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“Then the boxes ought to be checked —”

“Lady Rosalind.” Miss Mayfield’s face stayed grave, but laughter sat behind it. “If you follow me, I shall order six dozen almond cakes out of spite.”

Rosalind sat down. “That is extortion.”

“It is friendship,” Charlotte said.

“I begin to see why you have so many friends. You terrify them into obedience.”

“Exactly.”

Miss Mayfield went off to the counter, and James leaned slightly toward Rosalind. “Are you managing it?”

“Managing what?”

“Being here while somebody else checks the boxes.”

“With difficulty.”

“Would you like me to go and count them badly? It might ease you.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I do not think anything would ease me less.”

“Then I shall remain where I am.”

He did. He stayed beside her while Charlotte and Miss Lennox disputed whether the ribbon on one of the boxes was blue or green, and he did not ask her to explain herself, or improve herself, or be grateful for him. His sleeve brushed hers once when he reached for his gloves — small, warm, and deliberate enough that she knew it had happened. She did not move away.

* * *

Outside, the air had sharpened. Augusta’s carriage was being brought round with Miss Mayfield’s behind it, and Charlotte and Miss Lennox went ahead to inspect the boxes being loaded, which left Rosalind and James three paces behind them, beneath Augusta’s perfectly visible eye.

James took the small parcel Rosalind had been handed.

“That is mine.”

“I know.”

“Then why have you taken it?”

“I am courting you. I had supposed parcels were among the duties.”

“Who told you so?”

“No one. I am inventing the duties as I go.”

“You began badly with ivy.”

“I have improved.”

“Have you?”

He tucked the parcel beneath his arm. “You have not got it back.”

She could have taken it. She did not.

At the carriage, Miss Lennox turned. “We shall see you at the Thornes’ tonight, Lady Rosalind.”

“Aunt and I mean to go.”