Lady Holt’s garden party was, as promised, an exercise in frivolity.
It was also, Mira discovered, an excellent place to listen.
The air smelled of trampled grass, over-sweet flowers, and lemonade spiked with something stronger. Colored ribbons fluttered from tent poles. Ladies in pastel gowns drifted across the lawn like clouds. Gentlemen in lighter coats pretended to care about roses.
“Smile,” Mrs. Willoughby murmured at Mira’s side. “And do not let anyone see you counting how many men here have invested with Harcourt.”
“I am not—” Mira began, then caught herself. “Very well.”
Daniel, predictably, had gravitated toward the archery display.
“Of course he did,” Mrs. Willoughby said, following Mira’s gaze. “Boys and their toys.”
“He is talking to Reggie,” Mira said. “Probably about how long it would take the arrow to arc if Harcourt’s name were on the target.”
“Only you,” Mrs. Willoughby said, “would make archery about mathematics.”
Mira smiled faintly.
Her dress was pale yellow today, at Mrs. Willoughby’s insistence.
“You look like forgiveness,” Mrs. Willoughby had declared. “It will confuse them.”
She did feel…lighter.
The events of Good Friday and Milton’s tea still weighed, of course. But for an afternoon, she allowed herself to be…present.
Mrs. Holt fluttered over, bedecked in lace.
“My dear Mrs. Godwin,” she cooed. “You look positively sunlit. I was *so* distressed to read those dreadful things in the Gazette. Men are beasts. Especially those who sell paper.”
“They must eat too,” Mira said mildly.
Mrs. Holt blinked. “You are very…generous.”
“I am not,” Mira said. “But I appreciate the illusion.”
Mrs. Holt patted her arm. “You must tell me *everything* about that warehouse. In confidence, of course.”
“In confidence,” Mira echoed, amused.
Before she could answer, a shriek of laughter drew their attention to the archery lawn.
A young woman had loosed an arrow that went wide, narrowly missing a footman and embedding itself in a tree.
Daniel, beside her, winced.
“Poor trunk,” Mrs. Willoughby observed. “It did nothing to deserve that.”
“Go,” Mrs. Holt urged Mira. “Rescue the poor man. Or the tree.”
Mira picked her way across the grass.
The archery display consisted of a few hay bales set up at the far end of the lawn, each with a painted target. Bows and arrows leaned in a neat stand, incongruous among the bunting.
Daniel turned as she approached.
His eyes ran over her gown, down to the ribbon at her throat.
He smiled.
“You look like lemonade,” he said.
“I feel like treacle,” she replied. “Thick and slightly sticky.”
He chuckled.
“Will you shoot?” he asked.
“Do you think I should?” she said. “After all that talk of not frightening men?”
“Men deserve to be frightened,” he said. “Especially those here.”
“You are here,” she pointed out.
“Yes,” he said. “I frighten myself daily.”
She laughed.
Reggie, at his elbow, beamed. “Mrs. Godwin! You must join us. Lord Renshaw has been boasting of his skill. He needs humbling.”
“Lord Renshaw,” Mira said. “Of course.”
Lord Renshaw himself, in a pale green coat that made him look like a particularly smug lettuce, stood a little way off, drawing a bow with more style than accuracy.
“I do not wish to be part of his humiliation,” she said.
“Oh, let him be humiliated,” Daniel murmured. “It would be good for his soul.”
“His soul is beyond help,” Reggie said cheerfully.
Mira eyed the bows.
Shooting at cabbages in a mews was one thing.
This was another.
“Please,” Reggie begged. “I have a wager with him. If any lady beats his score, he must wear a plain coat for a week. *Plain,* Mira. Do you know what that would do to him?”
She snorted. “Destroy his very sense of self.”
“Yes,” Reggie said. “Delightful, is it not?”
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she stepped forward.
“Very well,” she said. “Once.”
Lord Renshaw turned, noticing her at last.
“Mrs. Godwin,” he drawled. “Archery is a…robust…pastime. Perhaps you would prefer to watch.”
“Perhaps I would not,” she said sweetly.
His brows lifted.
She took a bow, feeling the familiar stretch of the string under her fingers, the weight of the arrow.
“Remember,” Daniel murmured behind her, just loud enough for her to hear. “Breathe. Aim. Do not think of Renshaw’s face on the target. It will distract you.”
“I am,” she said, “very tempted.”
She drew.
The motion felt natural, the glide of muscle, the focus.
For a moment, the noise of the party receded.
Just her, the arrow, the circle of straw.
She released.
The arrow thudded into the target, just at the edge of the center.
Gasps. A smatter of applause.
Lord Renshaw’s jaw dropped.
“Oh, *bravo,* Mrs. Godwin!” some young lady trilled.
Mira exhaled, a small, private smile tugging at her mouth.
“Again,” Daniel murmured.
“Show-off,” Renshaw muttered.
She did not oblige.
“One must not be greedy,” she said. “I will let others…shine.”
Lord Renshaw stalked to the line and loosed his own arrow.
It landed two rings out from hers.
Reggie crowed. “Plain coat, Renshaw!”
Renshaw sputtered.
Daniel’s hand brushed hers in silent congratulations.
The warmth of his skin, even through her glove, sent a little jolt up her arm.
“You are enjoying yourself,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Is that…allowed?”
“For an hour,” he said. “Then we return to ledgers.”
She made a face. “Spoilsport.”
A shadow fell across them.
“Mrs. Godwin. Mr. Ferris.”
Pell.
Of course.
He wore a cream coat, perfectly cut, and an expression that suggested he found the entire affair faintly amusing.
“I see you’ve taken up new weapons,” he said, nodding at the bow.
“More honest than ledgers,” she said.
He smiled. “Pain is very honest, yes.”
“You would know,” Daniel muttered.
Pell’s gaze flicked to him. “Still bitter, Ferris?”
“Sunlight will do that to a man unused to it,” Daniel said.
Pell laughed softly.
He stepped closer to Mira, lowering his voice.
“Harcourt is…chatting,” he murmured. “He drinks more. He has less to lose. Milton…frets. Caine watches. You have stirred quite the nest.”
“You sound as if you disapprove,” she said.
“On the contrary,” he said. “I am entertained.”
“You are also in danger,” she said.
“So are you,” he replied.
She met his eyes.
“I know,” she said.
He inclined his head, almost respectfully.
“Be careful,” he said, and moved away.
Daniel watched him go.
“You have admirers on all sides,” he said. “It is very inconvenient.”
“I do not want admirers,” she said. “I want witnesses.”
“Dangerous,” he said. “Witnesses talk.”
“Good,” she said.
They walked along the edge of the lawn, away from the archery.
The party ebbed and flowed around them.
Snatches of conversation drifted:
“Harcourt…never would have thought…”
“…Board of Trade…Milton…”
“…that widow…do you think…”
Mira listened, cataloguing.
“You are tireless,” Daniel said.
“I am nosy,” she corrected.
He smiled.
They found a quieter corner near a shrubbery, where the buzz of the party dulled.
“Tell me something not about trade,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “What?”
“Anything,” he said. “Your favorite food. A childhood mistake. Something that would make me think of you without wanting to throttle Harcourt.”
She considered.
“When I was ten,” she said slowly, “I stole my father’s boots. I wanted to see what it felt like to walk like him.”
He smiled. “And?”
“They were too big,” she said. “I tripped. Fell into a puddle. Ruined them. He was furious.”
“Did he beat you?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she said. “He laughed. After a while. He said, ‘Your feet are your own, Mira. Walk in your own boots, not mine.’”
Daniel’s expression softened. “Wise man.”
“Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes he wished I would sit instead.”
“Men often wish that,” Daniel said. “They are wrong.”
“Your turn,” she said. “Tell me something not about trade.”
He thought.
“When I was eight,” he said, “I climbed onto the roof of our house to see the ships better. My mother screamed. My father shouted. Cobb bribed me down with a sweet. When I stepped back onto the ground, I told them I was disappointed.”
“Why?” she asked, amused.
“The roofs did not feel like freedom,” he said. “Just…more ground. Higher.”
She smiled.
“What does feel like freedom?” she asked.
He looked at her.
“This,” he said. “Sometimes. Walking beside you while the world mutters.”
Her breath hitched.
“That is a very inconvenient thing to say,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “You collect inconvenient men as hobbies; I am merely fulfilling my role.”
She laughed, unable to help it.
“Would you…” She hesitated.
“Yes?” he prompted gently.
“…like lemonade?” she finished lamely.
He grinned. “Desperately. I am parched from all this honesty.”
They fetched cups.
Lemonade, pale and tart, with a suspicious warmth under it, slid cool down Mira’s throat.
“It is spiked,” she said.
“Of course,” Daniel said. “Renshaw would never serve anything purely innocent.”
“Unlike some people,” she murmured.
His eyes flickered. “Do you consider me innocent?”
“No,” she said. “But I consider you…good. In ways that matter.”
He swallowed.
“You are determined to say things that make my head swell,” he said.
“Your head is already quite large,” she replied. “In imagination if not in actual size.”
He laughed.
The sun dipped lower.
Shadows lengthened across the lawn.
Mira’s shoulders, bare under the thin fabric, prickled with the evening cool.
Daniel noticed.
He shrugged off his coat.
“No,” she said automatically. “You will freeze.”
“I am made of sturdier stuff,” he said. “And more layers. Take it.”
He draped it around her shoulders.
His scent—coffee, parchment, river—enfolded her.
Heat washed through her, utterly out of proportion to the simple gesture.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He stepped back.
But not far.
They stood there, in the half-shadow of a tree, watching others laugh and simper and scheme.
“I am glad,” she said suddenly, “that you did not kiss me that night in the square.”
He blinked. “You are?”
“Yes,” she said. “Because it means if…when…we do, it will not be a moment stolen from chaos. It will be…chosen.”
His breath stuttered.
“You think we will,” he said.
“Yes,” she said simply.
His eyes darkened.
“For a woman who claims not to know what love is,” he murmured, “you speak very definitively about its…acts.”
She smiled faintly. “I told you. I know…this. That I want you. That I want…a future where that want can be something other than…destruction.”
He swallowed hard.
“Mira,” he said, voice rough, “if you keep talking like this, I will forget every vow I made to myself about waiting.”
“Then perhaps,” she said, warmth and wickedness threading through her, “we should talk about Harcourt again.”
He choked on a laugh.
“I love you,” he said, almost helplessly. “You know that.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I am beginning to.”
Her heart thudded.
Not just from his words.
From her *own.*
The party receded.
For a moment, it was just them, in a patch of grass, under a tree, wrapped in a coat and lemonade and all the things unspoken.
Then Lord Renshaw’s voice cut across the lawn.
“Mrs. Godwin!” he called. “You must come see my roses! They are a triumph!”
Daniel sighed. “Reality.”
“Thorns,” she said.
They exchanged a look.
Then, together, they stepped back into the current.
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