“So it is. And there’s Lord Laxton.” Lady Blanche fussed with her hair. “I do hope this works.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be the rakish, doting swain of your dreams.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Edgar leapt down in front of the flower shop, handed his reins to a groom, and helped Lady Blanche down.
“Don’t forget the violets,” Lady Blanche whispered.
The violets must convey some message. Edgar would never understand the intricacies of theton’s mating rituals. He reemerged a few minutes later with a large bunch of pink roses punctuated by purple violets.
West and Laxton had exited their carriage and were chatting with Lady Blanche at the edge of the park.
This would all be over soon.
Edgar approached, flowers in hand, ready to pretend to be courting the lovely, if slightly vapid, Lady Blanche. “My lady,” he swept a low bow, holding out the bouquet. “For you.”
Lord Laxton frowned. “Banksford?” He turned to Lady Blanche. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with His Grace, Lady Blanche.”
“Oh yes, he took me for such a nice ride in his curricle just now.” She accepted the flowers, sniffing daintily. “Do smell the roses, Lord Laxton. They smell simply heavenly, as do the violets.” She giggled. “They’re for constancy, you know.”
Laxton brushed away the flowers, glaring at Edgar. “Quite extravagant.”
“I spare no expense when it comes to beautiful ladies,” said Edgar, giving Lady Blanche a smarmy smile.
West gave him a wink.
Could Edgar leave now? Laxton appeared to be insanely jealous.
“Will you be attending the dancing tonight at Vauxhall?” Lady Blanche asked Edgar. “I’m quite unspoken for.”
“But,” sputtered Laxton. “I assumed, that is, we always dance together, Lady Blanche.”
“Do we?” asked Lady Blanche, fluttering her eyelashes. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Lord, save him from these marital games. How soon could he leave?
“I say, what are those children doing?” asked West, pointing into the distance.
“What children—?” Edgar turned. Froze.
He must be hallucinating, although he’d know that glowing shade of auburn anywhere.
Miss Perkins.And the twins. Who appeared to be draped in curtains?
Michel sat cross-legged on the lawn, playing upon a pipe, while Adele was speaking to a small cluster of onlookers, gesturing dramatically.
And what was Miss Perkins doing? Putting an abrupt end to their antics?
Of coursenot.
She was playing along. She said something with a toss of her bonnet, and the onlookers laughed.
“Those aren’t, by chance, yours, are they?” asked West with a laugh.
Edgar glared. “They are,” he said through gritted teeth.
West whistled softly. “They didn’t make governesses like that when I was a lad.”