A Passionate Endeavor by Sophia Nash

work. Would she sacrifice her
shoes in an effort to win him over?
    A gleam appeared in her eye. “Perhaps you
could help me over the small stretches of rugged terrain?”
    He had underestimated her talents.
    “Lady Susan, I could not bear to mar a single
flounce on your gown. I will not hear of it. We must not leave our
guests at any rate,” he said, smiling at her. “I could not steal
the brightest flower from their midst now, could I?” He looked into
her eyes and forced himself not to wince at the ridiculous
sentiment.
    “No, I suppose you are right. I would not
want the others to be deprived of our superior conversation.”
    He bit his tongue to stop from laughing or
making an unsporting remark. “Shall we return to the party, my
dear? You must be quite famished.”
    She looked happy to return. The conversation
had been altogether too taxing on her bird-sized brain.
    Despite the pain in his leg, he helped all
the ladies, along with the other males in evidence, to the shade of
the ancient tree. He maneuvered a seat between Rosamunde and Miss
Kittridge as the liveried footmen and maid servants brought forth
the picnic fare—cold roast beef and pigeon pie alongside early
artichokes and cheeses of Wiltshire. Conversation lulled during the
consumption of the excellent foodstuff. A few oohs and aahs were
heard at the arrival of the tarts and custard dessert trays.
    Miss Kittridge was quiet, as he had noticed
was her way with a group of people. She sat with a graceful curve
to her arched back. Her gray silk dress had been allowed out of its
confinement, he could see, as it was on important occasions such as
this. He smiled, happy to see his sister conversing with her.
    James Kittridge soon captured the attention
of Rosamunde, and Miss Kittridge withdrew a bit from the group,
taking a slim volume from her pocket. He focused on her beautiful
lips—the upper crescent so full and inviting. His interest moved to
the little dark freckle under one eye and her chestnut hair falling
a bit from its perch.
    For the merest moment, Charlotte looked up
from the page to glimpse at him, then returned her wise gray eyes
to the parchment. He shook his head and moved his glass of wine
away. He must stop staring at her heady features lest he embarrass
her. “And what are you reading, Miss Kittridge?” he asked.
    She blushed prettily. “Miss Nichols was kind
enough to lend me a new book she brought down from London— Mansfield Park . It is a—novel,” she said, appearing
self-conscious of her admission. “It is by the same author as Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice .”
    “Ah, you are taken with this writer?”
    “Yes, her works are very amusing and
entertaining,” she said softly. “But, my father would not agree. He
does not approve of exposing the mind to the nonsense of
novels.”
    “I promise not to reveal your secret, Miss
Kittridge,” he said with a smile. “We all must have our secrets.
And now that I know yours, I will feel more secure in mine’s
safety.”
    She arched her fair eyebrow. “You are
stooping to blackmail, I see, sir,” she said, turning a page and
ignoring his gaze. “It is beneath you.”
    He threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, Miss
Kittridge, you are delightful.”
    Edwin moved to sit next to Miss Kittridge and
offered a glass of lemonade to her. “What is this? Did I hear
rightly the mention of blackmail? Do not tell me that my brother
has used you ill in any way, my dear. I could not let that stand,”
he said, smiling to both parties. “Shall I slay the beast for
you?”
    Miss Kittridge smiled. “I think not. For then
I would be called to nurse the dragon back to good health. An
unwelcome task, I do assure you, for he is a most uncooperative
patient, as you know.” She turned her gaze on Nicholas. “But there
is a fortitude that is unmatched. I don’t believe I have ever seen
anyone heal so quickly in my life. But I fear he doesn’t reveal the
pain all his vigorous