“I like Mr. Ravenel too,” Evie murmured, “but there’s much about his background we don’t know.”

“Oh, I know everything about him,” Sebastian said with casual arrogance.

Knowing her husband, Evie thought ruefully, he’d read detailed reports on every member of the Ravenel family. “It’s not a given that he and Phoebe are attracted to each other.”

“You didn’t see them together this morning.”

“Sebastian, please don’t meddle.”

“I, meddle?” His brows lifted, and he looked positively indignant. “Evie, what can you be thinking?”

Lowering her face to his chest, she nuzzled the glinting hair. “That you’re meddling.”

“From time to time, I may adjust a situation to achieve a desired outcome for the benefit of my children, but that’s not meddling.”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Parenting,” he said smugly, and kissed her before she could reply.

Chapter 15

The morning after the farm tour, a multitude of carriages and horses crowded the front drive of Eversby Priority as the majority of wedding guests finally departed. The Challons were staying on for another three days to deepen their acquaintance with the Ravenels.

“Darling,” Merritt had entreated Phoebe during breakfast, “are you very sure you won’t come to stay with us at Stony Cross Park? Mr. Sterling and I are going to spend at a least a week there, and we would all love to have you and the children there. Tell me how I can persuade you.”

“Thank you, Merritt, but we’re settled and comfortable here, and . . . I need some quiet time after the wedding and all the socializing.”

A teasing light had appeared in Merritt’s eyes. “It seems my powers of persuasion are no match for a certain blue-eyed charmer.”

“No,” Phoebe had said quickly, “It has nothing to do with him.”

“A little flirtation will do you no harm,” Merritt had pointed out reasonably.

“But it can lead to nothing.”

“Flirtation doesn’t have to lead anywhere. One can simply enjoy it. Think of it as practice for when you start mixing in society again.”

After exchanging farewells with friends and acquaintances, Phoebe had decided to take her children and Nanny Bracegirdle for a morning walk before the heat of the day accumulated. Along the way, they would finally return the little black cat to the barn.

Although Phoebe had meant to take care of that particular errand yesterday, the plan had been derailed when Justin and Ernestine had taken the cat outside to one of the estate gardens to “answer nature’s call.” The creature had disappeared for the better part of the afternoon. Phoebe had joined in the search, but the fugitive was nowhere to be found. Toward evening, however, while changing for dinner, Phoebe had heard a scratching sound, and saw a pair of black paws swiping beneath the closed door. Somehow the cat had managed to slip back into the house.

Taking pity on her, Phoebe had sent for another plate of scraps from the kitchen. The cat had eaten voraciously, practically licking the glaze off the porcelain. Afterward she had stretched out on the carpet, purring with such contentment that Phoebe hadn’t the heart to send her back. The cat had spent the night curled up in Ernestine’s mending basket, and this morning had breakfasted on kippers.

“I don’t think she wants to go back to the barn,” Justin said, glancing up at Phoebe as she held the cat against her shoulder. Nanny walked beside them, pushing Stephen in a sturdy wicker pram with a white cambric parasol cover.

“The barn is her home,” Phoebe replied, “and she’s happy to be returning to her brothers and sisters.”

“She doesn’t look happy,” Justin said.

“She is, though,” Phoebe assured him. “She—ouch!—oh, galoshes—” The cat had climbed higher on her shoulder, its little claws perforating her muslin dress. “Nanny, I do wish you’d let me put her in the pram with Stephen. There’s plenty of room for her to ride near his feet.”

“The cat can’t ride with Baby,” came the adamant reply.

Unfortunately, Phoebe’s plan to return the cat to its proper home was foiled soon after they reached the hay barn. She managed to pry the cat’s claws from her dress and set her on the ground by the barn door. “There’s one of your friends,” Phoebe said, seeing a gray cat loitering near a tool shed. “Go, now . . . shoo! . . . Go and play.”

The gray cat hissed balefully and slunk away. The black cat turned and made to follow Phoebe, her tail raised as if she were tipping a hat in hopeful greeting.

“No,” Phoebe said firmly. “Shoo. You can’t come with us.”

But as they tried to walk away, the black cat followed.

Phoebe caught sight of a workman she recognized. “Good morning, Neddy.”

He approached and touched the brim of his cap. “Milady.”

“We seem to have borrowed one of the barn cats. We’re trying to return her, but she keeps following. I don’t suppose you have advice on how to make a cat stay?”

“If I could make a cat do that, it’d be a dog.”

“Perhaps you might hold her long enough for us to escape?”

“I would, milady, but she’d shred my arms to ribbands.”

Phoebe nodded ruefully and sighed. “You’re probably right. We’ll go on our walk. Hopefully she’ll lose interest and return to the barn.”

To Phoebe’s dismay, the cat kept pace with them, and began to meow uneasily as the barn disappeared from sight. They proceeded along an ancient drove lane, once used for taking cattle on foot between summer and winter pastures. Beech trees shaded the sunken path, which was bordered by hedges and earthen walls. As they neared a small wrought-iron footbridge arching across a stream, the cat’s cries became plaintive.

Phoebe stopped with a groan. “So much for our peaceful stroll out in nature.” She bent to pick up the little feline and winced as the cat dug its claws into her shoulder. Exasperated, she carried it to the pram. Before Nanny could object, she said, “I’ll take charge of Stephen.”

Nanny was expressionless. “You want me to push the cat in the pram, milady?”

“Yes, otherwise I’ll be a sieve by the time we return to Eversby Priory.”

Justin’s face brightened. “Are we going to keep her, Mama?”

“Only until we can find someone else to take her back to the barn.” Phoebe settled the cat on the white silk bedding of the pram. Stephen babbled with excited interest and reached for the furry creature, his little hands opening and closing like hungry starfish. With a laugh, Phoebe scooped him up before he could pull the cat’s tail. “Oh, no you don’t. Be gentle with kitty.”

The cat flattened her ears and gave the baby a baleful glance.

“Kitty!” Stephen exclaimed, leaning heavily in Phoebe’s arms to reach the cat. “Kitty!”

Phoebe lowered him to the ground and kept one of his chubby hands in hers. “Let’s walk beside the pram, darling.”

Eagerly Stephen started forward in his spraddling gait. As Nanny pushed the vehicle along the path, the black cat poked its head over the pram’s wicker edge, calmly viewing the passing scenery. For some reason, the sight of a cat riding in his pram struck the baby as uproariously funny, and he burst into giggles. Phoebe and Justin both chuckled, and even Nanny cracked a smile.

Before they crossed the bridge, they went down to have a look at the chalk stream, which was fringed with reeds, watercress, and yellow flag irises. The water flowing gently over the pebbled bed was gin clear, having been filtered through the Hampshire chalk hills.

“Mama, I want to put my feet in the water,” Justin exclaimed.

Phoebe sent Nanny a questioning glance. “Shall we stop here for a few minutes?”

The older woman, who was never averse to the prospect of a rest, nodded at once.

“Lovely,” Phoebe said. “Justin, do you need help with your shoes and stockings?”

“No, I can do it.” But as the boy bent to unfasten the buttons of his kid leather shoes, an unexpected noise caught his attention. He stopped and looked for the source of the sound, which was coming from downstream.

Phoebe frowned as she saw a lone man walking along the bank of the stream, idly whistling a folk tune. A battered hat with a wide brim shaded his face. His build was rangy and athletic, the loose, confident stride curbed by the hint of a strut. Curiously, his loose shirt and cotton canvas trousers looked as if he’d gone swimming in them, the fabric clinging wetly to the hard lines of his body.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t stop after all,” Phoebe murmured, her instincts warning her to leave as quickly as possible. A pair of women and two young children were easy marks for a man that size. “Come with me, Justin.”

To her astonishment, her son ignored the command and ran toward the disreputable-looking stranger with a gleeful yelp.

The man’s head lifted. A husky laugh sent a thrill of recognition along Phoebe’s nerves.

“Oh,” she said softly, watching as West Ravenel settled the battered hat on Justin’s head, lifted him high against his side, and carried him back to her.

Chapter 16

Phoebe hadn’t seen West since she’d visited his room yesterday. Since the unforgettable kiss she was supposed to forget. Except the sensations had somehow become woven into her skin, a subtle but constant stimulation she didn’t know how to erase. Her lips still felt a little swollen, aching to be pressed and stroked and soothed—that was an illusion, she knew—but the feeling only grew stronger as he approached.

Justin was talking animatedly to him. “. . . but Galoshes wouldn’t stay there. She followed us from the barn, and now she’s riding in Stephen’s pram.”

“Galoshes? Why did you name her that?”

“It’s what Mama says when the cat puts holes in her dress.”

“Poor Mama.” West’s deep voice was edged with amusement. But his gaze was intent and searching as he looked at Phoebe.

She had already promised herself that when next they met, she would be composed and pleasant. Sophisticated. But that plan had already vanished like the fluff of a dandelion gone to seed, whisked away at the will of a breeze. She was filled with pleasure and excitement, momentarily too flustered to speak.

West turned to greet Nanny and grinned at the sight of the cat lounging in the pram. He set Justin down and slowly lowered to his haunches in front of Stephen.

“Hello, Stephen,” he said in a gentle, vibrant tone. “What a handsome fellow you are. You have your mother’s eyes.”

The sturdy toddler half hid behind Phoebe’s skirts and peeked at the engaging stranger while chewing on a finger. A shy grin split his face, revealing a row of little white teeth.

Phoebe noticed a dark bruise forming on West’s forearm, which was exposed by a rolled-up shirtsleeve. “Mr. Ravenel,” she asked in concern, “has some accident befallen you? What happened to your arm?”