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“Neither have I,” he admitted. He would never have considered this with another woman. Elizabeth was special. “We shall experience it together, and hopefully I will not make any mistakes.”

“I cannot imagine there will be any...”

“I pray there won’t be,” he said. “I would hate for this to be a terrible experience.”

She laughed and moved toward him, her eyes shining. For a moment he thought she meant to take the basket. Instead, she rose upon her toes and kissed his cheek. Her lips were soft and warm, and her breath tickled his jaw. “It is lovely,” she said.

Julian turned his face toward hers. She remained close, her fingers resting lightly upon his arm, and he kissed her mouth, slow and tender. It was meant to be brief. Then she leaned into him, a soft, willing sigh against his lips. He forgot everything he had prepared beyond the pleasure of having her there to enjoy it.

When he lifted his head, Elizabeth was smiling, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dazed. “You ought to show me what is in the basket,” she murmured. “Before we forget why you brought it.”

Julian served the bread and cheese, then attempted to cut the chicken pie without scattering pastry across the blanket. The knife was too blunt to cut through the pastry neatly. Elizabeth watched his first attempt, pressed her lips together to hide a smile, and finally held out her hand. “May I?”

“I was about to blame the pie,” he said dryly.

She sighed, then smiled. “You have approached it from a rather unfortunate angle.”

He surrendered the knife, laughing at himself. She neatly divided the pastry with a few deft strokes. Then transferred a portion to his plate and returned it with quiet satisfaction, her chin lifted.

“I see I have invited the right woman.” He grinned.

“For the sake of your pie, certainly,” she said, her eyes dancing.

She sat beside him on the blanket, her skirts loosely arranged around her. The cushions supported her back, and she let her shawl slip from her shoulders. Candlelight warmed her skin, gilding her collarbone and catching the small movements of her mouth as she ate. He found himself watching her more than his plate.

Julian passed her a glass of lemonade, the crystal cold and beaded with condensation. “I remembered that you liked this.”

She accepted it, looking pleased, her fingers brushing his. “You remembered my favorites.”

He had. She had chosen little cakes at tea and reached for grapes at luncheon. He had begun noticing such things without intending to. He had stored them away for a future he hadn’t realized he hoped for.

Elizabeth looked at the flowers upon the table, a faint smile playing about her lips. “Did you arrange those too?”

Julian nodded. “I did.”

“They are very pretty,” she said.

“You need not sound quite so surprised.”

“I was thinking that I had spent the day putting flowers into vases,” she said, shyly. “I like this arrangement best.”

Julian set down his plate. He couldn’t think of a polished answer that would improve on the simple pleasure of hearing her say it. His throat tightened. “Then I am glad I persevered,” he said, a little hoarsely. “I fear flower arranging is not one of my strongest skills.”

She turned toward him, her expression softening. Outside, leaves stirred against the trellis. The air carried the faint scent of roses through the open doorway, mingling with candle wax and warm pastry. For a while, they ate and spoke of ordinary things. Julian told her about a room in his house that had the best light for reading. He liked imagining Elizabeth there, curled in one of those chairs with her own book. He liked it so much that the thought of her returning to a different house troubled him with a faint, unfamiliar ache.

“What day do you expect to be at home once you return to London?” Julian asked, turning his glass stem between his fingers. He tried to sound casual, though his heart beat a little faster.

Elizabeth looked up from her lemonade, the candlelight catching in her eyes. “The afternoon after we arrive, I believe.”

“Then I shall hold you to it. May I come by?”

“You have already asked me that,” she said, a smile tugging at her mouth.

“I know,” he said. “I should like to hear it again, in case I dreamed the first answer.” Its shy honesty made her breath catch.

Her smile deepened, warm and teasing. “You may come by, Julian.”

He reached for her hand, and she gave it at once. Her fingers curled around his with a small, certain pressure that warmed him to the core. “I promise not to arrive before your trunks have been unpacked,” he said.