Page 64 of His Haunted Duchess
Philip rubbed his stomach.
“If Cook isn’t bang up to the mark getting the refreshments out to the lawn, I might make havoc at the picnic, just to get a whack at the tarts.”
Caroline slipped her arm into his and led him out the front door.
“I’ll have to distract you, then, by walking you about the grounds and talking of nothing but tarts stuffed with still-steaming chitterlings.”
“At this point, I’d eat them, pork insides and all.”
“Come this way, and we’ll choose a spot on the lawn. Which place do you think would be most agreeable?”
Philip’s stomach grumbled, and he glared at her.
“How can you possibly think of anything but food at a time like this? I haven’t eaten in at least—” He counted quietly to himself. “Three hours.”
“That’s a truly prodigious amount,” Caroline said, feigning concern. “Do you think you’ll survive the evening? Mayhap some grass would help to stave off the hunger pangs?”
Philip eyed the lawn appraisingly.
“Do you think it would help?”
Caroline shaded her eyes.
“It’s certainly something I’d like to see, but I wouldn’t advise it unless it’s something you would like to do.”
Philip disentangled himself and bent down.
“Your Grace!” Winifred came around the corner of the house, carrying a hamper. She cocked her head curiously at Philip bent double with a green blade pinched between his fingers. Caroline waved her over.
“Do come, Winifred. We were just?—”
Philip’s eyes caught the hamper. They lit up like flint catching tinder. He hurried over to Winifred.
“We were just picking the perfect picnic location. Please, ma’am—pray let me relieve you of that burden.”
“Oh! My—” Winifred released the hamper, a little flustered. “How kind of you, my lord.”
She curtsied to Caroline, who returned the formality then embraced her. Philip lugged the heavy hamper under the shade of a conveniently close oak tree that cast its shade like a cloak.
“Come on, then, ladies!” he called over his shoulders. “This spot looks perfect—and so near at hand for our purpose!”
Winifred looked questioningly at Caroline.
“Our purpose?”
Caroline chuckled as Philip tossed down an airy blanket and unpacked the basket as if he was saving for the winter. Caroline took Winifred’s arm.
“Tarts, I believe. Though,” she continued, significantly, “I’ve also prepared a special tea for us to take.”
Winifred had, fortunately, overpacked the heavy hamper. Caroline and Winifred chuckled over Philip as he munched tarts and large hanks of roast chicken with a blissful abandon, face speckled with spots cast by the summer sunshine.
“Truly, ma’am, this hamper came at a fortuitous moment.”
“Indeed,” Caroline agreed. “You were just about to become a vegetarian.”
Philip shot her a pointed glance, marred somewhat by the tart from which he took a monstrous bite.
“Careful,” Caroline chided. “If you partake too readily of the tarts, you won’t have any space left for the surprise tea I’ve planned for all of us.”
