"He rescued me from a lecture on penmanship I assure you would have sent me into an early grave.If that is spectacle, I shall bear it."
Her brother's jaw tightened."Watford is a serious, respectable man."
"So is the undertaker," she murmured."Yet Mama has never suggested I marry him."
Mother's lips twitched."Esme."
"I am only saying that if one must listen to a man discuss ledgers, one ought at least to have a decent view while he does it.Lord Watford's shoulders do not compensate."
Harrison snapped the paper closed."You treat this as a jest.It is not.You are one-and-twenty.You cannot afford to be peculiar."
"Is that what I am?"she asked, too quickly."Peculiar?"
"Esme," her mother warned.
Harrison exhaled."You know what I mean.You cannot behave as if the rules do not apply to you.You cannot encourage men like Redford simply because they amuse you."
She thought of Redford's easy bow, the terrace, lantern light soft on stone, when he had saidyou are not a ledgerand she had believed him.
"I did not encourage him," she said."If anything, he encouraged me."
"That is precisely my concern," Harrison said.
There was no arguing with that tone.
Before Esme could decide whether to apologize or set the teapot on fire, a footman entered with the morning post.
"Notes for Lady Esme, my lady," he said, presenting a small silver tray.
Two envelopes lay on the tray.One, she recognized at once.It bore Genny's exuberant scrawl.The other was a precise, eleganthand.
She picked up Genny's first.It was safer.
"From Miss Moreland," the footman supplied.
"Of course," Harrison muttered.
Esme broke the seal.
Dearest Terror,
If you are not dead of boredom, meet me in Hyde Park this afternoon.Aunt Agnes insists upon an airing at four.I insist upon entertainment.
Also, Redford is too pleased with himself.This must be remedied.
Yours in mischief,
G.
Esme bit back a smile.
Hyde Park.Air.A possibility of breathing.
She folded the note and turned to the second envelope.
The seal was plain.The paper, good.
"From whom?"Mother asked.
