This idea seemed to strike the younger girls very hard.
“Of course that is it,” Lady Viola said. “The poor orphans, and here we were complaining of what must be very usual for them.”
“Now I feel terrible,” Lady Juliet said.
“I too,” Lady Cordelia said.
“Do you suppose we ought to go back and get plates?” Lady Viola said. “So that we might suffer as the orphans do?”
Her sisters nodded. Miss Mayton said, “Very fine feelings, my girls. I will go and suffer with you.”
The sisters made a quick curtsy and were off to suffer as the orphans did.
The earl only looked amused at this turn of events. Lord Van Doren was holding his lady’s parasol and spent his time adjusting it so his lady would not feel the heat.
Darden had been corralled by his friends in theYoung Bucks Cluband they all surreptitiously glanced his way, no doubt still wondering if they ought to invite him to their club.
Lady Rosalind kept tugging on her bonnet, as if she were in some way uncomfortable.
“Does the sun get in your eyes, Lady Rosalind?” he asked.
“No, no, Duke, I adore the sun,” she said.
She did some more tugging and he began to wonder if some unfortunate hairpin was digging into her head.
The younger sisters returned with plates of old, dry bread and glasses of the wretched lemonade.
Lady Cordelia sipped from her glass and shivered. “I cannot believe the orphans are allowed to suffer so.”
Lady Rosalind nodded and tugged once more on the brim of her bonnet.
Somebody shoved him from behind, and as he turned to see who had caused such an affront, Lady Rosalind fell into his arms and cried, “I’ve been attacked and my handkerchief stolen!”
As if that were some sort of cue, the other sisters all managed to throw their plates and glasses into the air.
Balthazar looked over the heads of the spectators behind him and saw a boy sprinting away with Lady Rosalind’s handkerchief. He was fifteen or sixteen and had a very distinct brown birthmark on his cheek. It was a wonder, with that distinguishing mark, that the fellow had not been taken in by now.
He very briefly thought of going for his horse and running the thief down, but it was never his interest to take in a boy such as that, only making off with a handkerchief that would buy him his dinner.
Instead, he found himself with a drooping Lady Rosalind, and covered in bits of bread and lemonade.
There was something strange here. The other sisters looked on with interested expressions, not seeming the least bit nervous though they had managed to lose control of their plates and glasses.
It was almost as if they looked upon a stage play.
The earl hurried over. “My dear,” he said to his daughter, “have you been hurt? Come and lean on my arm.”
“No, no, Papa,” Lady Rosalind said faintly. “The duke supports me just now.”
“Coming through,” a voice said behind him.
Balthazar would recognize that voice anywhere. Lady Hightower.
“Conbatten,” she said by way of greeting. “I saw it all, the wretched little blighter spotted a crowd and was determined to try his luck. Now, Lady Rosalind, breathe deep.”
Lady Hightower had applied a vinaigrette to Lady Rosalind’s nose.
Balthazar presumed it was rather strong in nature, if reactions were anything to go by.
