Magnus handled the oars with competence. Alexandra lounged opposite him under a vast straw hat, parasol tilted against the sun, trailing gloved fingers in the water whenever she thought Magnus was not looking.

  "This is very pastoral," James said. "I dislike it intensely."

  "No one believes you," Alexandra murmured. "You're almost smiling."

  "That is a trick of the light," he said. "I am scowling inwardly.”

  “Indeed,” Simon Berkshire, Magnus’s brother said.

  Magnus glanced toward the shore. "Inwardly or not, compose yourself. The Woodmere's carriage has just arrived."

  James straightened despite himself.

  Along the path, the Woodmere equipage drew up. Lord Woodmere stepped down first, then the dowager, Lady Woodmere herself in dove-grey silk. Last came Esme and Genny, stepping down together.

  Esme wore pale blue today, her bonnet ribbons tied beneath her chin. The color turned her eyes greener, picked out gold in their depths. Even at this distance, Redford saw her pause on the path, drawing in the morning air.

  Beside her, Genny said something that made Esme's mouth twitch. Woodmere gestured toward the Row.

  James felt his pulse quicken.

  "Well," Alexandra said, following his gaze. "There go the sensible arrangements."

  Magnus rested on the oars, letting the boat drift. "I presume this is not a coincidence."

  James adopted an expression of innocence. "I may have mentioned that Hyde Park is most diverting on Tuesday mornings."

  "And I may have mentioned that the Serpentine is improved by the presence of boats and bad decisions," Alexandra said.

  "You are both menaces," Magnus said.

  "Auspicious," Alexandra corrected serenely.

  James ignored them, watching as the Woodmeres approached the hire-boats.

  Woodmere spoke to the boatman while his mother inspected the boat, skepticism etched into her brow. Esme and Genny stood apart, watching ducks quarrel over crumbs.

  The ducks, James thought, had the right idea. Entirely uninterested in arrangements, entirely committed to taking what crumbs they pleased.

  He cleared his throat. "Berkshire. Langley."

  Magnus sighed. "Yes, Redford?"

  "It occurs to me that the Serpentine is a hazardous place."

  Alexandra's eyes gleamed. "Is it?"

  "Perilous currents. Treacherous ducks. A shocking scarcity of companions well-versed in the art of not being bored,” James said, his gaze following Esme.

  Magnus's mouth twitched. "You wish to go ashore."

  "Briefly," James conceded. "To pay my respects, to see whether Lady Esme has survived another evening with her parents' expectations intact."

  "And to meddle," Alexandra added.

  "Only a little," he said.

  Magnus considered. "If I row you to the bank, will you promise not to drown anyone?"

  "I shall make every effort.” James grinned. "Unless provoked."

  Alexandra laughed. "Oh, row him in, Magnus. If we don't supervise, he will only find a worse idea."

  Magnus muttered something about martyrdom, then angled the boat toward the nearest landing.

  By the time James stepped onto the small wooden platform, shaking his cuffs back into place, the Woodmere party had secured a boat of their own. Woodmere stood in the stern, while the dowager Viscountess negotiated the exact number of oars required.

  Esme and Genny waited on the bank.

  James approached with his most disarming bow. "Lady Esme. Miss Moreland. How very industrious of you to be awake before noon."

  Genny brightened at once. "Lord Redford! Have you come to rescue us from watery doom, or to cause it?"

  "On this occasion," he said, "I am merely an observer of nature. I hear the Serpentine is at its most dangerous when infested with matchmaking mamas."

  Esme's lips curved. "Hyde Park is considered entirely safe, my lord, provided one keeps to the proper paths."

  "And do you?" he asked.

  Her gaze flicked toward the carriage road, then back to the water.

  "Not always," she said.

  Genny bounced. "We are to row, can you imagine? Woodmere says it will be 'wholesome.' I suspect he intends to steer us in circles until we admit that marriage is the only sensible alternative."

  "An alarming doctrine," James said. “Lady Woodmere intends to accompany you?"

  "Indeed," Esme said, "and frown disapprovingly at anyone who laughs too loudly. Lord Woodmere will keep us from colliding with anything interesting."

  James heard himself say, "You could always defect."

  Her brows rose. "Defect?"

  "To a more entertaining vessel," he said lightly. "I happen to have one moored near by."

  Genny clapped her hands. "Oh, yes! Let us mutiny. I have always wanted to be a pirate."

  “Lord Woodmere will never allow it," Esme said.

  "Then we must make it his idea," James replied.

  Esme gave him a look that said she recognized the reference and was both wary and tempted.

  Before she could answer, Woodmere approached, hat tipped, expression polite and faintly grim.

  "Birkshire," he said, giving a nod. "Redford."

  "Viscount," James returned. "You have chosen a fine morning to test Lady Woodmere's boating nerves."

  Woodmere’s mouth did not quite soften. "The water is calm. The park is crowded. It will be perfectly safe."

  "For whom?" James murmured, then added more loudly, "As it happens, I am also on the water this morning. If you wished, we could⁠—"

  "No," Woodmere said.

  Alexandra and Magnus had drawn nearer, Magnus steadying the hire-boat at the landing, Alexandra smiling with dangerous brightness.

  "—form a small flotilla," James finished smoothly. "Safety in numbers, and all that. We can keep to the middle, out of the way of less experienced oarsmen."

  Woodmere hesitated long enough for Berkshire to say, “A fine idea Redford. I will join Woodmere’s boat.”

  "Very well," Woodmere said at last. "One lap of the Serpentine together. No races, no foolishness."

  "Perish the thought," James said.

  Genny leaned toward Esme. "The Mutual Mischief Society grows," she whispered.

  Esme's pulse gave a small leap.

  "Lady Esme, Miss Moreland?” Woodmere nodded toward the boat.

  "We shall join Lord and Lady Langley," Esme answered. "It will be... sociable."

  Woodmere’s jaw flexed. "Very well. But stay in sight of our boat."

  "Of course," James said. "We would not dream of depriving Woodmere of the pleasure of supervising us."

  Alexandra extended a hand to Esme. "Come, my dear. Let us see whether the Serpentine can withstand us."

  Esme took it.

  James swallowed back a triumphant laugh.

  * * *

  It was not James’s fault that the boat listed.

  The boat rocked, then steadied. All perfectly respectable.

  The trouble began with the duck.

  They had made one slow circuit of the lake, Woodmere keeping a wary distance in his own craft, when Alexandra demanded a pause.

  "I wish to look at the willow," she said, pointing toward a great tree whose branches trailed in the water.

  From here, the noise of the park dulled, the light softened by green. Esme felt the air grow cooler, scented with damp wood.

  "It's like being in a tent," Genny whispered.

  "We are in full view," Esme said, though her voice had dropped.

  "Not of your mother," James pointed out.

  She refused to turn to see where her brother’s boat had drifted. "A dangerous remark, my lord."

  "An accurate one," he said.

  Through gaps in the willow, she could see her brothers party gliding along the opposite shore, safely occupied.

  "You look relieved," James said, watching her. "As if your stays have loosened without effort."

  She shot him a look. "You are not to speak of my stays, Lord Redford."

  "My apologies," he said. "I shall confine myself to ducks."

  "Speaking of which," Genny said, leaning over the side, "this one looks particularly arrogant."

  A large drake had paddled up to their boat, eyeing them with an expectant stare. Genny produced a biscuit from her reticule.

  "Miss Moreland," Magnus said, "if you feed it⁠—"

  She dropped a crumb.

  The duck lunged. So did two more that had been lurking beneath the branches. Water splashed. The boat rocked.

  "Careful," Alexandra said, laughter threading through the warning. "We shall be overrun."

  Genny squeaked as one bold duck flapped up onto the low thwart, wet feet slapping.

  Esme grabbed Genny's arm as James lunged to shoo the duck back into the water.

  The boat tilted.

  For one instant, Esme and James locked eyes.

  "Oh," she said softly.

  Then the boat went over.

  Sky where water ought to be, willow branches whipping, Genny shrieking about her shoes, Magnus swearing, Alexandra laughing.

  James's hand closed around Esme’s wrist.

  The shock of the Serpentine stole Esme’s breath. Her skirts tangled, dragging at her legs. Panic flared, but before it could take hold, she felt Redford's grip tighten.

  "Hold on," he said, voice rough and calm, close to her ear. “You are all right. Feet down. It is not so deep as you think."

  She obeyed.

  Her slippers found mud, then the firmness of the lakebed. The water was now merely unpleasant as it surged around her waist.

  She sputtered, pushing hair and willow leaves out of her face.

  Genny thrashed nearby, managing to stand. Magnus had already found his footing, hauling Alexandra upright with one arm while she clung to her floating hat.

  The upended boat bobbed beside them. Ducks scattered.

  On the shore, a hundred faces had turned toward them.

  "Breathe," Redford said quietly.

  She did.

  Cold water trickled beneath her bodice. Her bonnet was gone, and her hair hung in dark ropes around her shoulders. Her gloves were ruined.

  A ridiculous sound broke from her. Half-gasp, half-laugh.

  "This," she said, "is entirely your fault."

  Redford's mouth twitched. His coat clung to his shoulders, water dripping from his lashes. He had never looked less composed or more alive.

  "In my defense," he said, "I did not bring the duck."

  Genny, blowing hair out of her eyes, added, "That was me."

  Esme glared at them both. It was entirely ineffective.

  From the bank, a child began to clap. Then laughter rippled outward—from the children first, then from the adults. Alexandra, still clinging to her hat, shook water from her sleeves and executed a dripping curtsey to her audience.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," she called. "May I present the inaugural meeting of the Serpentine Swimming Society. Membership highly exclusive. Admission by catastrophe only."

  The crowd laughed louder.

  The pressure on Esme's chest eased a fraction.

  Across the way, she caught a glimpse of Mother's expression. Horror tempered by the undeniable fact that Alexandra was also in the water, as was Magnus.

  Harrison, already splashing toward them from his own boat, looked apoplectic.

  "Esme!" he shouted. "Are you hurt?"

  "Only my pride," she called back. "We were overrun by waterfowl."

  Redford's hand still circled her wrist. His thumb brushed once, lightly.

  "Apologies," he said in an undertone. "This was not quite the sort of mischief I had in mind."

  She meet his gaze. "You have an alarming talent for understatement."

  Harrison reached them. "What happened?" he demanded.

  "A duck," Genny said promptly. "A very forward duck. You see, Lord Woodmere? This is what comes of encouraging wholesomeness. Nature rebels."

  Magnus declared, "No one is injured, except, perhaps, Lord Redford's dignity."

  "I assure you," Redford said, "it was never seaworthy."

  Laughter rippled through the onlookers. Even Harrison's mouth twitched.

  They splashed back to shore. Someone produced blankets, and someone else offered a flask. Alexandra and Magnus joked about their soaking, turning potential scandal into farce.

  Esme stood on the bank, water pooling at her ruined slippers.

  Mother hurried to her. "Esme," she breathed, eyes wide. “What…how⁠—“

  "I assure you, Mama," Esme said calmly, "we did not intend to bathe."

  Genny sniffed. "If we had, we should have chosen a warmer month."

  Mother's gaze darted from Alexandra to Magnus to the onlookers, to Harrison, and to Redford.

  "Was there... impropriety?" she asked in a low voice.

  Esme's cheeks burned.

  "No, Mama," she said. "Only ducks."

  Alexandra approached. "Lady Woodmere, I must take responsibility," she said firmly. "I insisted on admiring the willow. The boat shifted, and we were all sent into the water. Lord Redford behaved with utmost propriety and prevented Lady Esme from panicking. I, on the other hand, shrieked."

  Mother’s shoulders relaxed a measure. "If Lady Langley vouches for you..." She began.

  "I do," Alexandra said. "And I shall tell everyone that our little adventure was the most refreshing part of the morning."

  Mother exhaled. "Very well. We must return home at once. Esme, Genny, into the carriage. Harrison, see that a message is sent ahead to have baths prepared."

  Harrison nodded, then waved a footman over and began issuing orders.

  Esme turned to the carriage, then hesitated. Redford stood nearby, watching.

  She stepped back toward him.

  "Lord Redford," she said softly.

  He bowed. "Lady Esme, I trust you will accept my apologies for dragging you into an impromptu swim."

  "It appears," she said, "that you have saved me from drowning twice in one week."

  "Only once," he countered, "tonight the Serpentine, the other evening merely a sea of ink."

  She smiled. ”I am grateful," she said, "even if my shoes never recover."

  "I shall mourn them," he said gravely. "They died heroes."

  She laughed.

  Behind her, Mother called, "Esme."

  She should go. She knew that. Every sensible part of her insisted on turning back, obeying, retreating.

  Instead, she heard herself say, under her breath, "Thank you. For holding on."

  His gaze sharpened. "Always," he said quietly.

  The word lodged in her.

  She retreated then, slipping into the carriage, Genny tumbling in after her with a shiver. The door shut, the springs creaked, the horses moved.

  Through the small glass pane, Esme glimpsed Redford on the bank, water dripping from his hair, cloak hastily thrown over his shoulders, Alexandra and Magnus flanking him.

  He lifted two fingers in a small salute as the carriage rolled away.

  She leaned back against the squabs, closing her eyes.

  "Esme," Genny said, wringing water from her sleeves, "on a scale from one to ten, how furious is Lord Woodmere?”

  “Eight. Possibly nine. But Alexandra is a ten, and she is on our side."

  "Excellent," Genny said. "Then I would call that a victory.”

  “Ladies,” Mother reprimanded.

  Esme smiled despite the damp chill creeping up her legs.

  A victory, she thought, had never before involved so much water.

  By the time James returned to Langley house, the morning's chaos had arranged itself into distinct images. He had not often found himself in such a condition while feeling so...exhilarated.

  Esme, hair unbound and streaming, eyes wide from the shock of cold.

  The strangled sound she'd made before it became laughter.

  The feel of her wrist in his hand, slim and strong and very much alive.

  He dropped into a chair by the window.

  "What are you smiling at?" Magnus asked from the doorway, without preamble.

  James covered by reaching for the decanter. "Your soothing bedside manner, clearly."

  Magnus leaned against the jamb, arms folded. His hair still damp.

  "Alexandra has already sent three notes," he said. "One to Lady Woodmere, one to Genny, and one to that odious gossipmonger Lady Cardigan, making the entire thing sound like a farce staged for the amusement of the children. By tonight, the story will be that we all fell in on purpose as a philanthropic demonstration."

  James relaxed a fraction. "Efficient, as always."

  "She also informed your mother that you distinguished yourself," Magnus went on. "By not drowning anyone and by looking appropriately wretched."

  "High praise," James murmured.

  Magnus's gaze sharpened. "And Esme?"

  "Cold, damp, furious," James said. "And... laughing."

  "You like that," Magnus said.

  It was not a question.

  James toyed with the glass. "I like that she laughs at all. The Season seems designed to beat the laughter out of her."

  Magnus studied him. "You are in deeper than you intended."

  “Parish the thought.” James turned his attention to his tumbler.

  “Woodmere will be looking for someone to blame."

  "The ducks are first," James said. "Alexandra has already written a ballad about their villainy."

  "After the ducks," Magnus said.

  "Then me," James took a deep drink. "He made that clear."

  "Do you blame yourself?" Magnus asked.

  James thought of the boat tipping, the cold, the shock. Of Esme's voice saying, Thank you. For holding on. "I blame Miss Moreland's biscuits," he said. "And your wife’s enthusiasm for willow trees."

  Magnus's mouth quirked. "You deflect badly."

  "You are becoming sentimental," James said. "Alexandra is a terrible influence."

  "Possibly," Magnus said. "She seems to think there is hope for you."

  James chuckled.

  Magnus straightened. "James."

  He glanced up.

  "Be honest with yourself, James. Is this only mischief?"

  James opened his mouth, but did not speak.

  He pictured Esme wrapped in a blanket, wet hair clinging to her cheeks, eyes bright even through the shock. The lightness he had felt when she stood in the water and accused him with more amusement than anger. The way his name had sounded when she thanked him.