anything.
They turned from Oxford Street, where Rosemary had purchased some lengths of ribbon, into the northern end of Park Lane. Esme glimpsed green grass through the trees and longed to go for a walk. At home in Luffenham she walked or rode everywhere and already she was missing her daily exercise. ‘Is that Hyde Park, Rosie?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Is it possible to walk home through it?’
‘Yes, perfectly possible.’
‘Then do let’s walk. Banny can take the coach home and put the shopping away.’
‘We have to go to Lady Aviemore’s to tea.’ Her ladyship was, according to Rosemary, a notable hostess and knew everyone of any importance and she could—if she took to Esme—be influential in introducing her to other young people, among whom might be a suitable husband. She would know the history behind every one of them. Who could safely be cultivated and who best to avoid. ‘Once you are out, she can help us get you seen and noticed,’ Rosemary had told her sister. ‘So it is important you make the right impression.’
‘That is hours away. Come on, Rosie, I want to explore.’
‘Very well.’ Rosemary asked the driver to stop and they left the coach and entered the park by Brook Gate and were soon strolling along one of the many walks towards the Serpentine.
In spite of the fact that London was, according to Rosemary, quite empty, they met several people she knew and they stopped to chat. Esme was presented to them and exchanged the usual pleasantries, but she was not particularly interested in what they had to say and her attention wandered to her surroundings. The park, once on the outskirts but now in the heart of London, was an oasis of green. There was a wide tree-lined carriageway and several paths for pedestrians and the famous Rotten Row where horsemen and women showed off their mounts. Her curiosity was aroused by a slim young man in a single-breasted green riding coat and biscuit-coloured riding breeches, who was very deliberately pacing the ground and making notes on a pad he was carrying. Every now and then he looked up at a group of elms that graced that corner of the park and appeared to be sizing them up and drawing them. She took a step closer to see what he was about.
He must have sensed her presence because he suddenly turned and looked straight at her. She found herself catching her breath because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes, she noted, were greenish brown and they were laughing, not at her, she was sure of that, but in a kind of amused empathy, as if he understood her curiosity and was not in the least put off by it. His hair, beneath a brown beaver hat, was a little darker than gold and curled into his neck. His hands, holding his notepad and pencil, were lean like the rest of him, the fingers tapered. An artist, she decided. He smiled at her, put his finger to the brim of his hat and tilted it towards her. Her answering smile lit her face as if she had suddenly met someone she had known long ago and hadn’t seen for a while.
‘Esme, who is that?’ Rosemary had said goodbye to her friends and turned to see her sister apparently on nodding terms with a young man.
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s handsome, isn’t he?’
‘Esme, how could you?’
‘Could I what?’
‘Smile in that familiar way at a man to whom you have not been introduced.’
‘But he smiled first and—’
‘Then he cannot be a real gentleman. It is the lady’s prerogative to acknowledge a gentleman when she is out and until she does so, it behoves a gentleman to show no sign of recognition. You should have ignored him.’
‘Would that not have been impolite?’
‘Not at all. Now come away before he decides to approach us, for I should feel mortified to have to speak to him.’ She took Esme’s arm and almost dragged her away.
Esme looked back over her shoulder and discovered the young man was staring after them, which made her giggle.
‘Esme!’ Rosemary reprimanded her. ‘I see I shall have to take you to task about what is and what is not acceptable behaviour. You do not smile at strange men. Goodness, it is asking for them to take liberties.’
‘What liberties?’ Esme asked. ‘Do you mean kissing me?’
‘Good heavens, I hope not. I mean speaking to you without an introduction.’
‘Oh, that.’ Esme was dismissive.
Rosemary’s reply to that was a decided sniff.
Felix watched them go, wanting to laugh aloud. The young lady, who was very lovely with her rosebud complexion and neat figure, was evidently being given a scolding, but it did not seem to be subduing her. He wondered who she was. Was she one of those young ladies who came to London for a Season with the express purpose of snaring a husband? It was early in the year for that and she seemed a little young to be tying herself down to marriage.
His mother might not agree; she had been urging him ever since he returned from France without Juliette to find himself a bride. ‘Someone young and malleable,’ she had said. ‘Then you can mould her to your way of doing things. Besides, a young bride is more likely to produce healthy offspring.’ He smiled to himself; this particular young lady did not look as if she were especially malleable, not that he would want a wife who dare not say boo to a goose. He pulled himself up short. How could the sight of a pretty girl make his thoughts suddenly turn to marriage. He wasn’t ready for that yet; time, the healer, had yet to do its work.
He was not a hermit by any means. To please his mother, he had attended tea parties and dances in the assembly rooms in his home town of Birmingham, taken tea with the matrons and danced with their daughters, making superficial conversation, even flirting a little, but, as his mother was quick to point out, that could hardly be called a serious pursuit of a bride. He supposed he would have to marry one day, but he never felt less like falling in love again and it would be unfair on any young lady to use her simply to beget an heir and have an elegant companion, if she were expecting a husband to love her. It would be better to choose someone more mature than the young miss with the friendly smile, someone worldly wise who wouldn’t expect declarations of eternal love, but would be content with wealth and position.
He smiled ruefully to himself; whatever had set his thoughts on marriage had better be stifled. If this idea of a great exhibition came about, he would be too busy to think of anything else. He looked down at the pad in his hand. There was a series of measurements and a rough sketch of the elm trees, which were going to be a stumbling block to any good design. The Exhibition building committee were working on a design but he thought it was ugly, and it took no account of the trees, assuming they would have to be felled. Even the committee was dissatisfied with it and an idea was being mooted for a competition to design the building and he thought he might enter it.
His pencil moved over the pad, roughing out the plan of a building with an open central courtyard to accommodate the elms and then for no reason that he could fathom, added people to his drawing: the urchin bowling a hoop, a man on a horse, a carriage on the drive, the cake-and-fruit stall beside the water and the two ladies he had just seen. He laughed at himself for his fancifulness. Pulling his watch from waistcoat pocket, he was startled to discover it was already four-thirty; his valet would be dancing up and down in impatience. He hurried to where he had tethered his horse and cantered off in the direction
