Aubyn had been amused at the little tableau enacted on the bank of the stream between his son and the three females, all of whom appeared to be annoyed with him. Mrs. Standish glared at poor Perry stonily, while her daughter bandied words with him quite shamelessly. Miss Rathbone was definitely the most vociferous of the three, for her high-pitched shrieks—quite unrehearsed this time, Sylvester was convinced—had caused the three elder ladies gathered around the picnic table to glance in her direction curiously. At one point, the Beauty appeared on the point of swooning, and Sylvester noted with perverse satisfaction that the widow's expression became even more thunderous at the blatant way in which her rival clung to Peregrine's arm after her second scream. The wench had better take care not to overplay her role, the earl thought cynically. Peregrine might be an inexperienced puppy around females, but he was not entirely without common sense. He would drop a word of caution in his aunt's ear.
