The Famous Heroine/The Plumed Bonnet by Mary Balogh Page B

the child to have it within a fingertip of his grasp before dancing gaily off again. A buxom woman—apparently the child’s nurse—was puffing along behind him, alternately urging him to catch the hat when he was close to it, and pleading with him to let it go when it blew away again.
    The scene afforded great merriment in Cora’s group and inspired the gentlemen to elevated heights of wit.
    Mr. Johnson whistled piercingly. “At it, lad!” he yelled.
    The outfit and the hat were clearly new, Cora thought. She could imagine how very proud the boy must have felt this morning to don them and be taken into the park to display them for all to see. And now the hat with its gay streamers was in danger of being lost forever.
    “Oh,” she said, handing her parasol without thought to the nearest gentleman and grasping the sides of her skirt. “Oh, the poor child.” And she was off and running.
    The hat was bowling toward her group. But not quite in a straight line. If they stood still it would sail by yards away from them. The poor child would never catch it. And so Cora went streaking off to intercept the hat and left her admirers gawking after her and realizing too late that they had lost the chance to display superior gallantry in her eyes.
    The trouble with wind, Cora thought, was that it never blew quite steadily. One could never predict with certain accuracy where it would blow a certain object by a certain moment. She made several grabs for the hat when it came close and each time it hopped when she lunged or came to a halt when she hesitated or changed direction when she had it for sure. But it was close. She would have it in just a moment.
    This was
fun
, she thought, beginning to laugh and beginning to realize what a spectacle she must be making of herself for those who were watching. Coordination had never been her strong point.
    She was laughing helplessly and with imminent triumph as her hand descended finally for the kill—only to find that the hat lifted itself straight upward and the top of her bonnet almost collided with a pair of muscularlegs clad in black leather pantaloons and boots designed to accentuate their muscularity.
    “Dear me,” Lord Francis Kneller said, “fun and games, Miss Downes?” He was holding the hat between a thumb and forefinger.
    She laughed at him. “You wretch!” she said. “It was mine. I had run it to earth.”
    He raised his eyebrows and she realized several things. He was standing beside his horse, which had lowered its head to munch at the grass. On the other side of his horse was another with a silent rider on its back—the Duke of Bridgwater. From some distance away there was a chorus of gentlemen’s cheers. And from a very short distance behind there were the pantings of a winded child.
    “My hat,” he cried with a gasp. “Give me my hat.”
    “Dear me.” Lord Francis raised it higher. “What do you say, sir?”
    “Give me it,” the child insisted, glaring.
    “Not,” Lord Francis said, sounding infinitely bored, “until I hear the magic word, my young sir.”
    “You must call me
your grace
,” the child said with haughty command.
    The Duke of Bridgwater coughed delicately. Lord Francis’s arm stayed where it was. Cora’s jaw dropped and she stared at the little boy.
    “Oh, your grace, your grace.” The nurse had come puffing into earshot. “You must not run off like that. It is only a hat. Make your bow and thank the lady and gentlemen.”
    “He has my hat,” the child said, pointing.
    The nurse looked helpless.
    The Duke of Bridgwater’s voice sounded even more bored than Lord Francis’s had just done. “Even dukes say thank you for favors rendered, my lad,” he said. “Take it from someone who knows. Miss Downes hasdone you a service even without being aware of your illustrious identity. Lord Francis Kneller has retrieved your hat and will be only too delighted to return it to you. It would not fit his own head after all, would it? Let us