A shadow blocked out my sun, and someone sat down on my left. Mr. Ryder leaned back on the stone bench and watched as the Reigate stone and Purbeck marble of the abbey was buffed to a shine, his gaze as admiring as mine. He said nothing, only sat next to me, the silence washing over us. I felt myself relaxing back against the bench.
He had a solid, calming presence, and once I realized that, my ire began to fester. The man was trying to close my club, had insulted my morals, and now he thought he could sit next to me and provide comfort? Not on my watch.
“Did you track me down for a purpose?” I scooted an inch away from him on the bench seat. The sun was becoming hot, and I wished I had thought to bring a parasol.
“This meeting is pure happenstance.” Mr. Ryder stretched out his long legs. “At least on my part. Perhaps there is a purpose for this meeting unknown to both of us.”
I frowned. In a city of over a million souls, London sometimes felt too small by half.
I stood, my abrupt motion seeming to startle Mr. Ryder out of his meditation. He took up the hat sitting on the bench next to him and rose. “I hope my presence isn’t chasing you away. It is a fine day for thoughtful contemplation, is it not?”
“I suppose your idea of thoughtful contemplation entails me realizing the error of my ways and shuttering my club.” I pushed past him, turning toward the Houses of Parliament. My jaw tightened as he fell into step beside me.
“Not every comment has an ulterior meaning.” He smiled down at me. “I was only making conversation.”
“Hmph.” We turned down George Street, away from the river. Since Lady Richford’s death, my mind had become more and more suspicious. There was a chance, a small one, that I might have misjudged Mr. Ryder. Perhaps his words were innocent.
He took my elbow and guided me out of the way of a young chimney sweep running down the pavement. “But since you bring it up, I would like to speak with you further about The Minerva Club.”
And perhaps not.
“I have work to attend to, sir.” I tugged my arm free. “Good day.”
He nudged his hat to sit farther back on his head. The ends of his hair curled about his collar, looking about a week past its trim date. The sun caught the silver threaded through the golden-brown. “I don’t mean to offend you. I’m planning to take a turn through St. James’s Park.” He bent his arm, holding out his elbow. “Will you walk with me?”
I shifted my weight. I had nothing but some correspondence to catch up on waiting for me at home, but the routine task would be preferable to a lecture.
“Come on.” He waggled his elbow, giving me a charming smile. “A walk in the fresh air is beneficial. Unless it would be too painful.” His gaze dropped to my walking stick.
My muscles quivered. As should be clear to anyone with a functioning mind, my cane was more a statement than used out of actual need. My hair might be white, but I was far from infirm.
I took Mr. Ryder’s elbow and started to walk at a brisk pace.
His laugh was as warm and sweet as hot spiced rum. “You needn’t prove anything to me.” He covered my gloved hand with his own and slowed. “Lazy afternoons are made for strolling, not racing.”
My shoulders lowered an inch. A few clouds gathered in the sky, giving the hope of rain. A pelican swooped through the air, heading for the lake in St. James. I took it as an endorsement of Mr. Ryder’s proposition and decided to follow it. “I am not closing The Minerva Club. It is a necessary space for women to come together and enjoy one another’s company without the strictures society places on them. As I’m certain you wouldn’t deny men a bit of frivolity at their clubs, nor should women be denied such.”
He guided me through a small gate into the park, the pavement under our feet transforming into a pebbled path. “Frivolity is fine, in its place.” He raised his face to the sun. “When it leads to something darker, to a weakening of morals and duties, then I’m sureyouwouldn’t deny that it has become an evil.”
I looked up at him, frowning. “How, pray tell, does learning how to shoot a bow and arrow, having a drink while playing some games, weaken morals?”
The edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at me. I hadn’t noticed the color of them before, the soft brown they were, like chocolate mixed with cream. They were really quite lovely, and my frown deepened.
“Nothing is wrong with a bit of play on its own,” he said, nodding to a passing couple. “But when it makes a person forget or become resentful of one’s duties, causes a discontent in one’s life, an urge to make all of life as meaningless as that bit of play, it can have severe consequences.”
He held up his hand as I began to object. “And I say the same applies for men. I will continue to speak out against the hells and illicit clubs that your friend Mr. Cooke provides to the dissolute. Just because men sin won’t stop me from warning against immorality in women, as well.”
I had some doubts whether he spoke out so vociferously against the male-oriented clubs. I sniffed. “Mr. Cooke is a recent acquaintance. Not a friend.”
We walked in silence for a moment before he said, “I’m glad to hear it, but you must also be careful in your acquaintances. Edric Cooke is not a man one can safely associate with.”
My body temperature spiked. I’d had a father. A husband I’d needed to defer to, at least in public. As a widow of means, I no longer needed to heed the wishes of men.
I stopped and pulled my hand from his arm. “I grow weary of your constant censure, Mr. Ryder. As you are someone whose counsel I needn’t regard nor respect, I see no need to continue this conversation. Good day.”
Turning my back on his surprised face, I stomped toward the park’s exit.
Mr. Ryder was most likely correct about the character of Mr. Cooke, but if it came down between the two men, I much preferred Mr. Cooke’s frank knavery to Mr. Ryder’s softly-spoken moralizing.
