Chapter Nine
The picnic was surprisingly pleasant. Primrose leaned back on her cushions, feeling agreeably relaxed. The island had cast a spell over them all, an enchantment woven of dappled sunshine and a green-scented breeze, birdsong and the lazy hum of bees among the wildflowers. It took effort to concentrate on Algernon Dasenby, but concentrate she did. She nibbled a slice of ham, and watched him. Sipped a glass of lemonade, and watched him. Ate a grape, and watched him.
Lord Algernon smiled a lot and talked a lot and laughed a lot, but twice she caught him looking at Oliver, and both times a strange expression crossed his face.
She felt she ought to recognize that expression.
She’d seen it before, she was certain of it. But where? When?
Primrose frowned, and bit into a macaroon.
