She shook her head. “One of them I have no interest in at all. He has no appreciation for books. The other . . . was nice enough, I suppose. I’m not certain I have patience for this courting thing. I want an instant rapport, and thus far that has escaped me.” Except when it comes to you. Not that she was going to confess that to him. “Do you really only care about a woman’s mouth, eyes, and voice?”

“In truth, I’m more interested in her actions, the manner in which she treats people, the things she cares about, the things she doesn’t. The other attributes I named would be a nice addition but not a requirement.”

“Are you looking to marry?”

His gaze shifted until it appeared he was looking past her, not so much to ensure they had no collision with another boat but because the water provided a calming effect over his thoughts. “I hadn’t really contemplated it. When I met my wife, I was quickly smitten, and she took advantage. I was young and stupid. I am neither any longer and a good deal more cautious.” His gaze came back to her. “Or at least I’m trying to be.”

“I worry that some lord will pretend to be smitten with me in order to win my hand, but all he really wants is my dowry. I want love but know it’s not what those among the aristocracy generally seek. Financial or political advantage holds much more sway. My family can definitely provide a financial advantage, and now that they’ve married into the aristocracy, I believe they’ll have some political influence. I want a man who cares nothing at all for any of that. So he mustn’t be impoverished. He must have his own power and influence, and not look to me to provide it. Even as I begin listing out my requirements, I realize I’m doing exactly what I don’t want him to do. Ticking off what I believe will make him perfect.”

“No one is perfect.”

But Matthew Sommersby came close. “In the end, I just want to be loved.”

“I suppose that’s what we all want.” He grinned. “That and a spot of tea. Hungry?”

She laughed lightly. “I’m a bit peckish.”

He nodded toward the shore. “We’ll pull over here, enjoy a bit of a repast.”

Matthew secured the punt to a low-hanging bush, delivered the blanket and wicker basket to a spot beneath a willow tree, and returned for Fancy. She looked like sunshine in her yellow frock, like a lady of quality with her white parasol, like a country lass with her straw bonnet. With one foot in the boat, he sought to steady it as he offered her his hand. “Hold on to me to balance yourself.”