“I’m not brooding,” Jasper said sourly. At least, he was trying not to—and failing miserably, he didn’t doubt. His mood was too foul, his heart too heavy. He regretted having come. He was in no fit state for this cold-blooded charade.

“Good. Because you have an excellent chance with Miss Throckmorton. She may act as though she has the luxury of choice, but she’s as eager to tie the knot as you are. For a cit, a gentleman of your stature would be a prize. All you need do is make yourself moderately agreeable—”

“Yes. So you’ve said.” Jasper was ill-disposed to make himself agreeable to anyone. But he was aware of how forbidding he appeared when he was in a black mood. And he was already forbidding enough. As they approached Miss Throckmorton and the others, he made an effort to school his features.

Miss Throckmorton and Miss Bingham were kneeling on a blanket beneath a tree on the bank, unpacking a picnic hamper. Aldershott had just sat down beside them. He was a fair-haired gentleman, with a thin frame and an angular face.

“Blunt. Ridgeway,” he greeted the two men stiffly. “You’re not thinking of joining us?”

“Do, please,” Miss Throckmorton said. “I brought plenty for everyone.”

“Eating already?” Ridgeway asked.

“No, indeed. We’re only claiming our spot. Within another half hour, all the best ones will be taken. Lady Desmond’s invited half of Mayfair.”

“Splendid,” Ridgeway said. “I prefer a bit of exercise before luncheon. Come, Miss Bingham. Shall we have a stroll around the pond?”

Miss Bingham giggled. “Oh yes. Let’s.” She took Ridgeway’s hand, allowing him to assist her up. “You don’t mind, Miss Throckmorton?”

“Not at all. I daresay we could all use a walk to whet our appetites.” Miss Throckmorton stood without assistance. She collected her delicate lace parasol and opened it over her head. “If you wouldn’t mind, gentlemen?”

Jasper offered her his arm. She tucked her hand through it as they moved to join Ridgeway and Miss Bingham. Aldershott walked with them on Miss Throckmorton’s opposite side.

The pond was one of many in Richmond Park. Fed by a spring, the still surface reflected the lush azaleas and rhododendrons surrounding it, their bright blooms fading as spring drifted inexorably toward summer.

Old oaks provided intermittent shade along the wide path that circled the water. They’d gone halfway around, engaged in sporadic conversation, when Miss Bingham glanced back from her place on Ridgeway’s arm to frown at Jasper and Aldershott as they flanked her friend.

“I abhor odd numbers,” she said. “Such a pity Miss Wychwood was too ill to come. If she’d been here, we’d have been perfectly matched.”

Jasper very nearly froze where he stood. It was only with an effort that he continued walking alongside Miss Throckmorton. Though his emotions roiled, his voice was one of creditable calm. “Miss Wychwood is ill?”

Miss Throckmorton made a soft sound of sympathy. “Terribly ill, apparently. It’s dreadful, really. I understood she was frail, but I’d no notion it was so serious.”