Page 52 of Her Unsuitable Match

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Though Lady Fredericka hadn’t been an ideal mother, she had certainly prepared Pippa for one important aspect of being a grown lady—mingling. As the guest of honor at the picnic, Pippa knew her duties well. She stayed near her new mother-in-law so Lady Greenwood might introduce her with motherly pride. When Sir Isaac and Lady Fox arrived, introducing the Earl and Countess of Inglewood, Lady Greenwood was overcome with delight.

After the appropriate introductions and remarks were exchanged, and the foursome walked to one of the trees where a rug and cushions and been left for the comfort of guests, Lady Greenwood leaned in close to Philippa.

“I have never entertained anyone above a baron, my dear. You simply must help to ensure our guests’ enjoyment.”

Pippa found her husband near the pond, teaching a swarm of children how to skip rocks. As she approached, he lowered himself to be eye level with a little girl, no more than five or six years of age, and held a stone up for her to examine.

“You see how smooth and flat this one is? Rather like a dinner plate. But smaller. A dinner plate for a doll.”

The child giggled and nodded her understanding.

“Here. Put it in your hand. Yes. Now turn just so.” He put his hands on the little one’s shoulders and turned her so she stood at an angle to the pond’s edge. “Thumb on one side, as I showed you. Arm back.” The little girl stretched her arm backward, then threw her rock. It skipped three times before sinking.

“I did it! I did it! Did you see, Henry?” She tugged at a boy’s arm—a much taller boy, who grinned down at the girl, then up at Pippa’s husband.

“Thank you for helping, Mr. Cobbett.”

“I want to try,” another child said.

“Everyone go find the perfect stone, then you can try.” The children scattered, some in pairs, but most on their own, searching the ground for rocks. Myles looked up at that moment, his gaze meeting Pippa’s. His smile widened into a grin, and he came slowly to his feet. “My lady. We were having a stone-skipping lesson.”

“So I see.” Pippa looked down at her feet and picked up the first stone she saw—round and flat, like a doll’s dinner plate. She approached with the rock in hand, turning it over in her gloved palm. “Would you be so kind as to give me a lesson?”

“You?” Myles’s grin momentarily faltered, then he spoke with lightness. “And here I imagined you to be proficient in all the skills that mattered.”

Pippa shrugged, affecting a frown. “Alas, I cannot claim to be an expert with this. Won’t you show me how you perform the task, Mr. Cobbett?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and her heart skipped merrily as she neared him. Flirting with her husband seemed a brilliant idea. She liked seeing him happy. And the flustered, crooked grin he wore was reward enough for her silliness.

“Might I inspect your rock, my lady?” He held his hand out, and she placed her stone carefully in his palm. He nodded to her gloves. “It will be easier if you remove them. And less dirty.”

She looked down at the yellow fabric, then brushed away as much dirt as she could with the other hand. Then she removed her gloves. “My rock, sir? Is it the right sort of specimen?”

“A perfect stone for skipping, my lady.” He bowed as he deposited the rock in her hand again. “Now. You must stand at an angle to the water.”

“Like this?” Pippa stood at a right angle.

“No, not quite.” He came up behind her, and then laid his hands gently upon her shoulders. “Turn just so.” He carefully guided her to rotate until she stood correctly. Then his fingers encircled her wrist as he turned her hand the right way. “Here, bend your elbow. Yes. Like that.” Very slowly, he pulled back her arm. “Now, when you throw, think of making the stone hit the water at an angle. When you release, snap your wrist as you would open a fan—in one, quick movement—and let go.”

He stood so close, the buttons of his coat brushed the back of her gown. He guided her throw the motion once, slowly. When he spoke, his voice was a soft murmur in her ear. “Like this, but with speed and force behind it.”

“You make it sound simple,” she said, her voice more breathless than she expected.

He released her, taking a step back. “Go on, Pippa.”

She swallowed, then repositioned herself to skip her stone. Then, trying to return to the earlier mischief she’d felt, she looked over her shoulder. “Like this?” She threw the stone, angled perfectly, and counted the skips as they went. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

“Nine, ten…” Myles’s voice faded as her stone disappeared beneath the water. When she turned to look at him, widening her eyes innocently, he narrowed his good eye at her. “Pippa. I didn’t think you a fibber.”

She laughed, finally. “I never said I didn’t know how to do it—I merely asked you to show me how you skipped stones.”

He looked back to where her stone had sunk beneath the water. Then at her. Then he released a short, deep laugh. He held his hand out, and she laid her bare hand in his. Myles drew her closer. “You did say you grew up playing out of doors. Who taught you?”

“My great uncle, Peter Gillensford. The one who left his fortune to Elaine.” Along the shore, children had started trying their luck with their stones. None had returned for another lesson. But they all laughed and giggled. Myles had done that. “Do you think I might borrow you from your pupils?”

“As they have all devoted themselves to practice, I doubt anyone will mind.” Myles allowed her to lead him away from the pond, toward Sir Isaac’s party. “Look who came.”

“Ah, and Doctor Johnson has joined them.” He nodded to a tall, thin gentlemen with a lovely woman on his arm. “I would especially like to introduce the two of you, if you have no objections.”