Kit laughed and took one last bite of her apple, relishing the crisp burst of flavor on her tongue. Never did an apple taste so good as it did on an idyllic afternoon, and this one certainly qualified for the honor; so far, no one had spoken so much as one angry or provoking word. That was mostly due to the interference of the marquess, who managed to deftly change the subject whenever the conversation took a dangerous turn.
The marquess. Her eyes seemed to stray to him no matter where he was, and at the moment, he and Lady Elizabeth were walking along the shore of the lake, engrossed in conversation; the drifting wind carried the lady's trill of delighted laughter to Kit's hearing. Her fingers tightened on what remained of her apple, and she flung the core as far as she could.
Why would she be upset that the duchess's sister was flirting with him? Or was he flirting with her? She unclenched her fingers and flexed the tension from them. He was an unrepentant rake, after all. She should expect as much from him.
So why could she still taste bitterness at the back of her throat?
Another burst of laughter, this time of the juvenile sort, diverted her attention. The dowager climbed the gentle slope toward the trees, accompanied by the bouncing children and the red-faced and perspiring Miss Pym.
Kit waved. "Did your new ships keep England safe from that Corsican monster?"
"We blew Boney-part up!" Nathaniel exclaimed, then laughed uproariously.
"And he won't come back!" added Emma, not to be outdone.
Kit applauded. "Good show! That will teach him." She turned to the dowager. "How very obliging of you, Your Grace, to act on behalf of the enemy."
"Someone has to," the dowager chuckled. She lowered herself onto the blanket, waving away the two footmen who hurried to assist her. "Go away, you foolish boys. When I need your help, I will ask for it."
Kit hid her grin behind her hand. She cleared her throat. "So what will you do now that England's greatest enemy is vanquished?"
"We came back up here because the children have asked for a story," said the dowager. She slanted Kit a look rife with mischief. "But I have told them that your stories are better than mine."
"My stories?" Kit echoed.
"Yay! A story! A story!" yelled Emma.
"Lady Emma, control yourself!" huffed Miss Pym, an expression of abject horror on her round face.
The dowager frowned and waved a dismissive hand in the governess's direction. "Oh, enough of your harping, woman. Let the children be children, for heaven's sake!"
Miss Pym fell silent, abashed.
"Now then," continued the dowager, "I have told Emma and Nathaniel that you have a favorite story about a prince who goes on a quest to find his princess. You should know it by heart; you've been working on it long enough."
"Indeed I have," Kit agreed with a laugh.
"Please, Kit?" Emma pleaded.
"Please?" echoed her brother.
Kit raised her hands. "All right. I will tell you the story."
Emma and Nathaniel appeared ready to erupt in yells of triumph once again, but a quelling look from Miss Pym nipped any such impulses in the bud. Still wriggling with excitement, the children began to settle on the blanket.
"What is all this commotion about?"
Kit's heart leaped into her throat at the sound of the marquess's voice-whether from pleasure or annoyance, she couldn't tell, but she didn't want to think about it too closely.
"I… I was about to tell the children a story, my lord," she faltered. She raised a self-conscious hand to the battered chip-straw bonnet she wore as the marquess and Lady Elizabeth drew near. In her gown of lemon yellow sarcenet, with matching ribbons and plumes on her bonnet, the earl's daughter appeared more prepared for a fashionable tea party than an informal picnic.
"A story!" cooed Lady Elizabeth. Her pale blue gaze spat poison. "How delightful. I'm sure you're simply wonderful at telling stories."
"Indeed," Bainbridge seconded. A faint smile quirked his lips. "May we join you?"
"Well, I don't know…," Kit said, tapping one finger against her cheek.
"Oh, come now," the marquess drawled. He winked at her.
She replied with a raised eyebrow. "Very well, my lord, but I will require that everyone participate."
"What's party-see-pate?" queried Nathaniel, his face scrunched in confusion.
Kit smiled down at him. "It means that everyone gets to act out a part of the story."
"That sounds fun!" Emma proclaimed. "May I be the princess?"
"Of course you may," Kit replied. "Nathaniel, would you like to be the prince?"
Nathaniel's enthusiastic nod was quickly overridden by his sister.
"Why can't Lord Bainbridge be the prince?" demanded Emma, with a shy glance at the marquess.
"Because I have other plans for him," Kit said blithely. "Now, the title of this story is the Ramayana, which means 'The Story of Rama.' "
Emma piped up, "Who's Rama?"
"Shhhhh, child-don't interrupt," advised the dowager. Emma bit her lip and fell silent.
"Rama was a great prince," Kit began, warming to her role as storyteller. "He lived in a great city called Ayodhya, and he was a very good and wise man, and a skilled soldier."
Nathaniel popped to his feet, grinning.
Kit paused a moment. The Ramayana was an epic; telling the entire story would last well into the night, not to mention bore the children to tears, so she decided to stick with the most interesting portions.
"Emma, you will be Princess Sita, Rama's beautiful wife," she continued. "And Your Grace, I would be most pleased if you would play the part of Hanuman, a great monkey warrior."
"A monkey?" blurted Lady Elizabeth. "How rude!"
"Not at all," chortled the dowager. "You see, Hanuman is the embodiment of cleverness and devotion. Very good, child, very good. I shall do my best."
"What about me?" drawled the marquess, a teasing slant to his mouth.
"You, my lord," Kit replied with asperity, "will be Ravana, the ten-headed demon king."
"A demon? Interesting." His smile broadened. "I've been called worse."
"I assume you have a part for me," said Lady Elizabeth.
"There are not many women in the Ramayana, so I will have to think a bit… What about Trijata?"
Lady Elizabeth raised a perfectly arched brow. "And who is Trijata?"
Kit made a moue of embarrassment. "She is a rakshasi-a demoness."
"Well!" huffed Lady Elizabeth, her lips compressed.
"Well, of all the rakshasi, she is one of the kindest," Kit added, torn between mortification and laughter. "She consoles Sita after Ravana has kidnapped her and imprisoned her in his garden."
"This is all in fun, Lady Elizabeth," purred the marquess. "Surely you can play along."
"Oh, very well." But she did not look pleased.
With everyone eager to play their designated roles, Kit began the story. She started with Ravana's abduction of Sita from the forest and her imprisonment in Ravana's garden in the island kingdom of Lanka. Emma played a tearful Sita to the hilt, rubbing her eyes and pretending to cry.
Kit went on to tell how Prince Rama sent Hanuman to find Sita and give her Rama's ring as a token of his love and devotion. The dowager, her face alight with merriment, pretended to dodge imaginary demon hordes until she reached Emma's side. Then the two of them sat down at the edge of the blanket, giggling.
Finally, Kit staged a rousing battle between her diminutive Prince Rama and the much larger Ravana; Nathaniel took on the marquess with glee, wielding a stick sword, until Lord Bainbridge gave a mighty groan and fell to the grass. Ravana's "death" was greeted with cheers and enthusiastic applause. The marquess climbed to his feet and bowed.
"It didn't hurt when I cut off your heads, did it?" Nathaniel asked.
"Not at all." Bainbridge winked at him. The boy grinned.
Kit's heart turned over. He was so at ease with the children; it was not hard to imagine him with a little boy and girl of his own. Dark-haired children with green eyes… She bit her lip and chided herself for being so foolish.