“Let us just say that I have difficulty imagining you attacking life with anything less than complete enthusiasm.”

Ellie giggled as she ran ahead of him. “Come along, then. I have yet to attack the day.”

Charles followed behind her, matching her run with a gait that was half stride and half lope. “Hold up!” he finally yelled. “Don't forget that I am handicapped by the picnic basket.”

Ellie stopped short. “Oh yes, of course. I hope Monsieur Belmont packed something tasty.”

“Whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

“Some of that roast turkey from yesterday?” she asked hopefully, trying to peer inside the basket.

He held it above his head as he continued down the path. “Now you can't run too far ahead. For I control the food.”

“So you plan to starve me into submission?”

“If that is my only chance of success.” He leaned forward. “I am not a proud man. I shall win you by fair means or foul.”

“Does starvation count as fair or foul?”

“That, I think, depends upon how long it takes.”

As if on cue, Ellie's stomach let out a loud rumble.

“This,” Charles said with a slow grin, “is going to be very, very easy.”

Ellie scoffed before she continued down the path. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed, stopping before a large oak tree. “Someone hung a swing from this tree.”

“My father did it for me when I was eight,” Charles recalled. “I swung here for hours.”

“Is it still sturdy enough to use?”

“Judith comes here nearly every day.”

She looked at him waspishly. “I'm a bit heavier than Judith.”

“Not much. Here, why don't you give it a try?”

Ellie smiled girlishly as she sat down on the wooden board that Charles's father had used for a seat. “Will you push?”

Charles swept his body into a courtly bow. “I am your ever faithful servant, my lady.” He gave her a starting push, and she began to fly through the air.

“Oh, this is lovely!” she shrieked. “I haven't been on a swing in years.”

“Higher?”

“Higher!”

Charles pushed her until she thought her toes might touch the sky.

“Oh, that's quite high enough,” she called out. “My stomach is starting to flip about.” After she settled down to a more sedate swing, she asked, “Speaking of my poor, beleaguered stomach, do you really plan to starve me into submission?”

He grinned. “I have it planned to the last devious detail. One kiss for a piece of roast turkey, two for a scone.”

“There are scones?” Ellie thought she might drool. Mrs. Stubbs might have problems with toast, but the housekeeper made the best scones this side of Hadrian's wall.

“Mmm-hmm. And blackberry jam. Mrs. Stubbs said she slaved over a hot stove for a day to get it just right.”

“Jam is not so very difficult,” Ellie said with a shrug. “I've made it a thousand times. In fact…”

“In fact…?”

“That's a wonderful idea!” she said to herself.