She held it up to the light. "Go home," she whispered. The bee flew. She turned. The Duke was staring at her.
He had not put Petra down. Petra was looking at her too over her uncle's shoulder with those enormous eyes. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Petra reached out her small arms. Vivienne stepped forward.
The child came into her arms as though she had always belonged there. Vivienne felt the warm, damp cheek against her own. She felt the small heart beating hard against her chest. "You told them," Petra whispered into her ear. "I told them," Vivienne whispered back.
Behind them, on the far side of the lawn, the last guests were being herded into the house. Somewhere, a woman was still crying. The garden party at Ashenford Hall was over. The Duke stood three feet away and watched Petra in Vivienne's arms.
His face seemed closed and open at once. Vivienne could not read it and did not try. At last he said, "You stayed."
She looked up at him over Petra's dark curls. "So did you."
He shook his head very slightly. "Not before you."
She had no answer. He drew a breath and said, "Miss Ashcombe, I owe you a debt that I will not name in front of my niece, but I will not forget it."
"There is no debt, Your Grace."
"There is." He did not press the point. Instead, he stepped closer and laid one hand briefly on the top of Petra's head.
He came a step closer instead, and he laid his hand very briefly on the top of Petra's head. His hand was steady now. His knuckles had returned to their proper color. "Come inside," he said. "You will take tea with my mother, and you will not leave until I have thanked you properly." Vivienne opened her mouth to refuse.
She closed it again. Petra's arms were tight around her neck. The Duke was watching her. The sun was slanting long across the lawn. She nodded once.