Then Alice descended the final step and began to walk.
She took her time, pausing to adjust her glove, exchanging a word with a passing footman, and admiring the matched greys of the lead carriage. Mrs. Fenwick-Alden called out something about the lovely weather, and Alice agreed without breaking stride. A gentleman whose name she had forgotten tipped his hat; she inclined her head politely.
All the while, Crewe’s attention pressed like a weight at the back of her neck.
When she finally reached their assigned carriage, she stopped a foot from where he stood.
"Lord Crewe." She grinned. "How fortunate that chance has thrown us together."
His bow was precise and stiff. "Lady Alice. Fortune is a word I would not have chosen."
"No?" She tilted her head, pretending curiosity. "What word would you have chosen?"
"Inevitability." His mouth did not quite curve, but something shifted behind his eyes, irritation perhaps. “Lord and Lady Oakford are nothing if not thorough in their arrangements."
"How perceptive of you." Alice gathered her skirts in one hand, preparing to mount the carriage step. "I had thought you a man who believed in providence."
"I believe in preparation." He extended his hand, palm up, fingers steady. "Which is why I arrived on time."
The rebuke was subtle yet stung nonetheless. Alice felt her smile sharpen as she placed her gloved fingers in his.
His grip was firm, impersonal, correct. Yet that curious jolt returned, as if a spark jumped between them despite the damp morning air. His thumb briefly pressed against her knuckles as he steadied her step, and warmth seeped through two layers of fabric.
She settled onto the carriage seat and arranged her skirts, refusing to meet his eyes until she composed her expression into something neutral.
"There," she said as he climbed up to take the opposite seat. "We have survived the first minute. Only several hours remain."
Crewe pulled the door shut firmly. The latch clicked.
"I shall endeavor," he said, "to make them as instructive as possible."
Outside, a groom called out, and the first carriage moved forward, wheels crunching on gravel. The thrush in the garden fell silent. Alice, studying the viscount's face for any sign of wavering composure, felt the carriage lurch into the unknown—peril, tedium, or something more complex.
She had asked for adventure and supposed she ought not to complain when it arrived in such an inconvenient form.
The carriage smelled of leather and beeswax, layered with something subtler, shaving soap or sandalwood, perhaps, or the fragrance of his starched cravat. Alice took in the details. Polished mahogany panels gleamed in the filtered light, burgundy leather cushions were softened by years of use, and a wicker hamper was strapped at their feet, promising sandwiches and possibly champagne. What had seemed an intimate space from outside now felt cramped, the distance between her knees and his measured in inches rather than feet.
Crewe sat opposite her, still as a statue. His hands rested on his thighs, gloved fingers loose yet tense. His gaze was fixed on some point in the air, neither at the window nor at her, as if something invisible commanded his attention.
The silence stretched. Alice allowed it to linger.
Outside, the wheels found their rhythm on the country road, and the clatter of hooves settled into a steady beat. She watched Oakford Hall's chimneys disappear behind a stand of elms, replaced by the rolling green of Northamptonshire in late spring.
"Lovely weather," she said at last, sweetening her tone just enough to sound insincere. "One might almost think Lady Oakford arranged it specially."
"Lady Oakford's influence is considerable," Crewe replied dryly, "but I believe the heavens remain beyond her control."
"How limiting for her." Alice adjusted her parasol where it rested against the seat. "Do you think she's disappointed?"
"I think she is satisfied with the arrangements already within her control."
"Ah." Alice nodded. "You mean us. Drawn by lot, as if chance had anything to do with it."
For the first time since the carriage began to move, Crewe's eyes met hers directly. "You doubt the integrity of the proceedings?"
"I doubt," Alice said, "that our host could resist the temptation to play God with paper slips." She smiled. "Crispin has always found other people's discomfort amusing. It's one of his more reliable qualities."
"And does this arrangement discomfort you, Lady Alice?"
