Page 5 of Dare it all for Love

Henry caught her eye at that very moment and followed her gaze to Mr Oak. Florence blushed and looked away, embarrassed. Dash it all. The fellow had the worst timing. Now he would think she was interested in Mr Oak. She groaned inwardly.

“What is it, darling?”

Florence turned at her mother’s enquiry; her unease must have been visible. Mama was somehow managing to look supremely elegant whilst eating a chicken leg. It was a gift Florence had yet to master. She set her own down and wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin.

“I was thinking about you and Papa, actually,” she said, as it had been on her mind of late. “About how you met and married.”

Her mama laughed. “Goodness, what a long time ago that was, and yet it seems like yesterday.”

“Papa didn’t like you at first, did he?” Florence asked, comforted by the knowledge.

“Oh, I love this story,” Grace said with a wistful sigh. “Do tell us, Lady Helena.”

Mama gave them an indulgent smile.

“No, your Papa did not like me one little bit, darling. He thought me spoiled and shallow, a pampered heiress who was only interested in him because he would not give me the time of day. He was right, of course,” she added, laughing merrily.

“But you didn’t let that put you off, did you, Mama? Because you knew he was the one,” Florence pressed, needing to hear that she wasn’t being a complete fool for believing in something, or someone, when there was no reason to do so other than some sixth sense that nagged at her heart and whispered in her ear.

“No. I was rather shameless, I’m afraid. Something I do not encourage you to emulate,” Mama added, her expression growing stern. “Things are far stricter for you girls than in my day. Even so, I was lucky that Gabriel was an honourable man, with strong principles, and that he truly cared for me. Not all men are the same. If I had not chosen so well, I might have ended in a great deal of trouble.”

Florence considered her mama, who stared thoughtfully out at the view before them.

Grace frowned down at her plate, tracing a pattern in the crumbs. She seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Florence looked between them. Had Grace taken a chance on someone?

“But if you’d not taken a chance, if you’d not dared him to race you to Brighton, you’d never have won him, would you,” she urged, wanting to hear her mother agree to give her reassurance.

Her mother shrugged, her green eyes taking on a faraway look, her beautiful mouth curving with a soft smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think I would have found another way. It might have taken me longer, but… I’m nothing if not persistent.”

“It is a family trait,” Louis César murmured, gaining himself an elbow in the ribs from Evie, who had also been listening.

“Someone has to stop you from misbehaving. I think of myself as the voice of your conscience,” Evie said airily. “Without me you’d go to the devil in no time.”

Louis César snorted at that and cut a neat slice of apple, handing it to Evie before cutting another for himself. “Between you and Agatha, I shall be willing to enrol myself in the nearest monastery before the year is out, just to get a little peace.”

“Piffle. You enjoy the attention. Oooh, look, macarons! My favourite.”

“At least you are easily distracted,” Louis César observed, reaching for the plate and setting it in front of her. “Do not eat all the pink ones.”

“Why not?”

“I like them best,” he replied with a wink. He turned to where the children were playing some game of their own devising across the field and called out. “Aggie, viens ici, mon enfant.”

“You’re teaching her French?” Evie asked. “You’re supposed to be helping me, you might remember.”

Louis shrugged. “Yes, but your accent is shocking. It gives me a headache.”

“You’re a very rude man,” she said, laughing. “But I shall forgive you because it’s true. No doubt I try your patience horribly.”

“Beyond enduring,” Louis agreed amicably, waving at Aggie to come and join them.

Florence sighed, her gaze inevitably moving across the assembled company towards Henry. He was sitting as far from her as it was possible to get, laughing with Ash and Lord St Clair. Even Mr Oak looked more at ease now, which was surprising, as the austerely handsome Marquess of Montagu was also among their group. He was usually enough to make any man feel self-conscious. She turned her attention to their conversation. It sounded as though Henry had been telling them of his time in India.

“I swear, a ruby almost the size of a hen’s egg. I’d seen nothing like it in my life before, but the prince was so vastly wealthy it was a mere trifle. His palace was extraordinary, incredibly beautiful. Indeed it was a magical place, like a fairytale, though I admit the heat was hard to tolerate.”

“Was he dreadfully handsome?” Lady Montagu asked, voicing the question all the women were thinking and causing her husband to arch one perfect blond eyebrow at her. “What, darling? I’m interested. I want to know more about him. Was he an interesting man? I’m sure he must have been quite splendid.”

Montagu sighed and shook his head. “I knew the day would come. A marquess is a poor substitute for a prince.”