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“Indeed.”

“We are visiting Gunter’s for ices?”

“Your cousin assured me you would appreciate it.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Was it her idea, the lilies?”

Mr. Ridley grimaced ever so slightly. “Not precisely. She mentioned hothouse flowers might not go amiss, but I fear I rather overdid it, given your sensitivity.”

Lily clapped her hands and leaned back with a sigh of delight. “I have never been! The other debutantes speak of it endlessly. Mama visits with her friends, of course, but we seldom go out in public except for the theater or fittings at the mantua-maker’s.”

“And I have never escorted a young lady to Gunter’s,” Mr. Ridley replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “So I believe we are on equal footing.”

The carriage pulled to a halt beneath the shade of the leafy trees. Lily peeked out to see gentlemen lounging along the wrought-iron railings and young ladies perched atop high curricles, fanning themselves with elegant languor. White-aproned servers from Gunter’s moved smartly between carriages, delivering ices in delicate glass goblets.

Mr. Ridley’s footman—Wesley, the same one Sophia had interrogated on the day of the baron’s death—appeared at the door and lowered the steps. A moment later, one of the liveried Gunter’s servers approached and leaned through the doorway.

“May I inquire after your preferences today, miss?” he asked with a deferential bow.

Lily’s thoughts scattered. This was it. A moment she had imagined on countless nights. But now that it had arrived, it felt suddenly monumental. What if she chose poorly? What if her first taste was disappointing?

Mr. Ridley opened the opposite door to allow a breeze to cross through the carriage. The air stirred gently, carrying with it the fragrance of crushed grass, warm stone, and the oak trees that framed the square.

The server listed the options in an efficient monotone: “Chocolate, lavender, maple, Parmesan cheese, Gruyère, and bergamot.”

Her mind reeled. She had not expected cheeses.

“Um … lavender?”

“It is an excellent choice, miss.”

“Agreed,” Mr. Ridley said from across the carriage. “I will have the same.”

Lily turned back to find him watching her with a quietly bemused expression.

“Would Nancy like one?” he added, bobbing his head in the direction of the old woman.

Nancy had slumped at an angle so alarming that Lily half-feared she might topple. Her mouth hung open, and a loud, wheezing snore filled the small space.

Lily pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and gave Mr. Ridley a look that clearly said, I told you so.

He chuckled and dismissed the server with a nod.

Brendan watched Miss Abbott as she relished her lavender ice, her expression as radiant as a child at a fair. He and his valet had locked themselves in his chambers the previous evening to guard against any further nocturnal intrusions, which had granted him the rare luxury of uninterrupted sleep. Now that his general outlook had markedly improved, he was forced to concede that the Countess of Saunton had been correct.

Miss Abbott was an exuberant creature—spirited, artless, and wholly alive to the pleasures of the world. She embraced existence with a wholeheartedness that was most disarming.

He supposed he was exceedingly fortunate. She had stepped into the role of his scandalous paramour with such verve that even Grimes was utterly convinced he was a licentious debaucher of gently bred virgins. Under ordinary circumstances, the mere thought that society might deem him a scoundrel of the highest order would have horrified him. But given the alternative, being charged with patricide, he supposed he could endure whispers about his depravity.

Soon enough, their marriage would reshape the narrative. The scandal of seduction would become the tale of a grand, tempestuous passion.

It was, unquestionably, the only honorable path forward. They would have to make the best of it.

And yet, hang it all, she was of such tender years.

Even now, she scooped her ice with the wide-eyed focus of a child devouring cake at a fête. There was not the slightest trace of flirtation in her enjoyment. Her laughter was unguarded. He could detect no suggestion of a bosom beneath that avalanche of frothy lace and flounces. If the young woman possessed curves, they were obscured with such diligence that it was a wonder she had received any attention from suitors at all.

It remained an enduring mystery why debutantes chose to dress in a manner least calculated to attract male notice, particularly when their entire Season revolved around ensnaring a husband.