The Ideal Bride (Cynster 11)

Everyone stopped, looked, peered, but of course no one else except Edward saw the elusive bird. Which only confirmed that Edward was both loyal and exceedingly quick-witted.

On the other hand, he’d had five years to grow used to his employer’s little tricks.

She had more than her fair share of them, Michael had to grant her that. By the time she’d explained to Ferdinand what jays were, and why spotting one was so exciting—something he himself hadn’t fully appreciated—they’d reached the picnic site.

It was instantly apparent that the English vision of a picnic—hampers of food spread on cloths with rugs strewn about on which to sit—had not translated directly into Prussian. Various chairs had been grouped about the clearing; along one side, a trestle table groaned beneath numerous silver dishes and a complement of plates, cutlery, glassware, wines, and cordials that would have done a formal luncheon proud. There was even a silver epergne set in the center of the display. A butler and three footmen hovered, ready to serve.

Despite the relative formality, the party achieved a pleasantly relaxed ambience, due largely to Lady Kleber’s efforts, ably assisted by Caro, Mrs. Kosminsky and, surprisingly, the countess.

That last put him on guard; there was something going on, some ongoing connection between the Portuguese and Camden Sutcliffe, although of what nature he couldn’t yet guess. The countess’s uncharacteristically cheery behavior made him even more determined to keep his eye on Ferdinand—her nephew.

He pretended not to see the countess’s first two attempts to attract his notice. Sticking to Caro’s side—something she seemed to be growing more accustomed to—plate in hand, he moved with her as she circulated, group to group, while they all savored the meats, fruits, and delicacies Lady Kleber had provided.

Caro’s agenda quickly became clear; personally, she didn’t have one—her application was entirely on his behalf. She was patently intent on using her considerable contacts and even more formidable talents to smooth his way, to give him a step up into what had been her world, a world in which she still, if not reigned, then at least wielded a certain power. Her unsolicited support warmed him; he tucked the feeling away to savor later and focused his attention—more than he most likely would have if left to his own devices—on making the most of the opportunities she created for him to make those personal connections that were, at bedrock, what international diplomacy most surely relied on.

The company had disposed of the last strawberry and the footmen were packing away the plates when he felt a gentle touch on his arm. Turning, he looked into the countess’s dark eyes.

“My dear Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby, dare I claim a few minutes of your time?”

Her smile was assured; he couldn’t very well deny her. With an easy gesture, he replied, “You perceive me all ears, Countess.”

“Such a strange English saying.” Claiming his arm, she waved to two chairs set at one side of the clearing. “But come—I have messages from my husband and the duke, and must discharge my duty.”

He had his doubts about the importance of her messages, yet her citing of duty struck an oddly true note. What was going on?

Regardless of his curiosity, he was acutely conscious of being led away from Caro. He would have made some effort to include her, even in the teeth of the countess’s clear wish for a private discussion, but when he glanced around, he saw Ferdinand deep in conversation with Kosminsky.

The little Pole was in full flight; Ferdinand was presently engaged.

Relieved on that score, he went without argument, waiting while the countess settled in one chair, then sitting in the other.

She fixed her dark eyes on his. “Now…”

Caro glanced at Michael, leaning forward, relaxed yet focused on whatever the countess was telling him.

“Sure you won’t come?”

She looked back at Edward. He met her eyes, flicked his gaze to Ferdinand and back, then raised his brows.

“Ah—no.” Caro looked past him at the youthful group heading down the path that led to a pretty dell.

The afternoon had grown warm; the air beneath the trees was heavy, redolent with the scents of the forest. Most of the older guests were showing definite signs of settling for a postprandial nap, all except Mr. Kosminsky and Ferdinand, and Michael and the countess, who were absorbed with their discussions.

“I’ll…sit with Lady Kleber.”

Edward looked unimpressed by her strategy. “If you’re sure?”

“Yes, yes.” She flicked her hands, shooing him toward where Elizabeth and Miss Kosminsky dallied, waiting for him. “Go and enjoy your ramble. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with Ferdinand.”

Edward’s last look plainly said, In this setting? but he knew better than to argue. Turning, he joined the girls; within minutes, the group had disappeared along the path through the trees.

Caro rejoined Lady Kleber, Mrs. Kosminsky, and Mrs. Verolstadt. Their talk, however, quickly became desultory, then faded altogether. A few minutes later, a gentle snore stirred the air.

All three older ladies had their eyes closed, their heads back. Caro glanced swiftly around the clearing; most others, too, had succumbed—only Kosminsky and Ferdinand and Michael and the countess were still awake.

She had a choice—pretend to fall asleep, too, and fall victim to whichever of the two men pursuing her first came, like Sleeping Beauty’s prince, to wake her—as she would wager her best pearls they would—or…

Quietly rising, she drifted around the chairs—and kept drifting, silent, wraithlike, until the trees closed around her, and she was out of sight.