Page 61 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“No? She looks at you a good deal. Granted, not as much as Miss Wychwood did. But a man can’t have everything.”

Or anything, Jasper thought bitterly.

Ridgeway shot him a narrow look. “Is this you brooding? I confess, I don’t much care for it. You’ve little enough to recommend you already.”

“I’m not brooding,” Jasper said sourly. At least, he was trying not to—and failing miserably, he didn’t doubt. His mood was too foul, his heart too heavy. He regretted having come. He was in no fit state for this cold-blooded charade.

“Good. Because you have an excellent chance with Miss Throckmorton. She may act as though she has the luxury of choice, but she’s as eager to tie the knot as you are. For a cit, a gentleman of your stature would be a prize. All you need do is make yourself moderately agreeable—”

“Yes. So you’ve said.” Jasper was ill-disposed to make himself agreeable to anyone. But he was aware of how forbidding he appeared when he was in a black mood. And he was already forbidding enough. As they approached Miss Throckmorton and the others, he made an effort to school his features.

Miss Throckmorton and Miss Bingham were kneeling on a blanket beneath a tree on the bank, unpacking a picnic hamper. Aldershott had just sat down beside them. He was a fair-haired gentleman, with a thin frame and an angular face.

“Blunt. Ridgeway,” he greeted the two men stiffly. “You’re not thinking of joining us?”

“Do, please,” Miss Throckmorton said. “I brought plenty for everyone.”

“Eating already?” Ridgeway asked.

“No, indeed. We’re only claiming our spot. Within another half hour, all the best ones will be taken. Lady Desmond’s invited half of Mayfair.”

“Splendid,” Ridgeway said. “I prefer a bit of exercise before luncheon. Come, Miss Bingham. Shall we have a stroll around the pond?”

Miss Bingham giggled. “Oh yes. Let’s.” She took Ridgeway’s hand, allowing him to assist her up. “You don’t mind, Miss Throckmorton?”

“Not at all. I daresay we could all use a walk to whet our appetites.” Miss Throckmorton stood without assistance. She collected her delicate lace parasol and opened it over her head. “If you wouldn’t mind, gentlemen?”

Jasper offered her his arm. She tucked her hand through it as they moved to join Ridgeway and Miss Bingham. Aldershott walked with them on Miss Throckmorton’s opposite side.

The pond was one of many in Richmond Park. Fed by a spring, the still surface reflected the lush azaleas and rhododendrons surrounding it, their bright blooms fading as spring drifted inexorably toward summer.

Old oaks provided intermittent shade along the wide path that circled the water. They’d gone halfway around, engaged in sporadic conversation, when Miss Bingham glanced back from her place on Ridgeway’s arm to frown at Jasper and Aldershott as they flanked her friend.

“I abhor odd numbers,” she said. “Such a pity Miss Wychwood was too ill to come. If she’d been here, we’d have been perfectly matched.”

Jasper very nearly froze where he stood. It was only with an effort that he continued walking alongside Miss Throckmorton. Though his emotions roiled, his voice was one of creditable calm. “Miss Wychwood is ill?”

Miss Throckmorton made a soft sound of sympathy. “Terribly ill, apparently. It’s dreadful, really. I understood she was frail, but I’d no notion it was so serious.”

This time he did stop, coming to an abrupt halt on the path. His heart stopped right along with him. Whatever calmness he’d managed up to now vanished into the ether. “What do you mean? How serious?”

Miss Throckmorton’s hand fell from his arm. She turned to face him. Ridgeway and Miss Bingham turned as well, doubling back to join them.

“Miss Bingham and I called on her this morning in Belgrave Square,” Miss Throckmorton said. “I’d hoped she might agree to accompany us to the park. But just as I raised my hand to knock on the door, it opened and a man in an old-fashioned frock coat came out.”

“Dr. Cordingley,” Miss Bingham said with an eloquent shudder.

Ridgeway frowned. “That old vampire?”

“He’s never met a patient who didn’t need a bleeding,” Aldershott remarked unhelpfully. “The older generation swears by him.”

Miss Throckmorton tipped her parasol to better shade her face. “Indeed. He told us he’d given Miss Wychwood two consecutive treatments this morning and that she wasn’t fit to receive anyone.”

Jasper stared at Miss Throckmorton. Two bleedings? A sense of icy foreboding settled over him.

“He was very severe, too,” Miss Bingham added. “I swear I saw Miss Wychwood’s blood on the cuff of his sleeve. It was horrible.”

Ridgeway looked at Jasper. And then he sighed. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies. Aldershott.”