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Jane’s eyes widened. “No. Not at all.”
“That is what I thought.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I rather wish that you had not told me either.”
He grinned, glad of the chance to tease her a little if it helped chase away the heaviness of their earlier conversation. “It is not so terrible, really,” he said. “After all, the French eat frogs’ legs.”
She withdrew her hand from his and glared at him. “The French are barbarians.”
He laughed. “There may be some who take exception to your definition of a barbarian, but your point is well made. It is easy enough to ignore the fact that they do excel in the areas of fashion and brandy.”
Her lips twitched, and he knew she saw the humor in this nonsensical exchange. “Perhaps only some of them are barbarians.”
“Indeed. The frog-leg-eating ones.”
“Precisely.”
“Miss Hadford.” Asher approached carrying the jar containing the newt. “The newt won’t eat his luncheon.”
Jane offered him a sympathetic look. “He might eat better if you let him loose in the pond.”
With a reluctant sigh, Asher handed the jar to Alexander. “Here, Lord Bloxley.”
Alexander accepted the jar and offered his other hand to Asher. “Come on, then. We shall set him free together.”
Once the newt was safely back in the pond, Jane declared that it was time for them to leave. Alexander was not sure whether he or Asher was the most sorry to see the outing end, but with Alice bearing the precious jar of tadpoles, they made the slow trek across the field and through the gardens to the carriage waiting at the front of the house.
“You are sure that you will not come inside for some refreshment?” Alexander asked.
Jane shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but we are expected at Charwell Park for luncheon, and it would not do to upset Cook. She is taking her charge to feed Asher regularly and well very personally.”
Alexander smiled. “I am glad to hear it.”
A footman stepped forward to open the carriage door, and Jane turned to Asher. “What do you say to Lord Bloxley, Asher?”
The little boy hurtled across the short distance between them and wrapped his arms around Alexander’s legs. “Thank you, Lord Bloxley.” Alexander’s breeches muffled the child’s voice. “I had a marvelous time.”
Alexander ruffled the boy’s hair. “As did I, young man.”
Asher’s dark brown eyes met his, and his guileless smile did something strange to Alexander’s heart.
“You may climb into the carriage now, Asher,” Jane said.
The little boy backed away a few paces, then with an exuberant wave, he clambered into the waiting vehicle after Alice.
“We shall work on correct forms of greeting before we see you next,” Jane said, watching Asher disappear from view in a whirl of arms and legs.
“Actually, I rather like the one he currently employs,” Alexander said.
“You are very good to not object to being mauled,” she said with a smile, “but it might be looked upon less favorably by those in attendance at your mother’s picnic tomorrow.”
“I had hoped you would be here,” he said, pleased to see that his remark brought a touch of color to her cheeks.
“My entire family is planning on attending,” she said. “And as my Aunt Millward is visiting from London, she will join us also.”
“I am glad to hear it. I shall look forward to seeing her again.”
Jane nodded, then her expression suddenly became more serious. “You will let me know if you hear more about Mrs. Stanley or receive news from the Bow Street Runner, won’t you?”
