“You may not have Jason! Do you hear me?”

Corrie looked up and grinned like Uncle Simon when he found a new leaf.

“Oh,” Judith said, gasping a bit, “I know when a table’s been turned on me, and this one just flattened me. That was excellent, Corrie. You got me right in the nose.”

Corrie was preening, James laughing, when Judith turned to Lord Ambrose and said, “And now, my lord, perhaps you would like to see the leaf I was unable to identify? Or James, I understand that you have an inquiring mind. Perhaps you would like to see my unidentified leaf?”

Simon jumped out of his seat, outraged. “Excuse me? What is this, Miss McCrae?” He waved the platter, that now held one lone slice in its center, at her, “You told me about the leaf, not anyone else, particularly James, who knows nothing at all about leaves, only what’s hanging about up in the heavens. Besides James is nearly out the door, to take Corrie riding. I wish to see that leaf, Miss McCrae.”

Judith grinned, fluttered her lashes at Simon, and said, “Perhaps if I could have that very last slice, sir, the leaf could be guaranteed to be yours.”

Simon looked at that slice, thought about the three he’d already consumed, thought about the unidentified leaf that might be the brother to the one he’d found in the park, looked back at the slice, and said, “Show James the leaf.” He ate the last slice, dusted his hands on his trousers, nodded to the three young people, and took himself off, humming.

“You, Judith, are quite amazing,” Corrie said. “Now we know what’s more important to Uncle Simon. I will have to tell Aunt Maybella.” She slanted a look at James. “Maybe on a honeymoon, eating cinnamon bread would be the activity of choice?”

He laughed. “Possibly. We’ll see, won’t we?”

They heard the front door open, heard Aunt Maybella’s voice suddenly ring out in outrage. “I smell it! Simon, where are you? You’ve eaten the entire loaf, haven’t you? I will hide that unidentified leaf of yours, you miserable loon, you’ll see! I want some cinnamon bread!”

“Let’s get out of here,” James said, and offered an arm to each young lady.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

JAMES GAVE CORRIE a leg up. Once she’d settled herself on Darlene’s back, he mounted Bad Boy. “Both of them look like they’ve been eating your uncle’s cinnamon bread. They need more exercise, Corrie.”

Corrie only nodded. She was looking at Judith McCrae, who’d insisted on walking back to Lady Arbuckle’s house only two streets away. Since it was a sunny day for early October, James had agreed.

“May I perhaps meet you at the Mayfair for an ice, say tomorrow?” Judith had asked Corrie. The date made, Judith walked away, her step bouncy, infinitely graceful.

“She wants Jason,” Corrie said.

“Well, it might be that he wants her as well, but the truth is, you never know with Jason.”

“I think she’s as beautiful as Juliette Lorimer.”

“So you don’t like her?”

Corrie said, “Yes, I’m afraid I do,” and said nothing more until they’d guided their horses through a gate into Hyde Park. It was too early for the fashionables to be out and seen, which was fine with her. She wanted to gallop. However, James lightly laid his gloved hand on the reins. “Not yet,” he said.

“Oh, goodness, you’re still not well enough, are you, James? I’m so sorry, thinking things were like they used to be before-well, of course we’ll walk the horses.”

He reached out his hand and laid it over hers. “Will you marry me, Corrie? No more excuses about me making this dreadful sacrifice, no more whining about missing out on sowed oats.”

“You don’t think I should do well as a barmaid in Boston? It’s in America.”

“No, you would be a miserable serving girl. You would clout any man who was stupid enough to pinch your bottom.”

Her chin went up. “That’s not true. I could do anything I had to do in order to survive. If you were ill and it were up to me, I could drive a dray. I could make meat pies and sell them. James, I would keep you safe and well. You could always count on me.”

He cocked his head to one side, staring at her. He studied the face he’d known for more than half his life, first the child and now the young woman. “You know, Corrie, I believe you would,” he said slowly, and then he reached out and clasped her hand. “We will do well together. Trust me.”

She sighed, shook off his hand, and click-clicked Darlene into a canter along Rotten Row.

The fact of the matter was, he thought, watching her gracefully sway in the side saddle, firmly in control, she would do anything she needed to do, anything she had to do. To save him. She’d already proved that. He sent Bad Boy into a gallop and was riding beside her within a few moments.

“Say yes,” he said, his eyes between Bad Boy’s twitching ears. Then he gave her a sideways glance. “I could teach you things, Corrie, things that would make you feel quite good.”

Oh dear, she quite liked the sound of this. “What sorts of things?”

“Perhaps it isn’t proper of me to get all into details just this moment, but on our wedding night-ah, yes, I’ll just spit it out-think of me kissing the backs of your knees.”

The knees in question froze on her legs. “Oh goodness, my knees?”

“The backs of your knees. That could be one very small thing I will teach you about. No, no more. You must wait. Now, the truth is, I sent our marriage announcement to the Gazette. No one will cut you now, no one will look at me like I’m a debauched rake. It’s done, Corrie. My mother is likely meeting with your Aunt Maybella even as we ride. The wedding must be soon.”

“If I were to agree, I wouldn’t want it soon. I would want the biggest wedding ever seen in London. I would want to be married at Saint Paul’s.”

He smiled. “All right. Let’s go back and speak to our elders.”

“I haven’t said yes, James. This is all supposition.”

He grinned at her. “You are tottering close to the edge.”

“Why are you being so damned agreeable? Are you still too ill to argue with me? You must be, because you like to argue and yell and curse. You like to pretend you’re going to clout me. This agreeable side of you isn’t what I’m used to. Are you tired, is that the problem? Oh dear, let me see if your fever has come back.” And she rode Darlene right into Bad Boy, her hand outstretched, but she didn’t touch his face because Darlene, who’d just come into heat, decided she wanted Bad Boy and what followed was a fracas, a good word that meant everything and nothing, the word that Corrie later used to describe to her uncle and aunt what had happened. Actually, fracas didn’t come close to the chaos of two rearing horses: Darlene shrieking, Bad Boy snorting, amenable to what she wanted to do and trying to bite her neck and mount her, and James, laughing so hard he was nearly falling off his horse’s back.

And in the midst of it all, Corrie, barely managing to stay on Darlene’s back, shouted through her laughter, “All right, James. I’ll seriously consider marrying you! I suppose it could be more fun than being a barmaid in Boston.”

“Is that a yes or another supposition?”

She whispered, looking down at her black boots with their lovely heels, “All right.”

“Good. That’s done.”

James wasn’t about to admit to relief. No, he was facing the raw fact that his doom was now formally sealed, his not inconsiderable wild oats now headed for a deep well.

He met for two hours with Lord Montague, managed to keep his attention focused long enough to get the marriage contract finalized, all the while thinking that at least there’d be laughter in his life. Corrie might drive him mad, make him want to hurl her through a window, but at the end of the day, she’d have him holding his belly with laughter. And kissing the backs of her knees. He grinned. Imagine, kissing the backs of the brat’s knees. Life, he thought, was amazing.