Chapter 7 #2
“That might ordinarily work, except I think he considers himself engaged in a high-stakes gamble right this very moment, with Lady Quick. No, I don’t think he’ll be distracted from her easily.
Unless…” A devilish glint shone in Fitz’s eye.
“I have an idea. When the time comes, all you need do is announce your intention to find the nest of that bird you were so interested in, what was it, the Dartford Yodeler?”
“The Dartford warbler,” Caroline corrected him. “And the woodlark. But I don’t understand how that will help.”
Evidently determined to be mysterious, Fitz winked and said, “Leave the rest to me,” before tipping his hat and falling back to tend to the rest of the guests.
Caroline had to wait until they reached the spot designated for their luncheon before she found out what Fitz’s idea entailed.
As one of the first to arrive at the site of the ancient hill fort, some minutes before the straggling rest of the party, Caroline was able to gape in open astonishment at the “rustic picnic” conjured up by Lady Rosalie for her guests’ amusement.
The cleared area on a spur of land jutting out from the forest was known as Caesar’s Camp—and Lady Rosalie had evidently taken those legendary Roman origins as her inspiration for the picnic she’d ordered her staff to create.
Low trestle tables had been set up end to end in the center of the hill fort, covered with white table linens and laden with jugs of wine and platters heaped with food.
Sprays of hothouse flowers like sweet oleander and vibrant hibiscus exploded from vases.
Clusters of grapes dripped from every corner.
There were no chairs; instead, rugs and cushions had been strewn with elegant abandon about the tables.
“Where are we supposed to sit?” Helena asked, brows arched in surprise.
“Ah,” said Lord Weatherby, approaching the table and casting himself down upon a velvet cushion the color of mustard. “I collect we are not meant to sit at all, but to recline at our ease, like the Romans of yore.”
“At least he’s not wearing a toga,” Lord Alfred muttered, eyeing Lord Weatherby’s sprawled limbs with distaste.
The remark surprised a laugh out of Helena, though she quickly smothered it.
Still, the small moment gave Caroline hope as the rest of the walkers wended their way to the tables, exclaiming over the exotic fruits grown in the Duke of Thornecliff’s famous greenhouses and orangeries and the gorgeous bone china dishes hand-painted with laurel wreaths.
Everyone fell upon the feast as though they’d traversed a wild mountain pass rather than a pleasant, easy stroll through very domesticated woods.
Most seemed delighted with the opportunity to lounge informally amongst the pillows, though there were several moments of hilarity as the ladies attempted to position themselves elegantly without exposing their underthings.
The duke’s liveried servants, who’d had the unenviable task of transporting this entire feast out here by wagon, stood silent and impassive in attendance, as though bored by the whole affair.
Caroline picked at a slice of veal-and-ham pie and let the conversation flow and eddy around her while she waited for Fitz to make his move.
He’d seated himself next to Lord Weatherby, somehow endeavoring to look perfectly at ease and natural.
It was partly his attire, Caroline thought.
While she had dressed in a serviceable brown wool gown for this outing, simple and easy to move in, most of the other guests appeared to take this walk as an opportunity to exhibit their most exquisite daytime finery.
Frilly parasols and gleaming Hessian boots abounded.
Fitz, by contrast, wore looser trousers and a plain, well-made brown and green jacket with a pair of worn-in brown leather brogue boots.
He looked ready for anything, the veneer of refinement stripped back to reveal the rugged, capable outdoorsman beneath.
Caroline, who had found him devastating in formalwear, was nigh incapacitated by Fitz in windblown tweeds.
If she allowed herself, she could so easily picture him pulling himself up hand over hand to stand upon a rocky cliff face, the waves of the North Sea crashing below…
She could hardly pay attention to anything else, which was why she noticed at once when Fitz dropped a quick word in Lord Weatherby’s ear, something that made Weatherby shoot him a glance full of consternation over his dripping spoonful of cabinet pudding.
Clapping him on the back reassuringly, Fitz lifted his gaze to meet Caroline’s stare and gave her a wink.
Taking that as her cue, Caroline burst out, “I couldn’t eat another bite.
Mama, I believe I shall venture forth in search of the nesting grounds of the rarely seen bird species that make their home in these woods.
I should like to do some drawings, if I can find a Dartford warbler or a woodlark.
Would anyone care to join me in a ramble? ”
Fitz was at her side instantly, holding out his hand, and Caroline trusted her balance to him with a heated sense of remembered intimacy.
“I, for one, have walked enough,” declared Lady Kildare emphatically.
“I shall stay here and rest—if any of you gentleman would be gallant enough to keep me company.” Her husband and lover both instantly volunteered for the onerous task.
Sir Frances, a florid gentleman who’d taken an entire jug of wine for himself as soon as he collapsed tableside, was already asleep amongst the cushions.
No one else seemed any more motivated to rise and join Caroline.
Gamely, Mama gathered her skirts and accepted Fitz’s offer of help in standing up. “I’ll keep you company, dearest. Not that you’ll even know I’m there! Once you spy one of your birds and begin sketching, a gun could go off beside your head and you wouldn’t pay it any mind.”
It was no more than the truth, and for the first time, Caroline felt a flutter of something strange at the idea that if her plan here succeeded, she would soon return to her work alone, with no companionship and no help beyond what she hired.
It was what she’d always intended; she had no notion why the thought suddenly held less appeal.
She would be fine, of course. She didn’t need help, and she could hardly bear the company of most people for more than an hour. She had never been lonely before, and if the prospect of solitude felt hard to bear at the moment, it would still be worth it to see her mother happy.
It was only that she would miss…well. She would miss her mother, of course. That was all.
Lord Alfred, who had managed to sit at table straight-backed and stiff, creaked a little as he pushed to his feet.
Seeing that he intended to accompany Caroline’s group, Lord Weatherby grimaced and clambered up as well.
Caroline waited for Fitz to somehow prevent his joining them, but he said nothing, only offered Caroline his arm with a polite smile and a bland request.
“Miss Quick, why don’t you tell us something about the birds you are hoping to see?”
She narrowed her eyes at Fitz, searching his handsome face for a clue as to his motives.
“Certainly. While I would love to see a Dartford warbler, as I mentioned, it’s not quite the right season for them.
Woodlarks, on the other hand, are early nesters.
Everyone, if you please, look out for a small brown bird, white underbelly, and with an inconspicuous fantail tipped in white. ”
“They sound as if they’ll be difficult to spot,” Fitz commented, staring up into the trees.
“Very difficult, if you keep looking up,” Caroline said with a smile, the excitement of the chase beginning to fizz through her bloodstream.
“Woodlarks are most unusual in that they build their nests on the ground. Look for little piles of grass, moss, and other brushwood nestled into slight dips dug into the dirt. If there are eggs, they’ll be sort of cream colored with lovey brown speckles. ”
From the thicket of scrub that lined the path came a strange rustling. Caroline paid it very little heed, but she noticed that Lord Weatherby stopped in his tracks and went white with fear.
“Are you quite well?” Lord Alfred asked briskly.
“Fine,” gasped out Lord Weatherby, staring hard into the underbrush. With shaking hands, he pulled two silver spoons out of his pocket and clanged them together.
“Stop that at once,” cried Caroline, “you’ll frighten away the birds!”
“I’ll frighten away the bears too, which is all I care about,” Lord Weatherby retorted, banging the spoons again.
“Stuff and nonsense,” Lord Alfred harrumphed. “There are no bears in these woods. I should be astonished to find a bear anywhere in the British isles.”
“It escaped from the duke’s menagerie! And these spoons are the only thing that will keep it at bay,” Lord Weatherby insisted, rattling his spoons and looking an utter fool.
Helena and Caroline exchanged mystified glances. Caroline noticed that Fitz was conspicuously silent, and when she glanced his way, he appeared to be struggling to keep his countenance.
Lord Alfred made no such attempts. Lowering his bushy brows, he barked, “Good gad, get ahold of yourself, man. You’ll alarm the ladies.”
“On the contrary,” Mama countered coolly. “I’m not in the least alarmed. I know what to do if we should encounter a bear, but I have no expectation of needing to put that knowledge into practice.”
Behind them, the bushes rustled again, this time more violently. Lord Weatherby said, “That’s it! I’m going back! Lady Quick, please say you’ll come with me.”
Caroline turned to her mother to see what she would do.
She could read the indecision on Helena’s face: if she returned with Lord Weatherby, to whom she’d devoted her time and attention all day, she’d be as good as admitting that she was afraid of this fictitious bear.
Lifting her chin, she linked arms with Caroline and said, “I will wish you good day, Lord Weatherby. We will return when my daughter has found a woodlark.”
The bushes thrashed a bit more, emitting a low, snarling growl for good measure, and Lord Weatherby jumped a foot in the air and ran down the path without a backwards glance.
“Bad form,” Lord Alfred muttered.
They watched him go for a moment, until Helena stepped smartly over to the bush and thrust her umbrella into it. She poked it this way and that, but whatever had been in the underbrush seemed to have run off at the same time as Lord Weatherby.
Looking at the suppressed triumph lurking behind Fitz’s eyes, Caroline would have been willing to bet anything that he knew for certain it hadn’t been a bear.