"Carstairs," he said when the man appeared, "fetch my black coat."
"Yes, my lord.Shall I also send a note to your tailor?The Haverleigh musicale will require a fresh waistcoat."
"Do so.Something respectable.
And send to my solicitor as well.I require a full account of my father's remaining debts, if any, and the exact state of the estate."
Carstairs's brows lifted slightly."Of course, my lord."
"If I am going to make an idiot of myself," he muttered, "I may as well do it properly."
Carstairs withdrew.
Haverleigh, in three nights.
Three days to decide whether he would remain a coward, or become the man he had to be in order to stand before Lady Esme and say, I want you.
He was not sure which prospect frightened him more.
For the first time in years, the fear felt worth facing.
The night before the Haverleigh musicale, Esme discovered that ink was more dangerous than she had previously believed.
She sat at her small writing desk beneath the bedroom window, a single candle guttering.Outside, London hummed.
Her hand hovered.
Dear Lord Redford?—
She grimaced, crossed out "Lord," and wroteJamesabove it.
Stared.Blotted.Swore softly and began again.
James—
Worse.
Setting down the pen, she flexed her fingers, noting the smudge of ink.Watford would have been appalled.
She smiled faintly and promptly wanted to cry.
"Say what you mean," she muttered."Surely you can manage one man."
She dipped the pen again, and set it back to the parchment.
My lord,
I wish to inform you that I have given the matter careful thought and have determined that our acquaintance cannot continue as it has done.It is not proper, and I?—
Shestopped, scratched the paragraph out.
Another sheet.
James,
You are a menace.
I have fallen into a body of water twice since meeting you.I have nearly concussed a viscount, infuriated my brother, and admitted I prefer laughter to obedience.This is entirely your fault.
