ROBERT, WITHOUT A CARE for his fine clothes or the gaping onlookers, clambered down from the tree he’d climbed to free his young son’s kite. Emilia sat on a nearby rise, sketching furiously, pad of paper resting on her very round middle. Many women would deem themselves too far along to appear in public, but Emilia loved the sunshine and trees of the park, and their son loved his kite.

If he had to guess, Robert suspected she was capturing the moment he slid out along the limb. He’d been just able to reach the kite as the branch began to dip precariously under his weight. She wouldn’t look up until she was done; likely, hadn’t even waited to see him return to the ground, perfectly confident in his ability to manage the climb. He smiled.

He turned to his son, and knelt to proffer the bright red kite. “Take this to your mama. When she looks up from her sketch, ask her to untangle the string.”

“Yes, Papa,” the boy said.

Robert ruffled his blond curls, then turned him toward her with a gentle push. He was young, not even in full sentences, and easily distracted. Robert watched to make sure he reached Emilia. The lad settled down on the blanket beside her to wait with surprising patience for a child.

“You could have sent a footman up that tree.”

He turned to find Sir Stirling James standing against the backdrop of the dispersing onlookers. “Stirling,” Robert greeted, genuinely pleased. “I never pictured you as one for the park.”

“I came to see what the crowd was about.” Stirling gestured toward the dwindling throng. “Apparently, everyone wanted to watch the mad, wealthy Englishman climb a tree, to see if he could go up, and down, without cracking open his head.”

“Any mad Englishman worthy of being known as such can climb a tree successfully.” Robert shrugged. “Besides, once we reach the park, I give the staff a few hours off. With a picnic basket, a toddler and Scotland’s most beautiful woman, what could a servant possibly need to bring me?”

“What indeed?” Stirling’s eyes glinted with amusement.

Robert frowned. “You didn’t come to the wedding. In fact, I haven’t seen you since…” Since the day Stirling dunked his whisky-sodden self in a tub of ice cold water.

“I was rather busy.”

“Well, we missed you. You should join us. We were about to start our picnic, as soon as my lovely wife puts down her sketchbook. She’s quite skilled. I’m sure drawing me sprawled along a tree limb won’t take long.”

“You’re happy, then, Banbrook?” Stirling asked.

“Thoroughly.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought you would be.”

Robert took in Stirling’s smug expression, and the truth hit him like another dousing. “By God, you never meant me to find anyone for Emilia. You meant for me to wed her.”

Stirling’s smile turned sly. “Some questions are better unanswered.”

Robert turned back to his wife. She absently patted their son on the head, still sketching with her free hand. “You set me up.”

“Someone had to put you on the right track.”

Robert proffered his hand. “Thank you.”

Stirling clasped hands in a brief shake. “My pleasure.” He squinted up at the sky. “Too bad about Viscountess Dunreid.”

Robert shrugged. He hadn’t thought of Lady Cinthia in ages. He gestured up the hill, indicating his family. “I have to confess, I haven’t had the time, or inclination, to keep abreast of the viscount and his wife.”

“He caught her in the arms of another man. Retired her to the country.”

“Probably won’t help.” Dunreid was smart enough to know that. More likely, he felt boredom a fitting punishment. Robert hoped she didn’t spend her time there destroying other people’s lives. “Where in the country?”

“So you can visit?”

“So I can stay away, and warn anyone there I care about to do likewise.”

Stirling gave a satisfied nod. “That pretty much tells me all I wanted to know.” He started to turn away. “Enjoy your picnic, Banbrook.”

“You aren’t joining us, then?” Robert wasn’t sure why, but he had the oddest sense he would never see Sir Stirling James again.

“Next time. Busy day ahead. You did well, Banbrook.” This last was said over his shoulder as he joined the remnants of the onlookers.

Robert blinked. Somehow, commanding figure that he was, thin as the crowd had grown, Stirling had already disappeared. With a shake of his head, feeling almost as if he’d imagined the encounter, Robert headed up the hill to picnic with his golden-haired son and his beautiful wife.

 

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