He schooled his expression.
Pippa gave him a disbelieving look.
"Behave," Haverleigh murmured to her, his gaze flicking to James with sympathy."Try not to push anyone into the Serpentine tonight."
"I make no promises," Pippa said."Esme has been too quiet these past weeks.It makes me nervous."
James's chest tightened."Quiet?"
"Mm.Smiling in all the right places.Agreeing to every sensible thing.It's unnatural."
"Sounds like Woodmere’s dream come true," James said lightly.
Pippa wrinkled her nose."Then his dreams are very dull."
Before he could reply, the musicians launched into an overture.Guests shifted, turning toward the makeshift dais.James followed, scanning the crowd.
Lady Woodmere first, in silver silk.Beside her, Woodmere stood straight-backed.And between them?—
Esme.
His heart leaped.
She wore soft blue tonight, a shade that caught the gray-green of her eyes.Dark hair twisted into coils at the back of her head, with one curl at her temple.She held herself with her usual poise, but there was a new stillness about her.
Cedric Hargrove, Viscount Watford, stood at her elbow, discoursing with earnest intensity.
Of course.
James's jaw clenched, forcing his hand to relax around his gloves.
"Go," Pippa said under her breath."You are making a face.It's upsetting the flowers."
"I am not here to disrupt your musicale," he replied.
"You are terrible at lying," she said."You never disrupt themusic.Only the boring bits in between."
Haverleigh's mouth twitched."For once, I am inclined to agree with my wife.If you intend to do something foolish, Redford, get on with it before Lady Woodmere arranges three engagements and a christening."
James gave them a faint bow."Far be it from me to disappoint my audience."
He stepped into theroom, keeping Esme in his vision as he navigated a gauntlet of acquaintances.
He slowed as he drew close enough to hear Watford's voice.
"...of course, proper ink is a question of consistency," Watford was saying."Too thin, the lines waver.Too thick, they blot.One must find the happy medium."
"Indeed," Esme murmured."Happy mediums are very fashionable at present."
James almost smiled.
"And yet," Watford said, clearing his throat, "it may be that I have been mistaken in certain...assumptions about what suits."
Esme's fingers tightened on her fan."My lord?"
James saw her profile, noting the tension in her voice.
"Forgive me," Watford blurted, visibly flushing."Perhaps...ah...I might beg a few moments in the conservatory to discuss a...delicate matter."
