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Serpentine, Hyde Park

London

22 November 1820

A quarter of nine in the morning

Laughing as a particularly greedy duck nipped her half boot, Lenora tossed the last of the bread crumbs to the hungry waterfowl gathered around her feet and paddling in the water near the shore. “Away with you before you bite my toes.”

A few feet away but close enough to provide acceptable chaperonage, Dottie, her maid, flirted with a footman. At the same time, his mistress, Mrs. March, enjoyed her daily constitutional and briskly strolled the Serpentine’s path.

Few of le beau monde’s elite roused themselves from their luxurious beds this early in the day, much less to take the air in a park covered with three inches of snow. The exception was Mrs. Ann March, a widow who walked on the opposite shore. She circled the Serpentine precisely three times each morn before climbing into her coach.

There were also two gentlemen on horseback Lenora wasn’t acquainted with. As they stayed on Rotten Row, Lenora only saw them from a distance. Others visited the park, but those three were the only ones to do so at the same time and as often as Lenora.

Therefore, her clandestine encounters with Jason remained their secret.

For now.

Hopefully for the foreseeable future too. Until Lenora could define what was happening between them. Guilt nibbled at her conscience for sneaking behind Landry’s back. She hadn’t asked him why he’d forbidden Jason to call upon her. She knew his reasons. They were legitimate concerns for a loving brother.

Lenora wasn’t sure whether she was reckless or daring for continuing to meet with Jason. Regardless, she did know she wasn’t ready to put an end to their time together.

Jason hadn’t mentioned his upcoming voyage, and not wanting to put a damper on their budding relationship, she hadn’t asked him about the journey. She feared the answer wouldn’t be to her liking, and for the present, she wanted to pretend they might actually have a future together.

Her folly might—probably—would lead to heartache later.

It was unlikely, but should Landry learn she’d bumped into Jason at Hyde Park a time or two, he would have to chalk it up to chance. After all, if Jason chose to frequent the park the same hour she did, who was she to say he couldn’t?

As long as her brother didn’t know they’d been meeting for weeks now. Besides, Landry had never told her that she couldn’t see Captain Steele.

Lenora had managed an extended walk almost every day since her recovery, and quite coincidentally—or so she insisted to Dottie—Captain Steele had been waiting at the Serpentine several of those days.

From the knowing glint in the maid’s eyes, she suspected the truth. But as she was engaged in a serious flirtation with Mrs. March’s handsome footman, the lovestruck servant wasn’t going to do anything that would curtail their morning excursions.

Specifically, she wouldn’t be telling Landry.

If it weren’t for these outings, Lenora didn’t know when she’d see Jason.

Unfortunately, Lady Darlington-Pope had taken to her bed with a nasty chest cold after inviting them for dinner. Their supper invitation had been postponed indefinitely, for which Lenora thought Landry secretly rejoiced. The much-anticipated Wimpletons’ Christmas ball would be upon them in no time.

Would Jason still be here?

Had he received an invitation, and if so, would he attend?

Would he ask Lenora to dance?

She wanted that very much. It would provide another opportunity to be in his arms.

They couldn’t keep sneaking around to see each other. Well, Lenora and Jason could, but it was a rather chilly courtship. If one could call it that.

She sent Jason a sidelong glance, too aware of the contours and muscles his greatcoat hid. Would it be wrong to pray and ask God for something so selfish—that Jason stay in England? At least a while longer?

As if sensing her perusal, he turned his head. An emotion she couldn’t identify flickered in his eyes.

Lenora ought to be chagrinned at being caught staring, but she wasn’t. Somehow, she knew he understood. She’d found him doing the same thing several times and always with a crease between his eyebrows as if he fought an inner battle.

Giving her a boyish grin, he folded the small brown sack he’d brought his own bread scraps in and tucked it into his triple-capped greatcoat’s pocket.