Page 29 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
He inclined his head as he took charge of the horses. “All according to plan, m’lady.”
Michael lifted Anne down, and she led him toward the riverbank. Her mood seemed to be restored, as she was tugging his arm to hurry him along. “Are we having a picnic, then?”
She snorted. “A picnic isn’t much of a surprise.”
“I thought since you had that basket, that perhaps…” He trailed off as he caught sight of a white skiff arrayed on the grassy riverbank. “Anne, is this for us?”
“Well, of course.”
“You mean we’re—” He broke off, glancing around. They were right at the point where the Serpentine bent to extend into Kensington Gardens, and this early in the afternoon the waters were deserted, save for a pair of swans.
The gardens were lush and green. There was even a little grey stone summerhouse adorning the verdant sweep of lawn.
Michael was no expert, but he would say the setting was picturesque. Romantic, even.
It was perfect. And Michael decided right then and there that this was where he was going to propose.
“Welcome to the latest installment of Anne and Michael’s Pirate Adventures,” Anne said, sounding pleased with herself.
That was when Michael noticed that someone had hastily painted the word Misery upon the boat’s prow. He threw his head back and laughed. “I see that you managed to get the name right this time.”
“I capitulated just this once, in honor of your return. I still maintain that there is no finer name for a pirate ship than the Queen Anne’s Revenge.”
“That one is already taken. Besides, I’m the captain, and the captain gets to name the ship.”
“Remind me, Captain Cranfield, which is the higher rank—captain or admiral?”
“Admiral Astley. As if you would ever let me forget.”
“Although I’m not Anne Astley anymore. I suppose it should be Admiral Northcote now.”
Michael attempted to disguise his instinctive growl as a mere clearing of his throat. He was never going to refer to Anne using that blackguard’s name. The mere thought of saying it aloud was revolting. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it. I believe I will continue calling you Admiral Astley.”
Anne responded with a sweeping gesture. “So long as you acknowledge my superior rank.”
Michael was laughing as he moved the front end of the skiff into the canal, then offered Anne his hand. Once she was settled, he gave the boat a good push and climbed aboard in one smooth motion, and then they were drifting along in the bright afternoon sunshine.
He couldn’t help but smile as he watched Anne. For all that she’d taken up the white parasol that had been waiting in the boat, she wasn’t making much use of it, instead tipping her head back to enjoy the sunshine upon her face.
After she’d finished basking, Anne smiled at him. “This is just like old times.”
“The only thing missing,” Michael said, giving a pull at the oars, “is the strawberry tarts.”
Anne smiled, her nose crinkling, and Michael knew immediately that something was afoot, because that was Anne’s other signature expression, one he liked to see much better than the eyebrow twitch of doom. Whenever he saw that nose crinkle, it meant that Anne Astley was about to get up to some mischief.
She reached for the basket she’d brought along. “Who said they were missing?”
Michael grinned. “You do not have strawberry tarts in there!”
“I most certainly do,” Anne replied, pulling them out.
They drifted along, enjoying their tarts. Anne tossed a few bites to a pair of ducks, one of whom tried to climb right into the boat before Michael shooed him away with the oar. Strawberry tarts were Anne’s favorite, and she’d brought them on their afternoon adventures literally hundreds of times. Drifting along with Anne in a boat, on this perfect summer afternoon, eating strawberry tarts… Michael’s throat constricted.
This feeling, this contentment, this was precisely how his life was meant to be.
Precisely how it would be from now on.
“Delicious,” Michael declared, licking the last few crumbs from his fingers. He took up the oars again. “Now let’s see, what else did we used to do on our pirate adventures? We’ve argued about the name of the ship, as well as over who holds the superior rank, and we’ve eaten our strawberry tarts. The only thing left to do is to come up with some harebrained scheme, the ultimate result of which will be both of us falling in.”
