Swinging around, Caro saw Michael walking up from the stables. She hadn’t heard the crunch of hooves on the drive—he’d ridden over through the forest. She watched him greet Lady Kleber, and felt distinctly irritated over her earlier worry; he clearly needed no champion in the diplomatic sphere. When he wished, he could be disgustingly charming; she watched him smile at the countess and bow over her hand, and inwardly humphed.
Quietly handsome, assured, subtly dominant, his brand of charm was far more effective than Ferdinand’s.
Her gaze flicked to Ferdinand; he was edging her way, positioning himself so he’d be able to claim her side when the party descended to the lawn. Glancing around, she looked for escape… and realized there wasn’t any—other than…
She looked at Michael; had he lost interest in pursuing her?
Him or Ferdinand—which would be wiser? Lady Kleber had told them the picnic was to be held in a clearing a little way into the forest; Caro knew the way there—a gentle stroll, and they would hardly be alone…
The decision was taken out of her hands. Via a maneuver she had to admit was masterful, she was the last person Michael greeted.
“Good, good! Now we are all here, we may go and enjoy our picnic, ja?” Beaming, Lady Kleber waved to the lawn, then circled, determinedly shooing them off the terrace.
Having just shaken Caro’s hand, Michael retained it. Looking into her eyes, he smiled. “Shall we?” Smoothly, he drew her to her feet.
Her senses flickered, and it wasn’t, this time, simply due to his nearness. There’d been a glint of steel behind the blue of his eyes, and his grip on her hand, the restrained power behind his claiming of her company… he definitely hadn’t given up the chase.
He anchored her hand on his sleeve, then looked at Ferdinand. “Ah, Leponte—do join us.”
Ferdinand did, very readily, yet it was Michael who had her arm. As they descended to the lawn, then set out in train with the others to stroll to the clearing, she wondered what he was up to—what new tack he was taking with Ferdinand.
They entered the trees following a well-beaten path. She caught the movement as Michael glanced over her head at Ferdinand.
“I understand you’re something of a disciple of Camden Sutcliffe?”
Direct attack—more usually a political than a diplomatic gambit, perhaps in this instance to be expected. She glanced at Ferdinand, saw color tinge his olive skin.
He nodded, a touch curtly. “As you say. Sutcliffe’s career is a pattern card for those of us who seek to make our way in the diplomatic arena.” Ferdinand met Michael’s steady regard. “Surely you would agree? Sutcliffe was, after all, your countryman.”
“True.” Michael let his lips curve. “But I’m more politically inclined than diplomatically so.”
That, he felt, was fair warning; there was a great deal of ruthless cut-and-thrust in politics, while diplomacy was by definition more a matter of negotiation. Looking ahead, he nodded toward the Polish charge d’affaires. “If you truly want to learn about Sutcliffe and what shaped him, you’re in luck—Sutcliffe’s first appointment was to Poland. Kosminsky was a junior aide in the Polish Foreign Ministry at the time; his professional acquaintance with Sutcliffe dates from ‘86. I understand they remained in touch.”
Ferdinand’s gaze had locked on the dapper little Pole chatting with General Kleber. There was a fractional hesitation while he manufactured a suitably delighted mien. “Really?”
His features lit, his eyes didn’t. They were curiously flat when he met Michael’s gaze.
Michael smiled, and didn’t bother to make the gesture charming— or even all that pleasant. “Really.”
Caro understood his meaning; she surreptitiously pinched his arm. He glanced down at her, a silent What? in his eyes.
Hers flared warningly, then, apparently distracted, she looked into the trees. She pointed. “Look! A jay!”
Everyone stopped, looked, peered, but of course no one else except Edward saw the elusive bird. Which only confirmed that Edward was both loyal and exceedingly quick-witted.
On the other hand, he’d had five years to grow used to his employer’s little tricks.
She had more than her fair share of them, Michael had to grant her that. By the time she’d explained to Ferdinand what jays were, and why spotting one was so exciting—something he himself hadn’t fully appreciated—they’d reached the picnic site.
It was instantly apparent that the English vision of a picnic—hampers of food spread on cloths with rugs strewn about on which to sit— had not translated directly into Prussian. Various chairs had been grouped about the clearing; along one side, a trestle table groaned beneath numerous silver dishes and a complement of plates, cutlery, glassware, wines, and cordials that would have done a formal luncheon proud. There was even a silver epergne set in the center of the display. A butler and three footmen hovered, ready to serve.
Despite the relative formality, the party achieved a pleasantly relaxed ambience, due largely to Lady Kleber’s efforts, ably assisted by Caro, Mrs. Kosminsky and, surprisingly, the countess.
That last put him on guard; there was something going on, some ongoing connection between the Portuguese and Camden Sutcliffe, although of what nature he couldn’t yet guess. The countess’s uncharacteristically cheery behavior made him even more determined to keep his eye on Ferdinand—her nephew.
He pretended not to see the countess’s first two attempts to attract his notice. Sticking to Caro’s side—something she seemed to be growing more accustomed to—plate in hand, he moved with her as she circulated, group to group, while they all savored the meats, fruits, and delicacies Lady Kleber had provided.
Caro’s agenda quickly became clear; personally, she didn’t have one—her application was entirely on his behalf. She was patently intent on using her considerable contacts and even more formidable talents to smooth his way, to give him a step up into what had been her world, a world in which she still, if not reigned, then at least wielded a certain power. Her unsolicited support warmed him; he tucked the feeling away to savor later and focused his attention—more than he most likely would have if left to his own devices—on making the most of the opportunities she created for him to make those personal connections that were, at bedrock, what international diplomacy most surely relied on.
The company had disposed of the last strawberry and the footmen were packing away the plates when he felt a gentle touch on his arm. Turning, he looked into the countess’s dark eyes.
“My dear Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby, dare I claim a few minutes of your time?”
Her smile was assured; he couldn’t very well deny her. With an easy gesture, he replied, “You perceive me all ears, Countess.”
“Such a strange English saying.” Claiming his arm, she waved to two chairs set at one side of the clearing. “But come—I have messages from my husband and the duke, and must discharge my duty.”
He had his doubts about the importance of her messages, yet her citing of duty struck an oddly true note. What was going on?
Regardless of his curiosity, he was acutely conscious of being led away from Caro. He would have made some effort to include her, even in the teeth of the countess’s clear wish for a private discussion, but when he glanced around, he saw Ferdinand deep in conversation with Kosminsky.
The little Pole was in full flight; Ferdinand was presently engaged.
Relieved on that score, he went without argument, waiting while the countess settled in one chair, then sitting in the other.
She fixed her dark eyes on his. “Now…”
Caro glanced at Michael, leaning forward, relaxed yet focused on whatever the countess was telling him.
“Sure you won’t come?”
She looked back at Edward. He met her eyes, flicked his gaze to Ferdinand and back, then raised his brows.