share badly. On the other hand, it was possible that he wouldn’t care at all. The passion in his aura seemed exclusively linked to his favorite hobby.
A footman led Polly and Thea to the picnic area, where cloth-covered tables had been set up beneath a flowing pink tent. A quartet provided serene accompaniment to the sweltering summer day whilst perspiring servants delivered trays of refreshments. The stations of games—everything from archery to a ring toss—stood empty, failing to entice guests made lethargic by the heat, food, and their own restrictive finery.
Finding a quiet table, Polly sat with her sister, sipping on iced lemonade and nibbling on sliced fruits and tiny sandwiches. Scanning the crowd, Polly saw there were quite a few gentlemen at the event, and more latitude than usual was given for the mixing of the sexes. Perhaps the impending end of the Season had persuaded mamas and duennas to sacrifice strict chaperonage for a potential eleventh-hour catch.
With a pang, Polly said, “I wish Rosie would have come. The place is teeming with eligibleparti.”
“She’ll come around eventually.” Beneath the flower-strewn brim of her bonnet, Thea’s hazel eyes held gentle empathy. “You two love each other far too well for this rift to continue indefinitely.”
Polly wished she shared Thea’s optimism. It had been five days, and the shoulder Rosie presented to her was colder than ever. Polly had begun to regret her assertive words to her sister, but she didn’t know how to make things right. It was the one dark spot in her burgeoning happiness.
“What if what I’ve done is unforgivable?” she said forlornly.
“It’s hardly that, my dear. The fact of the matter is you could not have predicted the connection between you and the earl. And you are fond of Revelstoke, are you not?”
Fondwasn’t the right word. Thinking of what she’d done in the privacy of her bed last night whilst thinking of him doing the same thing, she flushed. “I do like him. Perhaps too much.”
“Too much?”
Unable to resist her sister’s gentle inquiry, Polly shared her fears that she might not be able to safeguard her heart or her affliction if she were to become Sinjin’s wife.
