Page 49 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

Thea considered this. "Leucanthemum vulgare is the accepted Latin classification."

Lucy grinned. "Margaret is the accepted Lucy classification."

Thea's mouth twitched. "I cannot argue with that logic."

"No one can," Arabella chimed in from her perch nearby. "That is the genius of Lucy's logic."

Thea nodded in solemn agreement, and Lucy beamed at the praise.

Arabella was on a blanket of her own, a little apart from the group. She watched Lucy and Thea negotiate the naming rights of a patch of clover, and there was something on her face that she probably did not know was there.

It was a softness he'd only recently begun to glimpse in her. But as John had found himself studying her more than was strictly appropriate since their arrival at his estate, he'd been catching more glimpses of Arabella. The parts of her that one did not see in the ballrooms of London.

Only yesterday he had caught her laughing at one of Kit's jokes. A proper laugh, unguarded and unexpected. The sound had muddled his concentration for the rest of the afternoon.

And then there was the surprising way she handled his daughter.

Perhaps handled wasn't the right word for it. But he'd been sure, when they first arrived, that Lucy would overwhelm her. His daughter was not a child who understood the concept of personal boundaries, and Arabella was not a woman who welcomed intrusion.

The combination should have been a disaster. But it was not.

It was, in fact, the most bewildering relationship he had ever witnessed. Lucy followed Arabella around the house like a small determined shadow, asking questions and offering commentary and generally being impossible to ignore. And Arabella responded to this siege as though Lucy were…an equal.

She did not coo or soften her voice. Nor did she bend down to Lucy's eye level or employ any of the tactics John had watched other women use with his daughter over the past two years. She simply talked to her with respect.

And Lucy, who had spent two years being spoken to in careful, sympathetic tones by well-meaning adults, had responded to this treatment as a parched garden responds to rain.

It was nothing like the mother-daughter dynamics he had observed in his life. Eleanor had been warm and gentle with Lucy. Endlessly patient, infinitely soft. This was something else. This was two people who seemed to share a mutual admiration for one another.

He might still be learning all the facets of Arabella, but he knew this to be true. She genuinely liked Lucy. And Lucy simply adored Arabella.

Which…ought to worry him. He turned his gaze back to Clarissa and Kit, who were sifting through the picnic basket. Lucy was clearly growing attached. And one day soon Arabella would return to London, leaving Lucy behind.

"Biscuit?" Clarissa thrust a biscuit into his vision and John shook his head.

He'd lost his appetite.

He watched now as Lucy hurried between Thea and Arabella, bringing each a small bundle of wildflowers, freshly picked. Then it was Clarissa's turn. Even Kit got one and he made all the ladies laugh by plucking one flower from the bunch and placing it behind his ear, informing Lucy in a solemn tone that he simply adored the adornment.

John had only just received his small bouquet, when Lucy hurried back to Arabella. "Come!" she ordered, reaching for Arabella's hand. "There's something I wish to show you."

She tugged Arabella toward the stream bank, and Arabella went, though she looked as if she suspected a trap. John found himself hurrying after to see what his daughter was up to.

"This one," Lucy said, pointing at a tall purple flower that hovered over all the others. "I don't know what it is. Thea says it's a—a something. I've forgotten."

"Digitalis purpurea," Thea called from where she sat several feet away.

"Yes, that," Lucy said. "But of course it needs a proper name."

"Quite right," Arabella agreed. So seriously, John bit his lip to stifle a laugh.

Arabella studied the flower. "It looks rather imposing." She turned to Lucy. "Do you know, it looks like it has opinions."

Lucy lit up. "It does! It looks cross with all the pretty little flowers beneath it."

"Then you should name it after someone cross," Arabella started.

She said it slowly, slyly. And the look that passed between her and his daughter was honestly a little frightening, in John's opinion.