He barked a laugh at that, but her nose-wrinkle was as adorable as her words were dry. “Wrestle an invitation? I’d rather we say I charmed them, I think,” Trystan entreated, even if they were talking about worms and beetles; he was grinning at her.

“Perhaps I’d have more luck making friends with Marigold,” he said, with a mischievous look at Marigold’s no-doubt-unimpressed mother; but to test that theory, he sank to a knee, kneeling down on the grass to see how the daughter was getting on with her mud creations. “Hello,” he said to her, cheerfully, “can I help?”

She certainly seemed the more jovial of the pair: Marigold was probably at an age where a little worm-charming might actually impress her.

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