Chapter 2 #2
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."