"Oh yes." Eden sighed dramatically. "Duty. How tedious."
Yet her hand found his as she spoke, fingers intertwining with the ease of longpractice, and Alice watched them with the satisfaction of a woman who had found her own happiness.
The afternoon stretched before them, warm and inviting, and Alice let herself settle into the moment—the warmth of Samuel beside her, the pleasure of friends' company, the simple joy of a life she had never dared imagine wanting.
The sound of hooves on the gravel path announced Edward Hallworth before he came into view. During her time at Oakford, Crispin's younger brother had appeared at irregular intervals, always looking like a man who found staying in one place too long objectionable.
He emerged from behind a stand of ancient oaks on a chestnut mare whose coat gleamed with recent exercise, and Alice felt the familiar warmth of recognition settle in her chest. Edward Hallworth had become something like family to her in the months since her marriage. Not through blood or law, but through shared dinners, witty correspondence, and the affection that developed between people who had witnessed each other's vulnerabilities and chosen kindness.
He dismounted with the grace of a man who had spent more of his life on horseback than most had on their own two feet. His riding clothes were impeccably tailored, despite showing signs of hisjourney. A smudge of dust on one boot and a slight dishevelment in his chestnut hair. His hazel eyes, similar to his brother's yet warmer, lit up with genuine pleasure as he spotted their party.
"The entire assembled company," he declared, handing his horse's reins to a waiting groom who had appeared with the efficiency of park staff accustomed to gentlemen expecting service. "I had hoped to find one familiar face and instead discovered a collection. The heavens smile upon me."
"The heavens," Eden replied, "have nothing to do with it. Your brother sent word yesterday that we might expect to encounter you here. He's orchestrating again."
"Crispin is always orchestrating." Edward fell in step with their group, moving with the ease of a man who belonged wherever he chose to be. “It is his primary form of recreation. I have learned to accept my role as a piece on his chessboard and hope he moves me somewhere interesting."
Alice extended her hand, which Edward took with a bow that suggested both propriety and gentle mockery. "You look well," she told him. "Yorkshire apparently agrees with you."
"Yorkshire agrees with nothing and no one. That is part of its charm." He released her hand and surveyed the assembled party with a critical eye. “You have all become remarkably content since I last saw you. Is this what marriage does? Should I be concerned?"
"You should be envious," Gabriel offered dryly. "Though I understand envy requires a certain level of self-awareness."
Edward's laugh was sharp and genuine. "Blackstone, you wound me. I possess ample self-awareness. I am simply selective about when I choose to use it."
They continued along the promenade, Edward's presence adding a particular energy to their group that Alice could not quite define. He moved with a restlessness that seemed to contradict their measured pace, as though part of him remained in motion even when his feet stayed planted. His conversation darted from topic to topic with the quick intelligence she had come to expect. He shared observations about Parliament, speculation on a racing scandal, and cheerful complaints about his mother's ongoing attempts to arrange his marriage.
“She has produced three suitable candidates this month alone," he reported. "Each more suitable than the last. I am beginning to suspect she has a catalog somewhere, organized by dowry and docility."
"Perhaps you should let her succeed," Alice suggested, her tone carrying an edge she reservedfor those she trusted to understand it. "You might find marriage less burdensome than you expect."
"The institution itself holds no terror." Edward's voice remained light, but a flicker of something darker passed across his gaze. “It is merely a question of finding someone who might tolerate me for the duration."
"Toleration is not the foundation one hopes for," Samuel observed. His voice was no longer rigid, but his gray eyes watched Edward perceptively. Her husband missed little, especially regarding the facades people built around their softer places.
"No," Edward agreed. "I suppose it is not.” His familiar sardonic smile returned. "Speaking of toleration," he said, the transition too smooth to be entirely natural, “I have been meaning to ask about Clara's charitable venture. Crispin's letters have been characteristically vague, filled with exclamation points and underlined superlatives."
"That sounds accurate," Alice said, turning toward a rowdy group of children.
"The auction is next month," Eden said, picking up the thread of conversation Alice had dropped. "Clara's organized an extraordinary collection of donations. I believe there is a pony involved, though I may have misunderstood."
"There is definitely a pony," Alice confirmed,pulling her attention back to the conversation. "Also a painting of dubious provenance and a set of silver candlesticks that may or may not have belonged to a minor European royal. Clara's methods of acquisition remain unclear."
Edward's laugh held more warmth this time, though Alice could still see shadows at its edges. “She will save the entire population of England's unfortunates single-handedly and look elegant doing it. My brother chose remarkably well."
"As did I," Samuel said quietly, and his hand found Alice's, their fingers intertwining with the ease of established habit.
The afternoon progressed as the five of them moved through the park in easy conversation.
Until it shattered—one moment golden, the next split by a movement that made every head turn.
Alice noticed the young woman before the others did, drawn by the disruption of the promenade's measured rhythms. While everyone else moved at a deliberate pace, this woman rushed forward, skirts clutched in hands that had abandoned propriety, her stride almost a run. Her hair, likely arranged carefully earlier, escaped its pins in dark tendrils that whipped around her face as she pushed through the crowd.
She was young, nineteen, perhaps twenty, withfeatures that would have been striking if not distorted by distress. Her wide, frantic eyes scanned the crowd with the desperation of someone seeking safety among strangers.
Those eyes found Edward.
Something shifted in them, recognition or the desperate calculation of a woman who had run out of options and decided to trust the first non-threatening face she saw. She altered her course with sudden purpose, cutting across the path of a startled matron and nearly colliding with a gentleman's walking stick, her trajectory aimed directly at their group.
