But there was nothing to find fault with in her manners or her deportment. After the seventh dog, he managed a comment, to which she replied readily. She displayed a guileless openness that was, as Charles had noted, oddly soothing. Perhaps because it was undemanding.

They reached the end of the lake and she turned toward the parterre. He was about to follow when a flash of emerald caught his eye. His gaze locked on a green-habited figure riding-streaking-across a distant glade. The trees afforded him only a brief glimpse, then she was gone. Frowning, he lengthened his stride and rejoined his intended.

“Dolly is quite good at catching rats…”

As they crossed the lawns, his companion continued with her canine family tree. He paced beside her but his attention had flown.

The damned gypsy had been riding fast-exceedingly fast. And the horse she’d been on-had it just been the distance and her small self that had made the beast appear so huge?

Reaching the parterre, his companion turned onto the path that led around the formal garden. He halted. “I must be on my way.” Remembering why he was there, he summoned a charming smile and bowed. “Thank you for your company, my dear. I daresay we’ll meet again.”

She smiled ingenuously. “That would be pleasant. You are a very good listener, sir.”

With a cynical nod, he left her.

He strode through the shrubbery, keeping an eye out for green-habited dervishes. None appeared. Reaching the stable, he looked in, then called a “Hoi!” Receiving no reply, he walked the long aisle, but could discover no stablelad. He found his chestnut, but could see no sign of any horse that had just been brought in. Yet the gypsy should have reached the stable by now; she’d been heading in this direction.

Returning to the yard, he looked around; there seemed to be no one about. Shaking his head, he turned to go in and fetch his own horse when a patter of feet heralded the stablelad. He came racing into the yard, lugging a double-panniered picnic basket-he skidded to a halt when he saw Gyles.