Chapter 2
Two
Lady Esme Jones had never seen a teapot look quite so judgmental, its painted roses arranged in a distinct frown. She averted her gaze to the morning room window.
"We must note you danced with Watford twice last night," Mother, the Viscountess of Woodmere said, stirring her tea. "That will do very well. He was attentive. You were properly modest. No one can say you showed partiality."
"Except," Harrison added, folding the morning paper, "when you vanished to the terrace with Redford." Harrison's eyes remained flat on hers, his jaw set as if the memory required restraint.
Esme buttered her toast. "It was hardly vanishing. There were lanterns. And dowagers. The Bishop nearly tripped over us."
Her mother's spoon paused. "You were alone with him, Esme."
"Not for long," Esme said. "And we spoke of nothing more scandalous than fresh air and ink."
Mother sighed. “Lord Redford is not the sort of man one is alone with, regardless of topic. We have only just begun to repair the impressions the ton formed when you refused Lord Nevan last year."
Harrison flattened the paper, scanning the columns.
“Lord Redford made a spectacle of you," he said. "Dancing in front of half the ton, laughing and drawing attention as he fawned over you. You may find it amusing, but not everyone shares your appetite for disruption."
Esme set her knife down.
"He rescued me from a lecture on penmanship I assure you would have sent me into an early grave. If that is spectacle, I shall bear it."
Her brother's jaw tightened. "Watford is a serious, respectable man."
"So is the undertaker," she murmured. "Yet Mama has never suggested I marry him."
Mother's lips twitched. "Esme."
"I am only saying that if one must listen to a man discuss ledgers, one ought at least to have a decent view while he does it. Lord Watford's shoulders do not compensate."
Harrison snapped the paper closed. "You treat this as a jest. It is not. You are one-and-twenty. You cannot afford to be peculiar."
"Is that what I am?" she asked, too quickly. "Peculiar?"
"Esme," her mother warned.
Harrison exhaled. "You know what I mean. You cannot behave as if the rules do not apply to you. You cannot encourage men like Redford simply because they amuse you."
She thought of Redford's easy bow, the terrace, lantern light soft on stone, when he had said you are not a ledger and she had believed him.
"I did not encourage him," she said. "If anything, he encouraged me."
"That is precisely my concern," Harrison said.
There was no arguing with that tone.
Before Esme could decide whether to apologize or set the teapot on fire, a footman entered with the morning post.
"Notes for Lady Esme, my lady," he said, presenting a small silver tray.
Two envelopes lay on the tray. One, she recognized at once. It bore Genny's exuberant scrawl. The other was a precise, elegant hand.
She picked up Genny's first. It was safer.
"From Miss Moreland," the footman supplied.
"Of course," Harrison muttered.
Esme broke the seal.
Dearest Terror,
If you are not dead of boredom, meet me in Hyde Park this afternoon. Aunt Agnes insists upon an airing at four. I insist upon entertainment.
Also, Redford is too pleased with himself. This must be remedied.
Yours in mischief,
G.
Esme bit back a smile.
Hyde Park. Air. A possibility of breathing.
She folded the note and turned to the second envelope.
The seal was plain. The paper, good.
"From whom?" Mother asked.
Esme hesitated. “It is not marked, Mama."
Harrison's gaze sharpened. "Esme—"
She broke the seal.
Lady Esme,
It occurs to me that founding a society and then allowing its membership to languish would be wasteful. I am therefore resolved to prevent such a tragedy.
Woodmere House is expected to drive in the Park today, is it not? You may rely upon my presence.
Yours in efficient wickedness.
P.S. Miss Moreland has already accepted a position as Minister of Chaos. I fear we must find you an equally impressive title.
Heat rose in Esme's cheeks. She could almost hear Redford’s voice.
She folded the note quickly and slipped it beneath her plate before Harrison could demand to see it. The maneuver did her no good.
"Who is it from?" he asked.
"No one," she said.
His brows rose.
"An invitation to enjoy the weather."
"From whom?" he repeated.
She met his gaze. "Does it matter? We are going to Hyde Park regardless."
Her mother nodded. "We are. It will be crowded. People must see you. They must remember you are available."
"Like a house for let," Esme murmured.
Woodmere chose not to hear. "Wear the blue muslin. It makes you look very sweet."
Sweet was the opposite of what Esme wished to be seen as.
She reached for her tea and thought of Redford’s, and of the way her heart had betrayed her at the sight of his hand on the paper.
It changed nothing, she told herself.
Except it did. Because for the first time in a long while, the prospect of an afternoon in Hyde Park did not feel like another chore.
It felt like a possibility.
James had never been more insulted by a slice of toast.
"It looks smug," he told Magnus, Earl of Langley, flicking the crust. "Positively self-satisfied. It knows I have done something reckless and intends to judge me for it."
Magnus looked up from his egg. "It is bread, James. Bread cannot judge you."
"Primrose disagrees," Alexandra, Countess Langley, put in, stealing the toast. "Bread absolutely judges. Especially the morning after a ball. It sees everything."
They were breakfasting in the private parlor at Langley House, an arrangement James increasingly suspected had been contrived to allow Alexandra, Countess of Langley, daily access to his worst decisions.
She bit into the toast. "Besides, you deserve judgement. You looked almost sincere last night."
Redford poured coffee. "Impossible. I have spent years building a reputation for frivolity. One evening cannot undo such effort."
Magnus took a calm sip. "You danced with Lady Esme Jones."
"Many men did. Her mother saw to it. I merely had the misfortune of being interesting."
"You founded a society with her. Genny told me."
Redford winced. “Miss Moreland talks too much."
"Genny observes. She says you looked like you've seen a cliff and can't wait to dive." She paused. "Just to see how loud the splash will be."
Magnus glanced at Redford. "Accurate."
"Traitors," Redford muttered. "Both of you."
"What are your intentions with Lady Esme?" Alexandra asked.
He almost choked on his coffee. "Good God, Alexandra, you sound like her brother."
"Excellent. Then I am on the right track."
"My intentions are to keep her from being bored to death by men who think the height of romance is a tidy ledger."
"And?" Magnus asked.
"And to prevent my own death from the same cause," Redford added. "Mischief, not matrimony. I have not suddenly developed a passion for managing Woodmere's household."
Alexandra's gaze did not soften. "Esme has less room to err than you. If your society becomes fodder for drawing-room whispers, she will pay a higher price."
"Which is why the rules exist. No reputations harmed, no true cruelty, only small... adjustments."
"And your heart? Any rules there?"
"None whatsoever. Fortunately, it is entirely irrelevant."
"Is it? You have meddled in half the ton's affairs for sport. You have never before written a lady a note about it in the morning."
Redford stiffened. "How do you know I wrote her one?"
"Ink on your fingers and an expression that suggests you have done something simultaneously clever and unwise. It is your most recognizable look.” Alexandra smiled slowly. "What did you write?"
"Nothing of consequence. An invitation to breathe the same air in Hyde Park, a reassurance that our society has not dissolved from neglect, a mention of Genny's promotion to Minister of Chaos."
Alexandra clapped softly. "Excellent appointment."
Magnus set his fork down. "James, I am fond of your nonsense."
"I had noticed."
"But be clear with yourself. If you are only amusing yourself, leave Esme alone. She is not one of the girls who trail after you for a story. She has too much to lose."
James sighed. "Is everyone in London determined to make a moral example of me this week? First Woodmere, now you."
"I have no intention of dragging her into scandal. My talents in that arena I reserve for myself. If she chooses mischief, it will be on her own terms."
"And yours," Alexandra said softly.
He did not answer.
Instead, he pushed back his chair and reached for his gloves.
"The matter is settled," he said. "The Mutual Mischief Society has a meeting today. Woodmere House will drive in the Park, and I intend to be there—at a respectable distance," he added when Magnus opened his mouth.
"Define respectable," Magnus said.
"Far enough not to be accused of seduction," James said. "Close enough to offer rescue if Watford begins a lecture on ink again."
Alexandra laughed. "Do try not to fall in love in the middle of Rotten Row. It will upset the horses."
"I shall do my best," he said.
By four o'clock, Hyde Park was fashionable.
Rotten Row glittered with carriages. Parasols bobbed, plumes nodded, and the Serpentine shivered.
Esme sat in the Woodmere barouche, the blue muslin gown feeling more like a uniform than a choice. The viscountess perched beside her. Harrison sat opposite. And sitting beside Esme, Genny resembled an escaped cherub who had raided a milliner's shop.
"Look at them," Genny murmured as the barouche rolled into the proper circuit. "Milling like very polite sheep. Do you think any of them know they are alive?"
"Genny," the viscountess said faintly.
"I mean it in the fondest possible way," Genny amended. "Beautiful, well-dressed sheep."
Esme bit her lip to hide a smile.
The park was full of familiar faces. Lady Honoria's phaeton flashed by. Debutantes pretended not to stare at passing gentlemen. Matrons arranged themselves along a bench.