“Diana, you can go an impressively long time without blinking,” Violet interjected, breaking up their silent battle.

“I do not feel in need of a rest,” Diana announced loudly, ignoring Violet completely and focusing the entirety of her attention on Jeremy and Lady Helen. “I think the rest of us should continue onward and allow you to wait with Lady Helen until she feels sufficiently able to resume walking.”

“I hardly think that would be appropriate,” Jeremy said hastily, and Diana was pleased to note a definite hint of unease in his voice. That would teach him to underestimate her, she thought smugly.

“Very well,” she said thoughtfully. She paused, allowing him to think he had avoided danger—indeed, the other members of their party, thinking the discussion at an end, made as if to move onward—and then into the silence she offered: “Then perhaps you should carry Lady Helen instead?”

“Oh!” Lady Helen said dramatically, clutching at her bosom. While the bosom in question did not rival Diana’s own, the human male is physically incapable of looking away when attention is drawn to such a spot on the body, and Jeremy proved himself no different from any other man in this regard.

“I think that might be a bit of an overreac—” Jeremy began, but was distracted from his objection by a sort of wailing swoon on the part of Lady Helen, which of course required him to leap into action to break her fall. The lady seemed remarkably unstable. Perhaps medical attention truly was necessary.

And so, there they were: Jeremy with an armful of delicate, vaporish virgin, Diana attempting to rearrange her features into an expression of mild alarm rather than smug glee, and the rest of their party regarding this little tableau as though it were a Drury Lane production. And really, who could blame them?

“May I escort you back to the house, Lady Helen?” Jeremy asked politely and—to his credit—without the slightest hint of shortness of breath. Despite herself, Diana was impressed—Lady Helen was slender, it was true, but she was on the tallish side and must have weighed at least nine stone.

“Oh,” was the lady’s feeble reply. “I could never think to trouble you so much, my lord. If you would merely find a convenient bench or rock to perch me atop, I am certain I shall be right as rain in but a moment.”

Jeremy’s facial expression said that he thought this unlikely in the extreme, as did the lady’s tone itself. He cast his gaze about, clearly looking for a spot where he could relieve himself of his burden without appearing ungentlemanly, and his eyes landed on a delicate wrought-iron bench some twenty feet away. It was set in a curve in the gravel path that led through the neatly manicured gardens, and was bordered on either side by bushes that gave the illusion of privacy.

It was perfect for Diana’s purposes.

“There!” she called gaily, waving an arm toward the bench in question. She found herself on the receiving end of more than one curious look from their companions, but persevered. “I am certain that with a few minutes’ rest, Lady Helen will be recovered and you will be able to rejoin us on our walk.”

Jeremy, however, did not budge. “Only if you accompany us, Lady Templeton,” he said with a show of great courtesy. His tone was that of the utmost politeness, and his expression held nothing but bland invitation.

This was where the next portion of Diana’s plan came in, and it would require careful maneuvering on her part. “I thought perhaps Lady Fitzwilliam might join you instead.”

Next to her, Sophie stiffened and turned to look at her questioningly. “Oh?” she asked simply, her lovely face as smooth and untroubled as a still pond, only the slightest spark in her eye indicating some combination of irritation and amusement warring for dominance within her.

“I have noticed you slowing, Sophie,” Diana said earnestly. “I know that your stride is not as long as mine and thought that you might appreciate a respite from the punishing pace I set us.” And, more important, sharing a bench with both Lady Helen and Sophie—especially when matrimony had so recently been discussed!—should make Jeremy quickly realize that an easy escape from one lady’s maneuverings lay in his other bench companion.

This would be an easier scheme to execute, of course, if Sophie were willing to go along with it.

Unfortunately, however, West, who had been walking ahead with Audley but who had turned back to rejoin the party upon noticing the holdup, chose this moment to intervene.

“If Lady Fitzwilliam is finding the pace too quick, I would be pleased to walk with her myself.”

Diana snuck a sideways glance at Sophie at this; as though unable to control their motion, Sophie had allowed her eyes to flicker to West’s at his words, and held them there. After a moment’s charged silence, she spoke. “I am not certain why everyone is quite so concerned with my ability to walk about a garden, but nonetheless I should be happy for your escort, my lord.”

Barely had the words escaped from Sophie’s mouth than West was moving toward her as quickly as his bad leg allowed, offering her his arm. There was the briefest moment of hesitation, then she reached out and took it. He began leading her along one of the paths that intersected the main one upon which they walked; Diana’s gaze happened to land on Audley, who was watching his brother with intensity.

“This still leaves me with the question of who is to chaperone myself and Lady Helen,” Jeremy said a few seconds later, breaking into the silence that had momentarily overtaken the group. He turned his most innocent, questioning smile upon Diana. “Lady Templeton?”