The Ideal Bride by Stephanie Laurens

sighed and accepted the parcels Caro and the ambassador’s wife dropped in his arms. Michael found himself landed with a bandbox tied with wide pink ribbon, bestowed on him by Elizabeth with a sweet smile.
     
      Chattering together, the ladies entered the next shop. Michael glanced at Ferdinand. Holding two gaudily wrapped packages, the Portuguese looked as discomposed and disgusted as he himself felt. Looking at Edward, at the relatively innocuous brown packages Caro had handed him, Michael raised his brows. He met Edward’s eyes. “Want to swap?”
     
      Edward shook his head. “The etiquette pertaining here is that you have to hold on to whatever they hand you, or else they’ll get confused.”
     
      Michael held his gaze. “You’re making that up.”
     
      Edward grinned.
     
      By the time the ladies finally consented to return to the Dolphin, where luncheon awaited them in a private parlor, Michael was burdened with the bandbox and three other parcels, two tied with ribbon. The only aspect of the situation that lightened his mood was that Ferdinand was all but invisible behind the ten parcels his aunt and the duchess had stacked in his arms.
     
      Michael felt something perilously close to fellow feeling when, together with Ferdinand, he tumbled the packages onto a settle in the inn parlor. They exchanged glances, then looked at Edward, who had escaped relatively lightly. Reading their expressions, Edward nodded. “I’ll arrange to leave these here.”
     
      “Good.” Michael made it clear by his tone that any other outcome would precipitate mutiny.
     
      Ferdinand just glowered.
     
      The luncheon started well enough. Michael sat on one bench beside   Elizabeth , with Caro on his other side and Ferdinand beyond her. The other four sat on the bench opposite. He wanted to question Elizabeth as to her aspirations, angling to learn what she looked for from marriage, but the two leading comments he introduced both somehow ended back with the balls, parties, and entertainments of London.
     
      On top of that, the countess and the duchess, speaking across the table, distracted him. Their comments and queries were too needle-sharp, too acute to be lightly turned aside. They may not be their husbands, yet they were assuredly sounding him out; he had to pay them due attention.
     
      Edward came to his aid once or twice; Michael met his gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly in appreciation. Elizabeth , however, seemed sunk in her own thoughts and contributed nothing.
     
      hen the desserts arrived and the older ladies shifted their attention to the crème anglaise and poached pears. Seizing the moment, he turned to   Elizabeth , only to feel a sudden warmth against his other side.
     
      Turning that way, he realized Caro had shifted along the bench, realized with an eruption of hot anger that she’d shifted because Ferdinand had shifted into her.
     
      He had to fight down a surprisingly powerful urge to reach behind Caro and clip Ferdinand over the ear. It was what he deserved for behaving like such a boor, yet… diplomatic incidents had arisen from less.
     
      He fixed his eyes on Ferdinand’s face; the Portuguese was currently intent on Caro, looking down, trying to read her face. “So, Leponte, what sort of horses do you keep in town? Any Arabs?”
     
      Ferdinand glanced up at him, momentarily at sea. Then he colored faintly and responded.
     
      Michael kept asking questions, about carriages, even the yacht, focusing everyone’s attention on Ferdinand until the meal ended and they stood to leave.
     
      As she followed him out from the bench, Caro squeezed his arm lightly. It was the only acknowledgment she made that she appreciated his support, yet he felt an unexpected, somewhat righteous glow.
     
      They’d planned to take a postprandial stroll along the old walls. The view afforded over Southampton Water and south to the Isle of Wight, taking in all the commercial and