your physician.”
He returned her smile. Oh, that was so much better. “What do you prescribe, Doctor Archer?”
All at once, she knew. “Enjoyment, fresh air, and good food. Preferably all together. In short, sir, I advise you to take a day off tomorrow and go on a picnic with me, my mother, and Ethan.”
Chapter Fifteen
She was surprised and delighted when he agreed to the idea of a picnic.
“You’ll see,” she told him as she walked him back to the flat from her studio. “It will be just the thing.”
His smile offered hope.
Ethan and her mother were more enthusiastic.
“Excellent idea,” her mother proclaimed. “I’ll ask Jack Hornswag to arrange for a hamper. I think I still have your brother’s kite.”
“Is it difficult to fly a kite?” Ethan asked, eyes shining. “I’d like to try it.”
“With your perspective on angles, you’ll be brilliant at it,” Abigail assured him. “We’ll see you both tomorrow, say half past noon. That way we miss the muster.”
“And I have a few moments at the spa,” Linus agreed.
“Very clever,” her mother said after they’d left. “I’m so glad you’re taking his courting seriously.”
“Doctor Bennett isn’t courting me, Mother,” Abigail told her, gathering up the last of Ethan’s drawings for the day. One showed a man, woman, and boy, all holding hands. The woman had reddish hair.
Her mother put her nose in the air. “When a gentleman stops by twice a day to see a lady, I call that courting.”
“He stopped by twice a day to tend my wound and arrange for Ethan’s care,” Abigail reminded her. “That’s not courting. That’s business.”
Her mother eyed her. “I see no difference.”
Abigail shook her head. “I should not encourage you. Jesslyn is bad enough. She is certain Linus and I should make a match.”
Her mother gave a little bob, skirts rising and falling with her heels. “Excellent. Dear Jesslyn has never failed when she set her hand to matchmaking.”
Abigail wasn’t so sure of that. Despite Jess’s exemplary record, she had done all to help Mr. Crabapple pursue the Widow Harding, and the lady remained unattached.
“She will have her hands full this time,” Abigail said. “Linus Bennett isn’t sure of me. Of any lady, I begin to think. His heart has not healed from his wife’s death.”
Her mother sobered. “Neither has poor Ethan’s. But you can help there.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Abigail told her.
“And agree to his courting?” her mother nudged, brows up in hope.
Abigail smiled. “You are incorrigible. But I am becoming accustomed to the idea that he and I might suit.”
Her mother clasped her hands before her chest. “Oh, wonderful! I can’t wait to hear the banns read in St. Andrew’s.”
Abigail caught her hands. “Not just yet. Linus and I have a long way to go before agreeing to marry.”
The picnic proved as much.
The Bennett men arrived the next day precisely on time. She would not have expected otherwise. Her mother wasn’t quite ready. Also not unexpected.
“I have the perfect blanket,” she called, head buried in a cupboard beside her bedchamber, spring green skirts swinging as she dug. “I know it’s here somewhere.”
“We can take the one off my bed,” Abigail offered.
Her answer was a thud of something falling from a shelf.
“She did find the kite,” Abigail told Ethan and Linus with a smile. Ethan smiled back. Linus looked a bit nervous, if his darting gaze and hands clasped behind the back of his navy coat were any indication.
“And we added a fine tail,” Abigail tried. “I’ll show you how to fly it, Ethan, when we reach the castle.”
She thought Linus might suggest she go easy on her arm, but he merely nodded.
Ethan’s eyes, however, widened. “We’re going to the castle?”
He must have seen the Earl of Howland’s hunting lodge. The building had been designed to resemble a medieval castle, complete with rounded towers at each corner. The thing was visible from many spots in Grace-by-the-Sea.
“We are indeed, or at least the lawns leading up to it.” She nodded to the wicker hamper Mr. Hornswag had sent over. “Think you can carry that that far, Doctor Bennett?”
Linus shook himself, then went to take each leather handle. As he lifted them, his brows went up. “What did you pack?”
Her mother bustled back into the room, plaid blanket bundled in her arms. “Ham, cheese, rolls, a bottle of lemonade, tin cups, a slicing knife, a cutting board, napkins, Abigail’s sketchbook, Ethan’s sketchbook, sketching supplies, and a book of poetry. Oh, and someone will need to carry Abigail’s parasol.”
As Linus looked impressed, Abigail