“Miss Chilton-Grizedale, it seems that this time it is you who is remiss with your manners. May I be so bold as to request an introduction to your friends?” His smiling gaze bounced between Charlotte and Hope.

Consternation burned Meredith’s cheeks, and she pulled herself together. “Of course. Lord Greybourne, may I present my dear friend Mrs. Charlotte Carlyle. ”

Charlotte performed a quick, rather awkward curtsy. “Lord Greybourne.”

“A pleasure, Mrs. Carlyle.”

“And the little imp who appears to be your puppy’s new best friend is Mrs. Carlyle’s daughter, Hope.”

Lord Greybourne hunkered down to his haunches next to where Hope had seated herself on the grass. The puppy, clearly tired from his exertions, was curled up in the child’s lap, alongside Hope’s doll. The dog’s eyes drooped closed in canine bliss as Hope gently petted his golden fur.

“Hello, Hope,” he said with a smile. “It seems my dog likes you very much.”

“Oh, and I like him very much.” She smiled an angel’s smile at Lord Greybourne. “He’s very kissy. He kissed me and Princess Darymple,” she confided, nodding toward her doll.

“Yes, well, he’s quite fond of lovely young ladies and Princesses. He told me so.”

Charlotte reached down and touched Hope’s halo of bright yellow curls. “This gentleman is Lord Greybourne, Hope.”

“Hello. Are you a friend of my mum’s or Aunt Merrie’s friend?” she asked.

“I’m your Aunt Merrie’s friend.”

Hope nodded solemnly. “Is she going to marry you?”

Philip stilled, and stared at the child, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s what Aunt Merrie does. She marries people.”

“Ah. I see. Well, in that case… yes, she is going to marry me.” He looked up at Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s flaming face, and with his gaze steady on hers, he added softly, “I hope.”

Feeling the weight of the child’s stare, he forced his attention back to her. Her gray eyes rounded to saucers. “Are you the cursed gentleman?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Reaching out, she patted his arm in what he assumed was meant as a comforting gesture. “There’s no need to worry. Aunt Merrie will help you. And if she can’t, Uncle Albert said he would wear a bridal gown and marry you himself.”

Philip wasn’t certain whether he should be horrified or amused. Amusement won, and he chuckled. “I hope it won’t come to that.”

“I hope not. Because I want Uncle Albert to marry-”

Hope’s words were halted when her mother touched her fingers to the child’s shiny hair. Damn. He very much wanted Hope to finish her sentence. Had she been about to say “Aunt Merrie”?

Crouching down next to her daughter, Mrs. Carlyle said softly, “Hope, do you remember what Mama said about listening to other people’s conversation?”

Hope hung her head. “Yes, Mama. Not s’posed to.”

“And if you do hear something…?”

“Not s’posed to repeat it.”

Mrs. Carlyle pressed a kiss to Hope’s tiny nose. “Good girl.” The woman stood, and Philip followed suit. Finding himself standing quite close to Mrs. Carlyle, Philip took his first good look at her. It was difficult to judge her age, for while she’d appeared youthful at a distance, he now noted the lines etched on her forehead. A faint scar bisected her left brow, then disappeared into her hairline near her temple. There was no missing the shadows of past sufferings lingering in her gray eyes. She was pretty, but in such an understated way, one would need to look twice to see it. Her speech pattern struck him as rather odd-she spoke well, but he heard an unmistakable trace of Cockney under her well-modulated voice.

“What is your dog’s name?” Hope asked.

“He doesn’t have one yet,” Philip admitted. “Actually, today is his first day out since being hurt. Do you have a suggestion for a name?” His glance included Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Mrs. Carlyle.

Miss Chilton-Grizedale looked down at the sleeping puppy sprawled, belly up, on Hope’s lap. “He really must learn to relax,” she murmured, her lips twitching.

Captivated by her mischievous grin, he chuckled. “Judging by the paces he put me through arriving here, he was due for a rest. I fear, however, that sleeping is not his natural state.”

“Therefore naming him ‘Sleepy’ wouldn’t do at all,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale said.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Something pretty,” said Hope. “Like Princess.”

“A good suggestion,” Philip said, “but perhaps better suited for a girl puppy.”

“Then Prince,” Hope said, nodding her head.

Philip thought for several seconds, then nodded. “Prince. I like it. It’s regal, and royal, and masculine.” He smiled down at the child, who beamed at him in return. “Prince it is. Thank you, Miss Carlyle, for your assistance.”

“You’re welcome. I’m very smart. I’m almost five, you know.”

“A very important age,” Philip said with a great deal of solemnity.

“Aunt Merrie is baking a cake for my birthday. She bakes yummy things. Every morning.”

He instantly recalled Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s scrumptious scent. She smells like yummy things. “You’re having a party, then?” he asked.

She nodded, her blond curls bouncing. “At our house.”

“And do you live near your Aunt Merrie?”

“Oh, yes. My bedchamber is just two doors away from hers.”

“Mrs. Carlyle and Hope live with me,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale broke in.

“And Uncle Albert, and Princess Darymple, too,” Hope added.

Philip digested this bit of news, his curiosity piqued about the Chilton-Grizedale household. Hope called her “Aunt Merrie.” What was Mrs. Carlyle’s relation to Miss Chilton-Grizedale? He could not see any family resemblance, but that did not mean they weren’t related. He and Catherine looked decidedly dissimilar. And what of “Uncle” Albert? Since his last name was Goddard, he obviously was not Mrs. Carlyle’s husband. Very curious. And just another bit of mystery surrounding her he unfortunately found fascinating-as if he needed anything else to further kindle his growing interest in her.

He turned toward Miss Chilton-Grizedale, not at all noticing how enticing she looked with the sunlight dancing over her. “Your niece is delightful.” His gaze bounced between Miss Chilton-Grizedale and Mrs. Carlyle. “Are you sisters?”

“Not in a blood-relation sense,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale said. “Mrs. Carlyle is a dear friend of long standing. She has lived with me since her husband passed away, just several weeks before Hope’s birth.”

It wasn’t what she said, but the way she said it, that caught his interest. As if she were reciting a memorized verse. Her expression gave nothing away-in complete contrast to Mrs. Carlyle, whose cheeks bore twin flags of bright color, whose hands were clenched together at her waist, and whose eyes were averted, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Because she recalled a painful time in her life? Perhaps. But her distress looked more like embarrassment than sadness.

“My condolences on the loss of your husband, Mrs. Carlyle.”

“Th-thank you,” she said, not looking at him.

Inclining his head toward Miss Chilton-Grizedale, he said, “My apologies for interrupting your stroll, but I must thank you for bringing Prince to a halt. It appears, however, that I shall need to carry the little fellow home.”

Bending down, he gently scooped Prince off Hope’s lap, cradling the sleeping beast in his arms like a babe. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Carlyle, and you as well, Miss Carlyle. Thank you for helping me name Prince.”

The child scrambled to her feet and smiled up at him. “Welcome. Can I see Prince again soon?”

“As I imagine I’ll be spending a great deal of time in the park with Prince, I’m certain we’ll see each other again.” He smiled at Hope, then turned his attention to Miss Chilton-Grizedale. Their eyes met, and a tingle shot through him. Damn it all, he liked the look of her. More every time he saw her. Which was bad. Which meant that he should endeavor to see less of her. Certainly not more of her. He needed to leave. Now.

Instead, his voice developed a mind of its own, and working together with his mouth-which had also developed a mind of its own-he found himself asking, “Would you like to join me on a visit to Vauxhall this evening, Miss Chilton-Grizedale?”

She appeared to be quite torn, and hoping to nudge her toward acceptance, he coaxed, “Mr. Stanton and my sister Catherine are accompanying me. Joining us would afford you a perfect opportunity to further harangue me on my lack of decorum.”

“Harangue? I prefer to call it gently reminding.”

“I’m certain you do. You could also discuss your matchmaking services with Mr. Stanton…”

Clearly she had not considered this, for her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Why, yes, I could. A marvelous suggestion. In that case, I’d love to join you.”

A breath he hadn’t realized he held blew past his lips, and he smiled, pushing aside the bothersome fact that she had not shown much animation about the outing until he’d reminded her of Andrew’s bachelor state.

“Excellent. We’ll come ‘round for you at nine?”

“That will be fine.”

Yes, indeed, that will be very fine. He very nearly jumped up and clicked his heels together. “I’d best be off, ladies.” He made the trio a formal bow, then started walking backward. “Must get Prince home.”

“Watch behind you,” Miss Chilton-Grizedale warned.

He halted abruptly and swiftly turned around. Good God, he’d almost backed into a thorn bush. Drawing a deep, calming breath, he stepped to the side. He heard Hope giggle behind him, and, hoping his face was not overly red, he turned to face them, offering a jaunty salute to show he was unharmed.

Unfortunately, his sudden stop awakened Prince, who, after issuing a huge yawn, squirmed to be let down. Philip gently settled the puppy on the grass, bracing himself for the upcoming mad dash down the path.

Prince, however, buried his nose in a mound of grass.

“Come along now,” Philip said tugging gently on the lead.

Prince dug his paws in and continued to smell the grass.

Bloody hell, the dog had nearly yanked his arm from the socket earlier, but now, when time was of the essence, he couldn’t get the beast to move. At this rate, they wouldn’t reach home until Michaelmas.

“I’ll see that you get a nice, big beef bone to chew on the minute we arrive home,” Philip bribed, trying to urge Prince along, but Prince was having none of it.

“How about a biscuit?” Nothing. Not even a tail wag. “Ham? Cozy pillow to sleep on? Your own rug by the fire?” Philip dragged a hand down his face. “Five pounds. I’ll give you five pounds if you run like you did earlier. All right, ten pounds. My kingdom. My entire bloody kingdom if you come along now.”

Clearly Prince was not a beast open to bribery.

Looking up, Philip noted that Miss Chilton-Grizedale, Mrs. Carlyle, and Hope had nearly reached a curve in the path. Thank goodness. Seconds later, they turned, disappearing from his sight. He instantly scooped up Prince in his arms, and broke into a run. Prince, clearly enjoying this game, licked Philip’s chin and yipped.

“All right, I’ll still give you the beef bone. But you’re not getting the ten pounds. And you should be bloody grateful. If not for me, you’d be named Princess.”

Prince, golden ears flapping back in the breeze, yipped again, and Philip increased his pace. There was no time to lose. He needed to call upon Catherine, then go to the museum to speak to Andrew-to inform both of them that they were going to Vauxhall this evening.

Eight

Meredith walked along Vauxhall’s graveled South Walk, and attempted to accomplish the impossible: ignore the man walking beside her.

Botheration, how could she hope to turn a blind eye when she was so acutely aware of him? When hints of his clean, masculine scent teased her senses? Lady Bickley and Mr. Stanton strolled several yards ahead, and she focused her attention on their backs with the zeal a pirate would bestow upon a booty of gold coins, but to no avail. Lord Greybourne remained no more than a foot away, and every nerve in her body tingled with that knowledge.

At least being outdoors proved a welcome improvement over sitting opposite him in the confines of the carriage. Seated upon the plush gray velvet squabs in the elegant black lacquer coach, he’d been close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to catch teasing whiffs of his tantalizing scent that filled her with the urge to lean forward and simply bury her face against his neck and breathe. Close enough so that their knees bumped every time the carriage hit a rut in the road. And each time her heart had tripped over itself, shooting unwanted, heated sensations through her.