Lina turned and looked accusingly at her father.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Fathers are not gentlemen.”
Alice spluttered. “Very true.”
His eyes darkened. His smile was full of dark promise. “And you can take that as fair warning.”
Alice swallowed. “Time to go inside now,” she announced to the occupants of the tree. “Mrs. Tweed has a lovely afternoon tea ready for us. I trust you are all hungry.”
His gray eyes dropped to her mouth and stayed there. “Ravenous.”
One by one, they all scrambled down from the tree. Alice insisting on going first so that she didn’t have to endure Lord Tarrant standing below her, looking up. Or helping her down.
He helped his daughters down, swinging them by the hands for the last little distance. Debo was the most difficult: she didn’t want to let go of her feline captive.
“Pass it to me,” he told her. “I’ll keep it safe.”
She hesitated, and her hold must have loosened, for with a wriggle, a yowl and a leap, the cat was away, bounding down the tree and vanishing into the shrubbery. With a wail, Debo tried to grab it and would have fallen had her father not managed to grab her in time.
“Thassmycaaaaat!” she wailed.
“It’s not your cat,” he told her and brought her down far enough to hand her down to Alice, waiting on the ground. “Hang on to her,” he told Alice, “or she’ll disappear after that wretched animal.”
“S’not a wretched animal,” Debo grumbled.
“No,” Alice agreed as she set her on her feet. “He’s a very handsome cat. But he does belong to somebody else. They’d be very sad if you took him away. You wouldn’t want to make them sad, would you?”
Debo shrugged. Anonymous cat owners moved her not at all.
“Your father will get you a kitten very soon, I’m sure,” Alice said, as he came slithering down the tree.
Debo gave him a cynical look. “S’what he said back at Miss Coates’s. But still, I got no cat.”
He brushed twigs off his coat. “I’m doing my best, Debo.”
The little girl sniffed.
“Come along, there’s a lovely tea waiting for us inside,” Alice said. “Wash your hands in the scullery first.”
As they walked back toward the house, Alice felt a small, cold hand slip into hers. She looked down and smiled. Lina was walking along beside her, giving a happy little skip from time to time.
* * *
* * *
Mrs. Tweed had outdone herself. There were dainty triangular sandwiches with their crusts cut off—cucumber, egg and watercress, ham, and chicken. There were little sausage rolls, hot from the oven, the pastry golden, crisp and flaky. In the center of the table sat a large, luscious sponge cake oozing with cream and jam. There were tiny individual number cakes, each one just large enough for a small girl to hold in her hand. There were wafer-thin almond biscuits—crisp, nutty and sweetly bland—and to finish, a dish of fruits, including fat, sugar-encrusted purple grapes that crunched deliciously as they bit into them.
The girls—and Lucy—oohed and aahed over the sight, and for the first ten minutes there was no sound at the table other than “Please pass the . . .” and the sound of chewing and blissful sighs.
Mrs. Tweed had provided a large pot of tea, but there was also milk for the children or lemonade, cold, tart-sweet and refreshing, which Alice chose. Lord Tarrant drank the tea but accepted a glass of wine when Tweed offered it to him.
He ate some of everything but particularly favored the sausage rolls, as well as the cream-filled sponge and the number cakes. He was finishing his third sausage roll when he looked up and caught her watching him.
“You were ravenous,” she said.
He gave her a slow smile. “Yes, but I wasn’t talking about food.” Again his gaze dropped to her mouth.
What was he looking at? She had a weakness for cream cakes, and she also loved the sugar-coated grapes. Was cream or sugar stuck to her lip? Fighting a blush, she picked up a napkin and scrubbed at her lips.
His smile deepened, but all he said was, “Your cook is very good.” Three little girls looked up and nodded, their mouths full.
“Papa,” Judy said after swallowing a mouthful of cake, “it wasn’t really Miss Bamber’s fault that we climbed the tree. I went up first and the others followed.”
“Not true!” Debo said. “I was first! I won.”
“Actually, the cat went up first, and Debo followed,” Lucy interjected.
Lord Tarrant held up a hand, stopping a babble of argument. “Enough. Neither Lady Charlton nor I have any interest in who climbed what. The rule from now on is that there must be a responsible adult present before anything like that happens again. It could be dangerous.”
“Is Miss Bamber a responsible adult?” Judy asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Now, I’m assuming you don’t want any more of this delicious food, so shall I ask Mr. Tweed to take it away?”
His answer was immediate silence, and a renewed attention to the food at hand. Alice laughed softly. He certainly knew how to handle children. “You said you were having trouble finding a kitten of a suitable age,” she said quietly, aware of the small ears further along the table. “I might have a suggestion.”
A dark brow rose. He gave an encouraging nod.
“An acquaintance of mine, Beatrice, Lady Davenham, runs a literary society that I occasionally attend. She has several cats, and often has kittens. She’s too softhearted to drown them, and is forever foist—er, bestowing them on her friends. I could make inquiries, if you like.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” In the same low undervoice, he said, “Did you hear that, Debo?”
The little girl nodded and said with her mouth full of cake, “Yes, Lady Charlton’s getting me a kitten from a Bee lady with lots of cats. When?”
“Ears like a bat when it comes to Things Feline,” he told Alice.
Alice chuckled. “The literary society meets tomorrow. I’ll take Lucy.”
Lucy pulled a face. “Literary society?”
“You’ll like it. I promise.”
Chapter Ten
That swine Bamber has been threatening Alice again, damn his impudence!” Thornton told James. It was early morning, the dew was still on the ground, and James and Thornton were on horseback. After a good fast gallop to sweep the cobwebs away, they were now walking their mounts and talking. Hyde Park was almost deserted, except for a family that rode out together most mornings.