Will gazed at Charlotte thoughtfully. Could it be that a crack was appearing in her enchantment with his handsome friend? Perhaps he could use the child as a wedge? But no. Will sighed inwardly. Better to flirt with the accomplished Daphne and forget the dream of a witty, lovely Charlotte next to him in bed. Charlotte wasn’t howling with indignation, and that probably meant she didn’t mind having a messy brat hurled into her lap.

Charlotte felt an embarrassed flush rise up her neck. Alex’s maneuver was hardly subtle. She felt as if the whole party was judging her aptitude for motherhood.

Lucien’s sharp eyes noted her mortification and he rose gracefully and bent over her.

“May I?” He nimbly picked up the sleeping child and rolled her deftly into his arms. As Charlotte watched with surprise, Lucien tucked Pippa into the crook of his arm and smiled down at the group. “I shall take her for a walk, shall I not?” He strolled off.

Charlotte instinctively looked at Lucien’s sister. Daphne’s eyes filled with tears and she looked off past the picnic debris, her face rigid. Will drew Daphne to her feet. Having known her for only one hour, he already knew that Daphne would dislike showing emotion before relative strangers.

“Let’s go for a walk as well, shall we?” he suggested casually. They walked off in a different direction, and if Daphne walked rather blindly, Will appeared to see nothing of it.

Charlotte sat alone.

Alex sauntered up, wet linen in hand, and stopped in surprise when he saw no child in her lap. He crooked an eyebrow at her.

“Lucien … he took Pippa for a walk,” Charlotte said. Alex dropped to the ground beside her. Charlotte turned to him, her eyes perturbed. “Have Lucien and Daphne lived in England for several years?”

“I believe so,” Alex replied.

“And was he married before coming to England?”

“Yes.”

“I think he had a child as well,” Charlotte whispered. “How horrible!” One read of the fate of French aristocrats, of course, but it didn’t seem so bitterly painful until one saw a father hold a child not his own.

Alex said nothing. He had come to the same conclusion earlier in the day. He and Lucien had fenced in the long picture gallery of Sheffield House, with Pippa ensconced in a makeshift crib at one end. Confronted with Pippa, his other male friends had either pretended not to notice her or complained (justly, no doubt) that she was an ill-handled problem and should be instantly consigned to a nursery.