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“You know,” she said at a third window, “grazing cows in a field move faster than we’re moving.”

“Start noticing details.”

“You think I’m not good at noticing details?”

He held his gloved hand in front of her eyes. “How many flower sellers are pushing their barrows our way?”

She was silent, her lips sealed in a tight line. He resisted the impulse to brush his thumb over those lips. This was her concentration mouth. He liked her mouth in all her moods. “Three,” she said, a triumphant note in her voice. “There are two fellows with daffodils, and one with violets. And there’s a man in an odd green suit with a cart full of tortoises lying on a bed of grass. Did I miss anything?”

He took his hand away. “Just a knife grinder.”

She laughed and let him lead her onward. They swerved around a crowd pressed to the window of a silversmith’s shop.

“Now you’re ready for step two.”

“And what is that?”

“You pick, at random, something you’re likely to find in the scene to guide your steps.”

“That sounds like an objective to me.”

“Not at all.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Pick a number, a low number.”

“Three.” No hesitation from his Viv.

“Now I’ll pick a category of objects, say arched doorways, men in silk hats, or wild animals. After the third one, we take the next turn, whichever side of the street it’s on.”

“That’s simply wandering.”

He tilted his head her way, speaking confidentially. “It’s letting the city take you to places you didn’t know existed.”

“If I pick wild animals,” she said, challenging him as usual, “what happens to your game?”

He stopped, pulled her to the edge of the pavement, and pointed to the top of a building. A pair of beavers carved in stone faced the pointed center of the roof.

“No fair. You knew they were there.”

“I’ve played the game before. See that lion up ahead, on his stout stone column. We’ll turn there.”

“Very well, for the sake of the game,” she said.

At the lion, they turned into a narrow passage, and immediately left the crowd behind. On either side were neat dwellings, and at the end, a grand stone house with columns and pilasters surmounted by a tympanum where an ancient warrior in helmet and tunic grappled with a winged opponent.

In the little byway, Lark had no need to slow Viv. She was clearly charmed. They ambled to the end of the cul-de-sac to look up through bare branches at the imposing mansion.

She reached for her notebook. “Do you know anything about it? Who owns it? How old it is?”

“It’s for sale,” he said. “It’s not too old, maybe fifty years. A man built it for his bride, and she left him for another man.”

“You made that up.”

“I didn’t. The selling agent told me about it.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you talk to selling agents for the duke?”