She took the congratulations of her rivals and of the rest of the company with the simplicity that was her crowning grace. No one could ever be jealous of her triumphs because she managed to give the feeling that she would have been just as serene if she had missed them. But when her eyes met her husband’s her face glowed with the pleasure she saw in his.

Mrs. Welland’s basket-work pony-carriage was waiting for them, and they drove off among the dispersing carriages, May handling the reins and Archer sitting at her side. When their carriage separated from the rest, May gazed into a nearby field shaded with a grove of trees, and drove them toward a dirt road that seemed to lead everywhere and nowhere. She pulled on the reins to slow the horse.

“Newland, I feel so at ease with nature today,” she said, smiling.

“Yes, you are quite a natural, my dear.”

“I have often wondered why we don’t picnic. You and I alone. Why, just look at the beauty of the countryside. I wonder if you’d mind if we took a slight detour before heading back.” She smiled again, only this time her eyes narrowed suggestively.

“My dearest May,” he said, surprised by her sudden sense of adventure.

She glanced behind them. “We have all we need—a quilt and a bottle of champagne, the one Beaufort asked that I bring to Granny. I dare say, she will never miss it. She has plenty in her cellar.”

When he smiled, May turned the carriage, and they ventured down the dirt path. Once they reached the grove of trees, she turned the carriage into the forest. They ducked down to avoid the limbs and brush, and it was not terribly long before they reached an opening to a meadow, where the trees parted and the sun rained down from above them.

“How splendid,” she cried as she parked the carriage.

When they were laid out quite comfortably upon the quilt, Newland popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and bubbles began to spill from the bottleneck.

“Quickly,” she said, reaching reached for the bottle. Then she leaned into it to catch the overflowing liquid. She swallowed, grimacing, and offered the bottle to Newland. He captured what drops he could, but the bulk of it spilled upon him. May began to laugh excitedly.

“We opened it too soon,” he said.

“Champagne is so delightful,” she said still giggling. “But it does tickle one’s palate.”

He smiled at her, agreeing.

“Is there much left?” she asked.

Newland licked the bubbles still spilling over the neck of the bottle. “Plenty left. Now tilt your head back,” he said, smiling at his frisky young wife. This jaunt had been a huge surprise and he could hardly wait to see what was in store.

She giggled again and did as he asked. After he poured her a taste, letting the liquid flow from the bottle, she swallowed happily, and threw her arms behind her and lay back on the quilt. “Kiss me,” she said, her eyes filled with delight, and he did exactly that.