Kit struggled to hide her grin; such a gesture would only goad the duchess to further heights of indignation.
Then the duchess looked toward the house. 'Ah, here comes my great-nephew-we shall ask his opinion. Good morning, Bainbridge.'
Kit froze.
The marquess strode down the center path with a jaunty gait, one hand raised in greeting. He cut a handsome figure this morning in his jacket of charcoal gray superfine, buff inexpressibles, and highly polished Hessians. Kit forced her gaze to focus at the level of his snowy cravat, no higher; to look into his eyes meant ruin.
'Good morning, Your Grace. Good morning, Mrs. Mallory,' he called as he drew close.
'Good morning,' Kit muttered between clenched teeth. She had been relieved to avoid him at the breakfast table, and yet here he was. And, from the teasing light in his dark eyes, she could see he was quite pleased with himself for having found her.
Bainbridge made an elegant leg. 'You are looking well, Mrs. Mallory,' he said. 'I am delighted to see that your megrim no longer troubles you.'
The nerve of the man! Kit glared at him. 'Thank you, my lord, but I fear another pain has come along to take its place.'
He grinned.
The dowager looked askance at her. Kit raised her chin.
'I have brought some good news,' he announced. 'If the weather cooperates, we shall picnic on the lakeshore this afternoon.'
'A picnic?' The dowager raised a doubtful eyebrow. 'And whose suggestion was this?'
He cocked his head toward her. 'Her Grace thought it might give us all a chance to enjoy each other's company in a more informal setting, and to allow the children to spend some time with you.'
Kit threw a wary glance at the marquess. A picnic? The fussy, prim-and-proper duchess had proposed a picnic? Her eyes narrowed. Fustian. Either this was Lord Bainbridge's doing, or the duke was putting the screws to his grandmother, showing her just what she would be denied if she did not capitulate. How could anyone be so cruel? She pressed her lips together.
A visible struggle between delight and despair crossed the dowager's face. 'Well, I must compliment my grand-daughter-in-law on such a fine idea. The children will be delighted.'
'Take heart, Your Grace,' Kit said softly. 'Everything will work out.'
'Has something happened?' the marquess asked, frowning.
The young woman regarded him sadly. 'His Grace has issued an ultimatum. If the dowager does not do what he says, he will prevent her from seeing his children.'
Bainbridge swore under his breath. Then he straightened his shoulders, reached down for the dowager's hand, and bowed over it. 'I assure you, ma'am, that I will not allow this to happen.' He shot an intent look at Kit.
A sad smile curved the dowager's lips. 'You are a dear boy, Bainbridge, but I doubt you will be able to change that ninny's mind. He can be so damnably stubborn.'
'He can indeed, ma'am,' agreed the marquess in a steely tone. 'But so can I. Mrs. Mallory and I believe we might be able to make him rescind his decision about the children.'
'Oh you can, can you?' The dowager looked pointedly between the two of them. 'And what hugger-mugger is this?'
Bainbridge lanced another significant glance at Kit. 'Mrs. Mallory and I spoke yesterday afternoon regarding our mutual concern for Your Grace's happiness, and we may have come up with a plan.'
An odd expression crossed the dowager's face. 'And what sort of plan is this?'
'Both you and the duke are very set on having your own way,' Kit ventured.
'Are you calling me bullheaded, child?' demanded the dowager.
Kit did not flinch. 'Yes, Your Grace. Both of you are stubborn, bullheaded, and obstinate. If both of you insist on getting your own way, then both of you will end up monstrously unhappy. Lord Bainbridge and I care for you a great deal, and neither of us wants to see that happen.'
The dowager's eyes narrowed. 'What are you getting at, child?'
'Very well, ma'am-I shall be blunt. We want to find a compromise, something that will satisfy both you and the duke.'
'A compromise?' The dowager's painted brows shot upward.
'Yes, Your Grace.'
Just as quickly, her eyebrows plummeted into a scowl. 'Well, if by compromise you mean giving in to that little twit, I won't do it.'
'But, Your Grace-'
'I won't do it. I will not let that young popinjay dictate to me. I will not!'
'Please, Aunt,' Bainbridge began.
The dowager rose, her bosom puffed out like a pigeon's. 'I had thought better of you, Bainbridge, than to ask me to surrender my dignity. I will not budge, do you hear? Not one inch!' With that, she pulled her shawl around her and swept down the garden path.
The marquess grinned as he watched Her Grace flounce into the house. 'I think that went rather well, don't you?'
Kit rolled her eyes. 'Well? She categorically refused us!'
'What did you expect?'
Kit put a hand to her temple. 'I don't know. Suspicion, doubt, relief… anything but an explosion like that. This will not be easy.'
'Did you think it would be? Did you think we would propose this cozy arrangement and have everyone agree to it just like that?' He snapped his fingers.
'No, of course not,' Kit snapped, irritated.
Bainbridge rubbed his chin. 'We are dealing with two very proud, very obstinate individuals.'
'That much is obvious, my lord,' she replied with no little sarcasm.
He sighed. 'I'm saying that we must proceed with caution. I fear that both of us speaking to the dowager like this put her on the defensive; she suspected that we were trying to force her to change her mind.'
Kit considered a moment, then bit her lip. 'I had not thought of that,' she admitted. 'So what do we do now?'
The marquess clasped his hands behind his back. 'I propose a two-pronged attack: I will deal with the duke while you plead our case to the dowager. Then, and only then, do we put them together to finalize the agreement.'
'Do you think we can succeed in only a week?'
'We must, if we don't want them to be completely forlorn for the rest of their lives. And I, for one, don't particularly like dealing with miserable people; they tend to make everyone around them miserable, as well. Short of locking them in a room together and refusing to let them out until they agree, I see no other option.'
Kit picked up the linen napkin and toyed with one embroidered edge. 'All right. Now that we have settled on a method, what sort of compromise do we intend to propose?'
Bainbridge began to pace on the path in front of her. 'That should be simple enough.'
'Then why haven't they come up with it themselves?'
'Because everyone in this family takes a sort of perverse pleasure in being difficult.'
'I'd noticed,' she mumbled.
He chuckled. 'Let us look at the facts. Wexcombe wants his grandmother to retire to the dower house.'
'Which Her Grace will not even consider,' Kit said.
'So she says. And now the duke has threatened to keep her from seeing the children.'
She sighed. 'Which will break her heart.'
'We need to come up with an arrangement that will give them both what they want.'
Kit nibbled on the end of her thumb, her brows drawn in a pensive line. 'What if…' Her voice trailed off.
'What is it?' prodded the marquess.
