Alex’s fingers tightened on his plate. He felt the unwelcome urge to draw her away somewhere private. To talk with her. To find out if she was safe and well—and to ask if there was anything he could do to alleviate her burdens.

The last was perhaps the most disturbing impulse of all.

He turned his attention to Miss Talbot. She was cutting her chicken into dainty, ladylike bites. She was beautiful. And surprisingly astute, as well. He hadn’t expected her to reprimand George for his drinking, however gently. “Do you often picnic on the grounds?”

“If I can get a party of friends together. Everything is better in company, don’t you find? But it must be a select company, else it fast grows tedious.” Miss Talbot popped a piece of chicken into her mouth. “You look skeptical, sir, but there is good society to be had in Lower Hawley.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Alex said. “Country villages hide all manner of treasures.” Miss Talbot blushed prettily, but it was Miss Hayes’s face to which his gaze gravitated, quite against his will. “The housekeeper at the vicarage mentioned a Roman ruin.”

George reclined back on his elbows, his plate of food abandoned beside him. “An old heap of moldering stones. It used to bring in all sorts of cranks to the village.”

Miss Talbot made a face. “It still does on occasion. And Papa still permits them onto the grounds.”

“They were a ramshackle lot.” George looked at Miss Hayes with a sudden grin. “Do you remember that German fellow? The one who kept asking you to translate for him?”

Miss Hayes continued to section her orange. “He was a harmless tourist.”

“He was impertinent,” Miss Talbot retorted.

“Do you speak German, Miss Hayes?” Alex asked.

She briefly met his eyes again. “A very little. Not enough to mention.”

George laughed. “She said hello to his party of travelers auf deutsch and the fellow was smitten.”

“Hardly.” Miss Hayes ate a section of her orange, pausing to wipe the juice from her mouth with her napkin. “They were friendly people, that’s all. And happy to meet anyone here who spoke their language.” She glanced at Alex. “My father was accustomed to traveling to France for his business. He sometimes ventured into Germany, as well. And even into Spain, on occasion. He could greet everyone in their own language.”

Alex smiled slightly. “And taught you to do the same?”

She sectioned another wedge from her orange. “He didn’t plan on my brother and me remaining all of our lives in Lower Hawley.”

“I’d have invited your brother today if I thought he’d come,” Miss Talbot said. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen him. He was always such a dear, trailing after me wherever I went. Why, he must be practically a man grown by now.”

“He’ll be one and twenty next month,” Miss Hayes replied.