For his part, Alex instantly noticed Charlotte’s rumpled hair and pink face, and a swell of rage rose in his throat. How dare Will touch her, he thought furiously. How dare she kiss another man? Pippa, sensing the current of emotion pulsing through his body, clutched his hair and began to cry.

“Hey,” Alex said softly, swinging his daughter down against his shoulder and smoothing her hair. “Shhhh, Pippa.”

“Papa,” Pippa sobbed, “Papa.”

“Lord.” Alex sighed, and waving his hand at the small band, said carelessly, “Will, do the pretty for me, please? I’m going to take this little fish bait for a walk.” He set off without a backward glance.

Charlotte watched, nonplussed, as the earl rounded a bend in the path and disappeared. That was it? He shambled off, like someone’s groom? She felt a flush rise up her cheeks. By God, she wasn’t an easy wench, ready to fall into his hands the moment he raised his finger.

“Well,” said Lord Holland, “I should certainly like to ‘do the pretty,’ as Alex has it, but I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” He looked appreciatively at the lovely young woman who had just arrived.

The gentleman with her made a low and elegant bow. “I, sir, was the Marquis de Valconbrass but”—he shrugged in a very Gallic fashion—”now I am simply Lucien Boch. And this is my sister Daphne.”

Daphne sank into an elegant curtsy. She was very young, probably only sixteen, but she already wore her hair up in a chignon, indicating that she had been presented at Court. She looked, to Charlotte’s mind, quintessentially French, with dainty features and a strong yet delicate chin. She seemed at once romantic and intensely practical. Her hair was so fair it looked like spun silver, and it shone in the sun. And her clothes were exquisite, from the tip of her parasol to the glimpse of rosy slippers peeking out from beneath her fashionable gown.

Lord Holland bowed as gracefully as the marquis. “Lord Holland, at your service,” he said cheerfully, “and this is Lady Charlotte Daicheston, daughter of the Duke of Calverstill. It is a delight to meet you.” He raised Daphne’s hand to his lips.

Lucien shrugged, looking off in the direction taken by Alex. “Shall we return to the carriages? I believe the picnic is being set up in that direction.”

Charlotte felt a bubble of laughter rising inside her. This was too ridiculous! She was on a picnic with a rejected suitor, who rather than sulking seemed perfectly ready to turn his attentions to Daphne; another possible suitor, if she could even call Alex that, considering his inattentive behavior; and a third man whom she had never seen before in her life.

“Sir,” she said to Lucien, “since our host is so whimsical, why should we not be equally wayward? I, for one, would much enjoy a small walk before eating.”