He had taken a small leather notebook out of his coat pocket and opened it. He was, without seeming to be aware of it, holding it out to Daphne, who was still looking down the path.
Alice gave her sister a small nudge with her shoulder.
Daphne looked up. “A leafhopper, My Lord?”
“Yes, yes, a leafhopper. I am not certain whether it is the species I think it is because the marking on the back is… Well, here, I have made a sketch.”
He walked over to her clumsily. He had not, in all his life, been quite sure how to walk a path with a young lady, and it showed in his shoulders and his stride.
Daphne took the notebook from him with her small, bare-fingered hand.
Sally, who had been hired by Lady Westbury sixteen years ago and was very fond of the sisters, said in a low voice at Alice’s ear, “I shall go a little behind, My Lady,” and dropped back three paces, where she could still see them all and where Isaac and Daphne, who had bent their heads over the notebook, would not have to remember they were being chaperoned for a while.
Alice walked on. She walked perhaps ten paces, and she walked them very slowly. She realized she had not planned what to do when Daphne and Isaac became absorbed in one another, which was a thing she had quite specifically arranged her own ruination to bring about, and now, she found herself in the awkward position of having achieved her aim and being mildly, ridiculously jealous of how well it had worked out.
“Can’t face the rejection?”
She did not turn. She had heard him come up behind her, the smooth tread of a man whose boots were made by a man whoknew his trade. She had no intention of letting him know that, but she had heard him, nonetheless.
“Your Grace.”
“Lady Alice.”
“You have followed me to Hyde Park.”
“I have been here since seven.Youhave come to the Park.”
“I had not seen you.”
“You had not looked.” He fell into step beside her.
This time, he did not offer his arm. He did not, she realized after a moment, dare to. He kept perhaps eighteen inches between them and walked at her pace, looking mostly at the path.
“How is your sister?”
“She is being courted, Your Grace, by a man who is showing her a sketch of a leafhopper.”
“Is he?”
“He is. She is presently listening to him with her whole attention. It is the prettiest thing I have seen in three days.”
“I am sorry to have missed it.”
“Are you, Your Grace?”
“No.”
She laughed.
She had not meant to laugh. She had meant to keep her composure, as she had kept her composure all of last night, as she had been keeping her composure all of this morning. But she laughed briefly, low at the back of her throat, and she felt him register the laugh with an almost imperceptible drop of his shoulders.
She understood, with a small, unhelpful warmth in her chest, that he had not until that moment been sure of her.
She had not, until now, considered that he might not have been sure of her.
“Your Grace,” she said carefully, “you did not say goodnight to me last night.”
“You did not say goodnight to me, Lady Alice.”