Heat crept up Augusta’s neck. Despite herself, a laugh escaped her.
Ahead, Hudson’s stride slowed. His shoulders shifted beneath his coat, the sign of a man who had heard something he didn’t care for.
Lord Ridgewell seemed to have noticed. His grin became private and deeply satisfied.
“Shall I take your arm?” he offered. “The ground is uneven.”
Augusta placed her hand on his arm, and he launched into an explanation of balloon engineering that was almost certainly invented on the spot and entirely entertaining.
Hudson’s strides became even more deliberate for the next two hundred yards.
The aeronaut’s name was Fitch.
“The envelope,” Hudson said, his voice carrying the calm, even tone Augusta had learned to identify as his most dangerous register. “Cotton or silk?”
“Both, Your Grace. Silk for the upper portion, cotton below.”
“The tether’s maximum tolerance?”
“Eight hundred pounds, sir.”
“Combined weight of four passengers, the ballast, and the brazier?”
Fitch blinked. “Approximately six hundred pounds. The margin is?—”
“Show me the anchor points.” It was not a request.
They circled the balloon’s perimeter, Hudson testing each section of the tether with his own hands, gloves discarded, fingers running over rope. He examined the basket’s construction, the ballast sacks, and the emergency release mechanism. He inquired about wind tolerances, tear procedures, and the last inspection date.
“And if the wind shifts?” he asked.
“We descend immediately, Your Grace.”
He stepped closer. “Mr. Fitch, my sister is eleven years old. Her governess is in my care. If anything goes wrong during the ascent, I will hold you personally responsible. Not the wind. Not the equipment. Butyou.Do we understand each other?”
Fitch held his gaze. “I’ve been flying for nineteen years, Your Grace. I’ve never lost a passenger, and I don’t intend to start today.”
Hudson studied him, then nodded.
Cassie, who had been holding her breath, let it out in a rush. “That was very dramatic,” she whispered to Augusta. “He once did the same thing to the milk delivery man. The poor fellow nearly fainted.”
Augusta suppressed the urge to giggle.
The basket was larger than she had expected: reinforced wicker, lined with carpet, a metal brazier glowing at its center. Fitch handed them aboard one by one.
Hudson positioned himself near the tether mechanism. Lord Ridgewell settled opposite with his collar turned up. Cassie scrambled in, her hands already gripping the railing. Augusta stepped in last. The basket swayed. She gripped the railing hard enough to feel wicker bite through her gloves.
The ground crew released the tethers in sequence. The basket lurched, settled, and rose.
London fell away. The crowd shrank to upturned faces. Trees diminished to smudges against grass, and then the park itself became a shape, something she could hold in her mind the way one held a map.
“The Serpentine,” Cassie breathed, as though the sky demanded a quieter register. “And is that Kensington Palace? And the river. Miss Norton, you were right! It curves completely differentlyfrom up here.” She turned to Hudson, her eyes wet. “It’s beautiful.”
His hand found her shoulder and settled, his fingers spreading wide.
She leaned into his side. His arm shifted, drawing her closer.
For one suspended instant, they stood together at the basket’s edge. Brother and sister, looking out over a city that from this height seemed to hold nothing that could hurt them.
