When Sophie caught up with Charlotte, she peered about the baby’s round bottom and many petticoats. To her relief, Charlotte didn’t look furious anymore, just amused.

“Have you had anything to do with babies?” Charlotte asked, quietly enough so that Alexander Foakes, pacing behind them on Bucephalus, couldn’t hear her.

“Never,” Sophie said. “I’m an only child, you know.”

“Well, this one is rather wet,” Charlotte said. “And she’s much heavier than she looks.”

“It’s only about four more streets,” Sophie said encouragingly. “Why don’t I take her for a while?”

“She won’t agree.” Charlotte grimaced. “Pippa is terrified of women.”

Sophie cast her a sidelong glance. Charlotte was reflexively cuddling the child, her hand smoothing the soft curls at the nape of Pippa’s neck. Sophie smiled to herself.

They left the bronze gates of Hyde Park behind them and set off down Hurston Street. Alex lived in Grosvenor Square, only three streets from the entrance to the park. Sophie held up her skirts as they picked their way through rubbish and crowds of people, the odd little band of grooms, horses, and one earl, still mounted, attracting not a little attention.

“Well, Charlotte,” Sophie said, sotto voce, “if you don’t marry Alexander Foakes after this, the gossips will probably have an apoplexy.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Charlotte raised her head. She had been rubbing her cheek on the baby’s round head and whispering nonsense to her, and Pippa seemed to like it, since she was giggling.

“Lady Skiffing’s barouche just drove by and believe me she didn’t miss a single detail. You’re holding Foakes’s child, and he is on a horse behind you, with a face like thunder. And she had Sarah Prestlefield with her, and even my mama, who claims Lady Prestlefield as a close friend, says she’s the most fiendish gossip in London. Lady Prestlefield always announces that whatever tattle she knows is certainly untrue, and then she repeats it. You should have seen her bonnet peeking out from the side of the carriage, Charlotte!”

Charlotte didn’t know what to think, so she just concentrated on crossing the street. Alex, riding in the street next to the sidewalk, had also seen Lady Prestlefield’s bonnet emerging gracelessly from a barouche. He grinned, the last fragments of his ill humor disappearing. Perhaps gossip and Charlotte’s soft heart would take care of his marriage problem for him.