In the shade of a large elm atop a rise overlooking the grapevine-covered slope, Tristan leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out on the red blanket Griffin’s sisters had packed along with the picnic lunch. He glanced into the empty basket and feigned good-natured surprise. “What, no famous Chase sweets to complete the meal?” Sitting across from him, Corinna finished her last bite of cheese. “Griffin didn’t give us enough time.” “Don’t go blaming me,” Griffin protested. “As though you, of all people, would volunteer to spend hours in the kitchen.” “My talents don’t lie there.” She put her dainty nose in the air. “A Lady of Distinction said that whatever is worthwhile to do, is worthwhile to do well.” “She was talking about dancing,” Juliana said with a roll of her eyes. She looked to Tristan. “May we see the pump now, please?” “Certainly, at least what little there is to see of it.” He rose to his feet and stretched, gazing down to where Alexandra had her own nose buried in Madame Rodale’s book of fashion plates.
