Yet the idea burned like acid in his mouth. She deserved better. Not him, of course—no, he’d make a terrible husband for any woman—but someone not so stiff and boring. A marriage between Alice and Lockwood would give mundane an entirely new meaning.

Movement just beyond the edge of the tent caught his attention. Nellie Young was there, motioning to him. That was odd. Then she put her finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet. Was something wrong?

Curious, he went out to see her. She stood behind the tent flap, clearly hiding from the chaperones. “What is it?”

“Come with me.” She tugged his sleeve. “Alice has fallen and hurt herself.”

Goddamn it. “Where?”

“The edge of the back lawn, near the stone steps to the Cliff Walk.”

Without waiting on Nellie, Kit broke into a run, his stomach in his throat. What had Alice been doing near the steps? Everyone else had gone toward the carriage house and the chateau. The beach was the last place Maddie would hide.

A crumpled figure lay in the grass. Alice. He sprinted toward her, not even caring that he’d lost his hat somewhere along the way. She raised her head and groaned, misery etched in her expression.

He knelt at her side and tried to see how badly she was injured. “Alice, sweetheart,” he said gently, and swept a lock of hair off her face. “Tell me what happened.”

“Ankle,” she gritted out.

Her legs rested near a giant gopher hole, and one foot was already swollen inside her slipper. No doubt the injury would worsen over the next few hours. “Let me carry you back to the tent.”

“No, Kit. My mother.”

Kit didn’t give a damn about Mrs. Lusk. “You cannot walk on it, Alice. The rules must be bent in extreme circumstances.”

“And I am here,” Nellie put in, slightly out of breath. “So it’s not as if you two are alone. Kit is right, Alice. You cannot walk on your ankle. Let him help you.”

Alice closed her eyes and grimaced. “Fine. Goodness knows this day cannot get any worse.”

Kit slipped one hand under Alice’s knees and one under her arms. Ever so slowly, he lifted her and cradled her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and exhaled. A quick peek at her face revealed tears building on her lashes. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, trying not to jostle her as he moved.

“No.”

“Then what is it? Why are you on the verge of crying?”

She shook her head. “Just the pain in my ankle. Don’t worry about me.”

“I am worried about you,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

She dropped her head onto her arm, her face near his throat. “I’m an idiot. If I had been watching where I was walking, none of this would have happened.”