David was still grinning as he walked out into the clearing and approached his host, who was looking quite immaculate enough for a London drawing room. David was almost surprised to note that Algie was not holding his gold-topped cane.

"Ah, David," Algernon said, somehow succeeding in twisting his head sufficiently to see his approach, despite his high shirt points. "Thought you weren't going to put in an appearance, dear boy. Glad to see you. You remember Lord Mountford?"

David bowed and greeted the older gentleman. "Indeed, yes," he said. "How do you do, my lord? Where is Miss Barnes, Algie? I must pay my respects to her on her birthday."

"Down by the river, talking to Miss Higgins and Miss Ames," Algernon said. He watched David walk toward her, nodding his head sagely. Yes, they would make a good match. And the girl was looking very fetching today in pale lemon. Suited her.

A few minutes later David was strolling along the bank of the river with Celia Barnes on his arm.

"I really did not wish for any fuss," she was telling him. "I did not even know that my birth date was known, and I planned to keep very quiet about it. Apparently Rachel remembered. I feel quite embarrassed. I don't think one-and-twenty is an age to be extremely proud of."

"Or ashamed of, surely," David said. "One's age is something over which one has no control whatsoever. Look at it this way, Miss Barnes. People love to have an excuse to celebrate. You have given everyone here that excuse by having the kind forethought to be born on this particular date."

"Ah, the voice of good sense," she said. "How do your parish duties go, Mr. Gower? Do tell me about them."

David described his days to her, omitting nothing of the long hours he spent traveling around his parish, the two nights when he had been called from home to a sickbed, the time spent at his desk reading and praying and preparing his sermons, the early mornings spent in the church saying matins for a handful of worshipers. He did nothing to glamorize his situation or to make the tasks seem less onerous than they were.

"I believe you must be quite dedicated to your work, sir," Celia said. "Do you not find yourself becoming overtired, working all hours of the day and night?"

"The truth is," he said, "that sometimes I feel guilty at how easy the work seems. When I sit talking to a lonely parishioner, for example, I am so happy to see his face light up with the joy of company that I feel as if I should be jumping up in order to get on to some real work. No, I have not suffered from undue fatigue yet. And how are you enjoying Oakland, ma'am? It is quite unusual, is it not, to have two such splendid mansions within three miles of each other?"

They talked on, their conversation easy, if somewhat dull. David found himself testing his feelings for Miss Barnes, wondering if an alliance between them would help dull the ache of an unattainable love.


***

Rachel was sitting on the bank of the river hugging her knees, even though Lady Mountford had just warned her that the grass was probably still damp and she would catch a chill. Mr. Holland sat on one side of her, Lord Morrison on the other. Mr. Hart stood behind them. Rachel was laughing merrily.

"Mr. Hart has declared that he would kneel down on the bank and stretch out a hand for me if I fell in," she said, "and then carry me back to the house. Mr. Holland would dive right into the water to save me. And what would you be prepared to do, my lord, if I should have the misfortune to tumble into the river?"

"Be assured, ma'am," Lord Morrison replied, "that I should remove my coat while Holland was in the water, allow Hart to haul you out, and then wrap you in a warm, dry coat and convey you to the house with all speed."

They all laughed. "And I would be left to soak unrewarded in the river," Mr. Holland said.

"Ah, but Mr. Hart would be there with a hand to help you out," Rachel reminded him, laughing.

Mr. Gower was walking with Celia, she could see. She felt guilty monopolizing the attention of three gentlemen. She just could not seem to avoid doing so. When they had driven over from Oakland, she had been careful to see that Celia shared her barouche with Sir Herbert Fanshawe and Mr. Hart. And she had tried very hard to curb her tongue so that she would not dominate the conversation. She had grabbed at Algie's arm as soon as they reached Singleton Hall so that she would walk with him to the river and Celia would have her choice of two escorts.

She had tried very hard. But somehow, when they finally began to make their way to the picnic site, she had found that Celia was on Algie's arm and she herself had an arm linked through both Sir Herbert's and Mr. Hart's. She must remember to scold Algie for being so shortsighted as to deprive Celia of other escorts. He was being kind, of course. But that was no way to find Celia a husband.

And now the worst had happened. Oh, she must not feel that way, Rachel thought guiltily. If she put aside her own feelings, she would have to admit that Celia and David Gower would make the perfect match. She should be delighted that they were together now, strolling away down the bank. She should not be feeling sick.

Rachel laughed gaily. "You would all have me full to bursting," she declared, looking around at her three escorts. "If each of you brings me a plate of food as you are offering to do, how am I to eat it all? I think I must solve the problem by throwing off my indolence, getting to my feet, and going to the tables myself. Mr. Hart, you may have the pleasure of helping me to my feet. Thank you, sir." She giggled and swept him a deep curtsy. "My lord, your arm, please?"

Celia and David Gower were also approaching the tables. Algernon intercepted them and drew Celia's arm through his.

"It is time you cut your birthday cake, Miss Barnes," he said, "before all of us have filled ourselves so full with other food that we have no room left."

"Oh, must I do that?" Celia asked, looking up at him in some alarm. "Cannot someone else cut the cake?"

"Once you have plunged in the knife, yes," Algernon said. "But you must make the first cut. One of the penalties of being the guest of honor, y'know."

"Oh," said Celia.

"Come," Algernon said. "You may hold on to my arm so that you do not collapse from the strain of so much public attention." He drew his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and viewed the world along the length of his nose.

Celia laughed. "I could not feel safer with a whole company of soldiers," she said. "Do you suppose it was His Grace of Wellington's nose that frightened the French into submission at Waterloo?"

Algernon threw back his head and barked with laughter. "What a novel theory," he said. "We will have to write a book on military strategy, ma'am. We must call it How to Nose Out Victory."

Celia laid a finger against her cheek and looked thoughtful. "A Comparative Study of the Facial Appendages of Victorious and Vanquished Generals Through History would be far more imposing," she said. "Or perhaps Great British Naval and Nasal Victories."

They were both convulsed with laughter when Lady Edgeley joined them to suggest that it was time for Celia to cut her birthday cake.

David had wandered over to the table when Algernon took Celia's arm. Rachel, turning abruptly from the food, her plate filled to her satisfaction, found herself face-to-face with him. She felt herself flush despite herself.

"Mr. Gower," she said, "how do you do? I have been wishing to speak with you."

His eyebrows rose as his eyes smiled down at her. "Have you?" he said. "Shall we take a stroll? The table seems somewhat popular at the moment."

"I shall wait for you to fill a plate," Rachel said, but he shook his head and they wandered back to the bank of the river and began to stroll beside it, in the opposite direction from that he had taken with Celia earlier.

"I do believe you are trying to edge me out of a job," David said when they were clear of the chatter of the largest group of guests. "When I arrived at the Perkinses' cottage yesterday afternoon, it was to find that my offerings were to take second place to your cakes."

"Oh." Rachel flashed him a smile. "That is what I wished to talk to you about. You were not hurt, were you?"

He grinned. "Not at all," he said. "The cake I was made to sample was quite delicious. And I must say that it is a good thing that the Perkinses have produced five sons and only three daughters. The cottage would have rivaled a London ball for color if there had been any more hair ribbons in evidence."

Rachel laughed outright. "Does not the little one look thoroughly comical in hers?" she said. "She is all hair ribbon and almost no hair. Mrs. Perkins said that she had to almost fight with the child to remove it when she went to bed the night before. It is so easy to delight such children. Three lengths of hair ribbon merely. One would have thought I had brought them a boxful of precious jewels."

"Oh, but you did," David said. "The ribbons are very precious to the girls. Even more so is the fact that they are a personal gift from Lady Rachel Palmer herself."

"Oh, nonsense," Rachel said. "There is nothing so very special about me."

"There you are wrong," he said. "You are the embodiment of beauty and grace and perfection to those children."

Rachel smiled and offered her plate to him. David shook his head.

"Old Mrs. Perkins was every bit as happy as the children," he said, his eyes smiling down at her as she bit into a lobster patty. "I would imagine that there has not been so much excitement in her life for many years, if ever. You had been there, Rachel, with a book. And you had read from it just for her, though everyone else crowded into the room too to listen. Where on earth did you get the inspiration to do something so wonderful? Do you fully realize what a glorious day you created for that old lady?"