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She laughed, then shook her head. “I cannot tell you anything beyond the fact that he has hair. Not too long, but not too short. I’d wager it’s dark, but cannot say for certain. Perhaps wavy.”

Joan snorted, but made a note. “I suppose nothing about his face.”

“He has a very handsome voice.” Mariah smiled in memory. “And he must be very strong and agile to climb up that old ivy—do you know, it must be thirty feet from the ground⁠—”

“Stop! You’re making me want to plant ivy outside my own window, even though I’d be an old woman before it grew high enough for anyone to climb.” Joan stared into space for a moment. “So he must be a young man,” she said thoughtfully. “But not too young. Strong. Tall. Witty. Charming and romantic. And he has hair. Why can I not meet such a man?”

“You will,” said Mariah, overflowing with confidence and happiness. “And you must help me find this one.”

Joan shook her head. “But you don’t know anything useful. The only thing you would recognize in daylight is his voice.”

Mariah rolled over and sat up. “Then that’s how we’ll find him. We’ll simply talk to every man in London.”

Joan looked doubtful. “It will take forever.”

Mariah thought for a moment. That was unacceptable. She wanted to start searching for him this very instant. “The park. We’ll walk in the park. Everyone goes there, and it would be quite natural and ordinary to greet gentlemen passing by.”

“You could just force him to tell you himself,” said Joan. “That would be much faster and easier.”

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell Joan her vague suspicion that Harry was someone not quite... proper. She couldn’t think of any other reason why he wouldn’t tell her his name or come to call on her decently or even let her see his face. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him simply to tell her; he was a mystery, exciting and undeniably romantic, and there was a chance the real man would not live up to that. “I don’t know how I could force him. I don’t even know if he’ll come back to see me.”

“Of course he will!” Joan exclaimed. “How could he not?”

Mariah hoped she was right, but Harry had defied her expectation at every turn so far. “I did ask him to⁠—”

Her cousin gasped in shocked delight.

“—But he only said perhaps. He might decide it’s not worth the trouble.”

Joan made a face of outrage. “If he doesn’t come back, that will solve your trouble over him.”

But not to her satisfaction. Not only would it be very unflattering if he never came back, it would be disappointing in a way she didn’t even want to consider.

Joan apparently realized that, and abandoned the topic. “How long do you think we’ll have to walk in the park before you manage to speak to him?”

“I don’t care.” Mariah bounced off the bed, determination taking root in her breast. “All I need to hear is a few words. If we go every day, surely a week will be sufficient.”

“A week!” Joan put down her pen. “Well, I suppose. When do you propose we start?”

“Why not now?”

Joan was not fond of exercise. She gave a limp smile but made no move to rise.

Mariah headed for the door. “Or you could remain here and listen to lectures on shouting in the halls. I shall take Sally, to speak to all those gentlemen...”

“Oh, wait!” Joan stuffed her journal back into her desk and hurried after her. “I could hardly subject you to that torment alone,” she said primly.

Aunt Marion gave her permission for the stroll, eyebrows raised. Mariah fidgeted impatiently while Joan went to change her shoes, but finally they were off, with Janet, Aunt Marion’s imposing abigail, marching behind them. Mariah hoped Janet wouldn’t frighten off any and all gentlemen who might speak to them, but knew they wouldn’t be allowed to go without the woman.

“So,” Joan said, slipping her hand around Mariah’s arm, “tell me more.”

“I already told you all I know about him.”

“No, no,” her cousin said with a flip of her free hand. She leaned even closer. “What did he say? How did you know it was he? Tell me everything!”

Mariah couldn’t hide a smile. She cast a quick glance back at Janet—still striding along, three respectful paces behind them—and lowered her voice, too. “It was so unexpected. I had already gone to bed, but was not asleep⁠—”

“Were you thinking of him?” Joan wanted to know.