Chapter 7 #3
"Released any intention of courting me," she finished. "We have both seen sense. He wishes for a quiet wife. I wish for something else."
Her grip on Redford's hand tightened.
"Something reckless," Harrison said, glancing at Redford.
Esme stepped in front of him, cutting him off. "Something chosen," she corrected. "James has asked permission to court me."
Harrison's gaze flicked to Redford. "And you wish to marry."
Redford inclined his head. "Terrifying, is it not?"
"This is not a jest," Harrison snapped.
"No," Redford said quietly. "It is not. I have spoken with my solicitor.
My father's debts are nearly extinguished.
My lands are sound. I intend to be dull in my management, if that reassures you.
I cannot swear to be sober at every house party, but I can promise your sister honesty, respect, and my best efforts not to drag her into fountains without prior warning. "
The corner of Esme's mouth kicked up.
Harrison looked between them, frustration and worry warring in his eyes.
"You talk of choice," he said to Esme. "As though I have had any. I have a responsibility to see that you are properly settled. That you do not not embarrass or family. That you do not—"
"Become myself," Esme supplied softly.
He flinched.
"You are my responsibility," he said.
"I am your sister," she returned. "Not a possession, but a person whose happiness is a part of your responsibility."
He stared at her. "You have always been so much," he said helplessly. "You speak when you ought to be quiet. You argue with bishops. You fall into lakes. The world is not kind to women who are more than it expects."
"I am aware, and I intend to be unkind in return," she said.
A strangled sound escaped Redford. He covered it with a cough.
Harrison dragged a hand over his face, cracks appearing in his composure.
"And he?" Harrison jerked his head at Redford. "You trust him with your heart?"
Esme looked up at James. "Yes," she said simply.
"Because when I say no, he stops. Because when I say I am not a possession, he does not tell me to be quiet.
Because he is the only man in this room who has offered me choice.
" Her voice softened. "I know you love me, Harrison.
I know you think you are protecting me. But I cannot live the rest of my life smothered in sensible decisions made on my behalf. "
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, they were bright. "I do not know how, to stop worrying."
"You do not have to," she said. "You only have to stop deciding in advance that I will fail, and then forbidding me the chance to prove you wrong."
Harrison looked at Redford.
"If you hurt her," he said quietly, "I will—"
"Ruin me," Redford supplied. "I would expect nothing less."
Harrison's mouth twitched.
Redford sobered. "I will take care of Esme. Honor and protect her. You have my word."
"God help me," he muttered, "I think you may be the only man foolish enough to keep up with her."
"I consider that a compliment," Redford said.
"It wasn't meant as one," Harrison retorted.
Esme's lips curved. "Is that a yes?"
Harrison exhaled. "I will not stand in your way. If Mama faints, I shall blame Haverleigh's lemonade."
Esme stepped forward, releasing Redford's hand to wrap her arms around her brother.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He held her for a moment, then released her with a gruff, "Do not make me regret this."
"No promises," she said, eyes bright.
Redford cleared his throat. "If it eases your mind, Woodmere, I intend to be exceedingly dull about the formalities. Contracts, settlements, all very straight lines."
Harrison snorted. "Coming from you, that is the most frightening thing I have heard all evening."
Esme danced with James once—only once, to spare her mother apoplexy—but in that one waltz, the world re-ordered itself.
They kept a respectable distance, their hands touched only where the dance required, but their gazes said all the things their mouths could not.
"So," she murmured as they turned. "Proper courtship."
"Terrifying," he murmured. "I shall need to purchase new gloves, ones that suggest reliability."
"And I must practice sighing over your handwriting," she said.
"I shall write you letters," he promised. "Terrible letters, with dreadful poetry."
Her eyes glowed, a playful smile tilting her lips. "I shall correct your subjunctives."
He grinned. "We are very badly suited to dullness, my love."
"Fortunately, we are excellently suited to mischief," she said.
They moved among the patterns of the waltz, in step and just slightly out of step, exactly as they always had. Now, there was no pretense that they were anything but accomplices.
When the music ended, Redford bowed over Esme's hand, letting his lips brush her glove.
"Lady Esme," he said, voice low, "may I call on you tomorrow?"
She met his gaze. "You are already late, Lord Redford," she said. "You have weeks of scandal to make up for."
"Then I had better begin at once," he murmured.
Much later, James stood on Haverleigh's front steps beside Niall and Magnus, watching Esme's carriage roll away.
At the window, she leaned forward, her eyes meeting his in the lamplight.
She lifted her hand in a small wave.
He placed his hand over his heart in silent reply. He felt, for the first time in his life, that he was not simply drifting between amusements. He was heading, quite deliberately, toward something.
Toward someone.
"God help us all," Niall said. "He is gone."
"Utterly," Magnus agreed.
James smiled, slow and certain. "Completely. And for once, I have no intention of being rescued."
Behind the departing carriage, the city stretched out—streets and squares and parks full of future afternoons.
The Mutual Mischief Society had never truly been about pranks.
It had been about the small rebellions—the wave from a carriage window, the hand over a heart.
Now, with Esme's laughter in his ears and the echo of her kiss still on his mouth, he understood the greatest mischief of all was choosing happiness in defiance of expectation.
And that, he suspected, they would excel at.
Together.