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Her face lit up at last. “Oh yes, indeed,” she said. “We approached it by the river rather than crossing the bridge. How exciting it was to see all the lights reflected on the water and then to step through the gates and see all this.” She gestured about her with one hand. “It is like a fairyland. When Papa told us there are thousands of colored lamps here, I was sure he must be exaggerating, but I soon saw that it must be true. The music is lovely. And look at all the crowds! Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. I do not see a sad face or even a solemn one.”

“Vauxhall is not known as a pleasure garden for no reason,” he said, smiling.

“Even the weather is perfect,” she said. “I must confess that I have been glancing anxiously at the sky all day, willing the few clouds I saw to pass over and looking intently to see if any more dense or threatening ones were coming—just as though I could do something about it if any were.”

They both laughed, and Bertrand found himself feeling rather fond of her, much in the way he was fond of Sarah Cunningham or Josephine Archer. As though she were years and years his junior, that was. As she must be, of course. He guessed she was no older that eighteen compared to his twenty-nine. He had had a birthday a couple of weeks ago and had been very aware that next year it would be his thirtieth. But really, why on earth were parents in such a rush to marry off their daughters when they were still children?

Mrs. Easton, having announced that their supper would be brought to the box in half an hour or a little after, suggested they fill in the intervening time by joining the couples who were dancing on the outdoor floor beyond their box. Three gentlemen dutifully extended a hand to their wives, almost as though this moment had been orchestrated in advance, as it very possibly had been. Bertrand, under the benevolent smiles and nods of his hostess, solicited Miss Easton’s hand.

He did not mind, of course, but he was not going to continue to be the mother’s puppet. When the other couples remained on their feet after the first dance, looking expectantly toward the orchestra for the next one to begin, Bertrand suggested to Mr. Chalmer, husband of Mrs. Easton’s niece, that they change partners.

“What a splendid idea,” Mrs. Chalmer said, smiling with bright enthusiasm at Bertrand. “I will be the envy of all my acquaintance when they hear that I danced at Vauxhall with my cousin’s beau, none other than the very handsome Viscount Watley himself.” She fluttered her eyelashes playfully at him and laughed.

Bertrand smiled politely. Oh, this was not a family with which he would wish to ally himself, even without the trickery of the way he had been brought here. He genuinely liked Miss Easton, but he was very glad he was not in love with her. There was something verging upon vulgarity about the Eastons, or about Mrs. Easton’s side of the family anyway.

After they had feasted upon a cold supper, which included the wafer-thin slices of ham and the strawberries for which Vauxhall was famous, they all stood at Mrs. Easton’s suggestion to go strolling together along the main avenue to see more of the attractions until it was time to gather for the fireworks display. But at the last moment, Mrs. Easton spotted an acquaintance in another box whom she and her husband positively must greet before she disappeared without a trace. And her sister and brother-in-law simply must go with them to be introduced. She smiled indulgently at the remaining four.

“I daresay,” she said, “the young people will be happy to be free of us anyway so they may enjoy themselves in such splendid and, dare I say, romantic surroundings?” She smiled archly at Bertrand.

If the woman was not so dangerous, Bertrand thought, he might well be amused.

He was hardly surprised when, before the four of them had taken more than two dozen steps along the crowded avenue, Mrs. Chalmer clutched her husband’s arm more tightly and drew him to a halt as she turned her head, squealed, and pointed.

“Oh, I am sure that was Elsie Graham who just passed us,” she said. “We were at school together, but it is an age since I saw her last. I must go and find out if she still remembers me.” She glanced apologetically at her cousin and at Bertrand. “Do excuse us for a moment. I would hate to lose her in the crowd. You must not wait for us, though. We will catch up to you.”

Without waiting for an answer, she dragged the good-naturedly compliant Mr. Chalmer off into the crowd, leaving Bertrand and Miss Easton alone together. They were not literally alone, of course. The avenue was crowded with strollers and revelers, who provided all the chaperonage they could possibly need. And if the scheming Mrs. Easton expected that he would steer her daughter off onto one of the darker, more secluded side paths in order to steal a kiss from her, then she was very much mistaken.

Bertrand regretted what might have been a promising courtship, but he was quite firm in his decision that this would be the last occasion on which he would spend any time with Miss Easton, even on the dance floor of a fashionable ballroom.

However, the young woman herself had done nothing to deserve cold treatment. He turned his attention to her and, as he had in the box earlier, set about making her forget the awkwardness of her situation. It was not hard to do. She was a good-natured young woman, easily pleased and impressed.

She loved the waterfall they came to and exclaimed in delight over the way it picked up the pastel colors of the lanterns swaying in tree branches overhead and sprayed them in a cascade of color and sparkling water droplets. They stood gazing at it for several minutes and listening to the rushing sound, which was soothing despite the noise of the crowds.

“There is a statue of Handel here somewhere,” he said. “Shall we look for it?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I love his music. I love playing it on the pianoforte, provided I have no audience. Then my fingers turn to thumbs.”

“I know the feeling.” He smiled.

“Do you play the pianoforte?” she asked.

“I do,” he said.

“My brothers believe music is only for women,” she said. “I swear that if they do not have a gun beneath their arms and mud on their boots and some birds to shoot at, they do not feel like men.”

They both laughed, their heads close together so they could hear each other. They avoided a collision with a noisy group of young persons who were not looking where they were going.

Bertrand looked up when they had passed and found himself suddenly face to face with Stephanie Ware. He came to an abrupt, startled halt, and so did she. He had known she was staying with Winnie and Nicholas, who lived south of the river, not far from here. But—

“Lady Stephanie.”

“Viscount Watley.”

They spoke simultaneously.

But so did two other people. In that first, startled moment, he had not noticed the astonishment of Miss Easton beside him or that of the man who was escorting Stephanie.

“Leonard!” Miss Easton exclaimed.