With a rakish smile, he saluted them. “So I must leave you to fight your own battles, gentlemen.”
They laughed. Charles turned away.
“Let us know if you need any help,” Jack Warnefleet called.
Charles raised a hand. “I will. And if you need to hide, you all know your way to Lostwithiel.”
The group under the trees shifted, broke up. Tony, Jack Hendon, and Tristan remained, watching Charles as he glibly made his excuses to Alicia and Tony’s mother, then deftly extricated himself from the clutches of the other matrons present.
As Charles headed toward the stables, Tony took note of his jaunty, cocksure stride. He glanced at Jack and Tristan, briefly met their eyes, then all three grinned and looked at their ladies—Alicia, Kit, and Leonora—heads together as they chatted in the sunshine on the lawn.
“I fear,” Tony murmured, “that Charles’s view of bliss is severely limited by his restricted experience of the state.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Tristan averred.
“True,” Jack said.
Tony’s grin widened into a smile. “He’ll learn.”
The three of them stirred and headed out onto the lawn.