When they reached the park, Hugo handed the ladies down from the carriage and turned to Lord Brimsey.
“Would you permit me to walk with Lady Lily? With your party behind us, of course. I have some matters regarding the engagement I should like to discuss with her.”
Lord Brimsey glanced at his wife. Lady Brimsey gave a small nod. Margaret’s expression did not change, which meant she was thinking a great deal.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Brimsey gestured ahead. “We shall be right behind you.”
Lily placed her hand on Hugo’s offered arm, and they set off along the gravel path that wound through the elms. The trees were in full leaf, dappled light falling through the canopy, and the park was alive with riders and walkers and nursemaids pushing perambulators.
Hugo waited until they were a few paces ahead before he spoke. His voice carried only far enough for her to hear.
“I have a plan.”
“That is alarming.”
“I am going to host a house party. In a fortnight. At Thornwaite Hall.” He kept his gaze forward, his expression pleasant for the benefit of anyone watching. “The guest list will include Lord Wilfrey.”
Lily’s fingers tightened on his arm. “A house party.”
“Three days. Curated guest list. Controlled environment. You will have extended, informal access to Wilfrey in a setting where the usual ballroom rules are relaxed. Country walks. Sharedmeals. Evening entertainments. All of it designed to give you opportunities to capture his attention without the pressure of a crowded London event.”
“And you believe this will work?”
“Proximity works faster than distance. A ballroom gives you one dance and a few minutes of conversation. A house party gives you three days.” He glanced at her. “You impressed him once at the Fenwick ball. Before the pamphlet. You can do it again if you have time and space.”
Lily considered this. The plan was sound. She hated that the plan was sound, because acknowledging it meant acknowledging that Hugo understood the mechanics of courtship better than she did, and that truth was becoming harder to resent and easier to rely on.
“I will think about it.”
“Think quickly. Invitations need to go out by the end of the week.”
She pressed her lips together. The path curved through a grove of chestnuts, and the dappled light shifted across Hugo’s face, catching the scar above his brow and the amber striations in his eyes. She looked away.
“Fine. I agree.”
“Excellent.” His tone did not change, but she felt something ease in the arm beneath her hand. “Which brings us to the next matter. Your wardrobe.”
Lily stopped walking. “My wardrobe.”
“Your clothes, Lily. They are perfectly respectable and entirely wrong for what we are trying to accomplish.”
“There is nothing wrong with my clothes.”
“There is nothing wrong with a suit of armor, either, but one does not wear it to a garden party.” He resumed walking, and she was forced to follow or release his arm. She followed. “You have a lovely figure. You dress as though you are trying to hide it.”
Heat crept up her neck. “That is an inappropriate observation.”
“It is honest. Wilfrey is a man. Men notice. If you wore something that flattered your shape rather than concealed it, he would notice more.”
“You are suggesting I dress provocatively to catch a husband.”
“I am suggesting you dress strategically. There is a difference.” He kept his voice low, conversational, as though they were discussing the weather rather than the architecture of seduction. “A lower neckline. Fabrics that move with you rather than standing away from your body. Colors that complement yourcomplexion rather than blend into the wallpaper. This is not about provocation. It is about visibility.”
Lily said nothing for several paces. She was irritated, and the irritation was complicated because he was right. She dressed for comfort and propriety. She chose fabrics that were practical, colors that were safe, and necklines that invited no attention whatsoever. It had never occurred to her that her wardrobe was armor, and the suggestion that she remove it felt uncomfortably like the suggestion that she remove something far more personal.
Hugo slowed his pace and turned to glance over his shoulder. Her parents and Margaret walked ten paces behind, close enough for propriety, far enough for privacy. He raised his voice to a conversational level.
“Lady Brimsey. Lady Oldbarrow. I have been planning a house party at Thornwaite Hall in a fortnight, and it occurs to me that the occasion might call for some fresh additions to the wardrobe. I would be honored to accompany you and Lady Lily to the modiste. My treat, of course.”
