And then he’d seen her in the moonlight. He’d stood over her, listening to her tell him she’d never been kissed before. All reason had left him.

He hadn’t planned to kiss her. And when he had, he hadn’t meant to linger over the business with such passionate attention. But the moment his head bent to hers, all his hard-won resolve went straight out the window.

Her lips were so soft and voluptuous, half parting beneath his own with trembling anticipation. Their breath mingled, softly, sweetly, and in that moment . . . God help him, he’d felt something very near to heaven.

But it was over now. Miss Wychwood realized that as well as he did. If she hadn’t, she’d have been in Hyde Park this morning.

She’d be here now.

A ridiculous part of him had hoped she would be.

Gazing out over the sun-filtered landscape, he couldn’t help wondering how he would proceed if things were different.

If he was different.

He’d spent the past six years wondering—to no avail. The life he was living was his own now, for better or worse. The life of an ex-soldier encumbered with a failing estate and three illegitimate children.

The fact was, if given the choice, he wouldn’t change it even if he could.

Had he never gone to Yorkshire, Charlie and Alfred would have remained in the workhouse. On Dolly’s death, Daisy would have ended up there, too. The life expectancy for orphans in such places didn’t bear speaking of. The three of them might have died.

No. Jasper couldn’t regret his actions. From the moment he’d set foot in Goldfinch Hall, he’d been bound by the dictates of honor. Like it or not, he recognized his duty.

“I’m only concerned with one lady’s opinion,” he said.

“Quite. Miss Throckmorton is certain to be here somewhere. Ah. There she is, by the pond with Miss Bingham.” Ridgeway set off in their direction. “Best hurry. Aldershott is upon them. He may have finally decided he can stomach the taint of the shop.”

“She’d do well to accept him.” Jasper walked alongside Ridgeway across the grass. A warm breeze whispered over the banks of the pond, stirring the fragrance of heather and flowering meadowsweet. “He’s young, well-bred, and unencumbered. All he lacks is a fortune.”

“All you lack is a fortune,” Ridgeway retorted.

Didn’t Jasper know it. At the moment, his lack of funds was at the root of everything that was wrong in his world. If not for want of money, he’d be free to pursue whom he pleased. “It doesn’t follow that Miss Throckmorton will be willing to grant me hers. She’s shown no particular interest in my attentions.”

“No? She looks at you a good deal. Granted, not as much as Miss Wychwood did. But a man can’t have everything.”

Or anything, Jasper thought bitterly.

Ridgeway shot him a narrow look. “Is this you brooding? I confess, I don’t much care for it. You’ve little enough to recommend you already.”