Chapter 2 #2
Somewhere in that shifting sea of respectability, she knew, Redford waited.
The thought made her pulse jump.
"I do not see Watford," her mother said. "Perhaps he is already at the Serpentine."
Harrison nodded. "A good sign. Punctuality is a mark of character."
Genny sighed. "I suppose so is snoring. Yet we do not marry for that."
"Genny," Esme hissed, though the words warmed her.
They circled twice, exchanging nods and bows, Esme performing the necessary smiles.
And then, as the barouche approached the stretch of drive nearest the water, she saw him.
Redford rode a bay gelding a little off the main path, one gloved hand resting on the reins. Conversation passed around him. He nodded, offered a smile, but his attention seemed elsewhere.
Until it found her.
Their gazes met, then he tipped his hat, and the noise of the park faded.
"Lord Redford," Genny breathed. "Punctual."
Harrison's spine stiffened. "Of course he is here."
Mother raised her lorgnette. "He has come to be seen, as always. Do not look eager, Esme."
"I never do," Esme said.
Genny snorted.
At the next turn, Redford guided his horse closer.
"Lady Woodmere," he said as the barouche drew parallel. "Lord Woodmere. What an excellent day for parading."
Mother inclined her head. "Lord Redford. You are out early."
"For once," he said, "I am determined to be respectable."
Harrison's mouth thinned. "We shall all sleep better if you keep to that determination."
Redford's eyes flicked to Esme, amusement dancing in them. "Lady Esme. Miss Moreland. Recovered from last night's ordeal, I trust?"
"Entirely," Genny said. "We survived Watford's discourse on ink. It is difficult to imagine anything worse."
Esme met his gaze with a polite smile. "The orchestra was quite good. And no one died of boredom, which seems a triumph."
"Only because I intervened," Redford said.
Mother shifted. "Lord Redford, if you will excuse us, we are bound for the Serpentine. Esme's friends are to walk there."
"How fortunate. I had the same idea. Hyde Park is so much improved by company that does not speak of column alignment."
Harrison opened his mouth, but the barouche rolled on, sparing Esme his immediate reply.
"Do not encourage him," he said, voice low.
"I said nothing," Esme replied.
"That," Genny murmured, "was the encouraging part."
They disembarked a few minutes later near the Serpentine. The air off the water was cooler. Children shrieked as they tossed bread to ducks. Gentlemen stood in a knot, discussing politics.
Woodmere attached herself to a pair of matrons. Harrison lingered near them.
Genny looped her arm through Esme's. "Walk with me. We must admire the water."
Esme hesitated. "Harrison will—"
"Look the other way. I am going to ask him a question about whether he prefers Roman roads or Greek philosophy, and he will be compelled to answer."
"You are inventing that."
"Of course, but it will work."
It did. In the seconds Harrison turned to respond to Genny's inquiry, Esme slipped toward the path by the water.
Redford fell into step beside her.
"Remarkably punctual for a man with your reputation," she said without looking at him.
"Fear is a powerful motivator. I did not wish to risk your Minister of Chaos declaring the Society defunct for neglect."
"Genny would never waste a perfectly good club. She would simply seize control."
"Terrifying. Tell me, Lady Esme, does your brother know you have promoted your friend to such an alarming office?"
"If he did, he would attempt to reorganize it until it died of boredom."
They walked for a few moments in silence. Sunlight flickered on the surface of the Serpentine, bright enough to make Esme squint.
"Thank you for your note," she said at last.
He glanced at her. "Which one?"
She laughed. "Do you make a habit of sending unsigned invitations to breathe?"
"Only to members of my more exclusive societies. I merely find that mischief grows listless when left unattended."
"Mischief. That is what you call it."
"What would you call it?" he asked.
She considered the previous night.
"Breathing room," she said.
He was quiet for a beat. "Then we shall aim to provide it."
She tilted her head. "We?"
"I am not so arrogant as to claim credit for Miss Moreland Moreland's efforts. Besides, you are the one with standards. No ruined reputations, no broken hearts, only small corrections."
"I do not recall adding broken hearts to my list."
"You didn't. I did."
Her steps faltered.
"Why?" she asked lightly. "Do you fear for your own?"
He smiled without looking at her. "My dear Lady Esme, my heart is quite safe. The ton has been stepping on it for years. It has grown calluses."
"Charming. I feel so reassured."
"There is one heart I am concerned about," he added.
"Watford's?" she suggested.
"Watford's ego will recover. No. I am more interested in whether your brother manages not to give himself an apoplexy watching you walk two yards from his sight-line with a notorious rake."
Esme risked a glance back. Harrison watched them, looking as though he was trying very hard to remember that murder was frowned upon in public.
"He will get used to it," she said. "Eventually."
"Or you will to ignoring him," Redford said.
She swallowed. "We shall see."
A gaggle of children raced past, one nearly colliding with Esme. She stepped aside quickly, her foot slipping on a patch of damp gravel. For one brief instant, she felt her balance go.
A hand closed around her elbow—firm, warm, steady.
"I did not realize that you intended to begin our aquatic mischief so early in the Season," Redford said calmly.
She found herself closer to him than was proper. His grip, though, was steady, as if he had caught a falling vase, not a woman.
"If I wished to throw myself into the Serpentine, I assure you I would choose a more dramatic audience."
"I live in hope of it. But until then, perhaps allow me to keep you out of the water."
He released her slowly.
"Thank you," she said.
"You may repay me by assisting with our first official act in the Park. See there?"
He nodded toward a bench where Lady Honoria held court, a pale parasol tilted just so, her gaze sweeping the path. Standing a few paces away, looking both hopeful and doomed, was a young gentleman Esme recognized as Mr. Dane.
"He has been hovering for ten minutes," Redford said. "He cannot quite bring himself to approach. Honoria, on the other hand, is desperate for something new to dissect. If he attempts to speak to you instead, he will be devoured."
"You propose to save him from me?" Esme asked. "I am wounded."
"From Lady Woodmere," Redford said. "She is already craning to see if he intends to offer for you in the middle of the path. I suggest we adjust matters slightly."
"What do you suggest?"
"A misdirection," he said. "Smile at Mr. Dane. I'll be so obviously in your way that he must apply to someone else for assistance. Miss Moreland, perhaps, will then draw him into Honoria's orbit by asking the wrong question at precisely the right moment."
"You have already told her," Esme said.
"Minister of Chaos," he reminded her. "She requires advance notice."
Esme considered the scene. Mother's hopeful attention, Mr. Dane's nerves, Honoria's sharpened fan. So little would tilt the entire arrangement.
"Very well," she said. "Let us see if our Society can function beyond ballrooms."
She turned toward Mr. Dane and gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
He brightened at once, took a step forward, then faltered as Redford shifted to stand more directly in his path.
Mr. Dane hovered, color rising. Genny drifted up to him.
"Mr. Dane!" she exclaimed. "How fortunate. Lady Honoria was just saying she longs for intelligent company. You must rescue her at once. I shall perish if I must endure one more remark about her own poem."
Ten seconds later, Mr. Dane found himself deposited at Honoria's bench, stammering something about the weather. Honoria's eyes lit up.
"Effective," Esme said.
"Efficient," Redford replied.
Annoyingly, her stomach gave a traitorous little flip as if she had just been praised instead of teased.
Mother sighed and turned her attention to a passing baroness.
Esme felt a small thrill.
This was wrong, she knew. Manipulating other people's afternoons was not what sensible young ladies did.
But then, sensible young ladies did not form societies with rakes either.
"We shall need a motto," Redford said. "All proper societies have one."
"We have rules," she said. "Is that not enough?"
"Hardly," he said. "Something about breathing, perhaps, or mischief restrained by mercy."
She considered. "What about 'For the Prevention of Sensible Arrangements'?"
His grin was sudden and bright. "Perfect. You realize, of course, that you have just given me permission to be entirely insufferable."
"You do not need my permission for that," she said.
"True," he conceded. "But it is pleasant to have."
They reached the end of the path. Ahead, the drive curved back toward the carriages.
Esme paused, looking out over the water.
"Do you ever wish," she said softly, "that you could simply... step off the path?"
He followed her gaze. "Frequently."
"And yet," she said, "here we are, walking where everyone expects."
"For now," he said. "But paths are more interesting when one knows where they lead."
She looked at him. "You are a very bad influence, Lord Redford."
"I am an excellent influence," he corrected. "Just not on the things your brother values."
Her smile was small, but real. "That may be the same thing."
From behind them, Genny called Esme's name, waving both arms while Mother beckoned with her parasol.
Duty tugged, habit followed.
Esme drew a sharp breath.
"I must go," she said.
"Of course," he replied. "We cannot have Lady Woodmere suspecting that fresh air leads to rebellion. She would have the Park barricaded at once."
She hesitated, then smiled. "Thank you, for... breathing room."
He bowed. "Anytime, Lady Esme. The Mutual Mischief Society remains at your service."
As she returned to the carriage, she felt his gaze. She fairly skipped in delight at the knowledge of him watching her.
Harrison would fume. Mother would scheme. And Watford? He would reappear with opinions.
But somewhere between Woodmere House and Hyde Park, Esme discovered that she did not have to walk the Season's path entirely alone.
And that, she thought, slipping Genny's arm through hers and ignoring her brother's glare, was most welcome.