Mari helped Adele retie her bonnet strings.
“It was our idea, Father,” said Adele. “You weren’t meant to see it.”
“Clearly.”
“It was badly done of us,” said Michel, hanging his head.
The duke’s eyes softened and he laid a hand on Michel’s cap. “I’m not saying you’re bad. But it was a very public display, and my friends...” He glanced over his shoulder at the group of two gentlemen and a lady who were watching them. “They wouldn’t understand.”
Mari understood perfectly. She’d humiliated him in front of his aristocratic friends.
No wonder he was dressed in all the finery of a duke-about-town, from glossy black beaver hat to polished hessians, and everything broad-shouldered and trim-flanked in between. He hadn’t been going to his foundry.
He’d been going courting.
The lady, who had golden hair and wore a straw bonnet with pink ribbons, waved and began to walk toward them.
“Carriage. Now,” said the duke urgently.
“Too late, I’m afraid,” said Mari.
The group was upon them.
The duke drew himself up to his full height.
“Lady Blanche, Westbury, Lord Laxton,” he said in a pompous tone. “My children, Adele and Michel, and their governess, Miss Perkins.”
“Miss Perkins, you have a twig in your hair,” said Lady Blanche. “Just... there.” She reached out and plucked the twig free.
Mari nodded. “Er... yes. I was... retrieving a ball that had rolled into the shrubbery.”
Mari nudged Adele and she curtsied.
Michel bowed.
“What pretty children,” said Lady Blanche. “How old are you, my darlings?”
“We’re nine,” said Adele.
“And what were you doing?” she asked.
“Telling fortunes and charming snakes, apparently,” said the handsome man Edgar had called Westbury. He pointed at the chalk lettering.
“Will you tell my fortune?” asked Lady Blanche.
The parsonlike Lord Laxton pursed his lips. “We really ought to be going, Lady Blanche. Someone might see us.”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Blanche. “I want to know my fortune. I have many questions about my future.”
She held out her hand to Adele. The parasol that was hooked over her arm knocked Trix’s basket and the lid came off.
Mari moved closer, intent on replacing the lid, but, sensing his opportunity, Trix seized the day and slithered away.
“Is that a snake?” Lady Blanche turned white, tottered for a moment on her heeled slippers, and fainted dead away, rather suspiciously falling squarely into Lord Laxton’s arms.
In Mari’s experience, fainting spells were rarely so well aimed.
“Come back, Trix,” Michel shouted, diving after the snake. Adele followed.