to do is”—join me—“picnic in Hyde Park,” he said quickly as two pairs of eyes swung his way.
Lady Kinsley flashed a smile that none would ever dare mistake for warm. “I’ll join you.”
“Of course you will,” he muttered.
“What was that, brother?” Lady Kinsley called from across the music room.
“Nothing. It is nothing at all.”
And so a short while later, with the top down on the grand barouche landau, they made the slow roll through Hyde Park, the unlikeliest of gatherings: Temperance; Dare, thief of the Rookeries, seamstress Gwynn, with Lionel’s niece seated atop her lap; and the only true peer amongst their lot, Dare’s sister.
Temperance tilted her face up toward the sun. Dare watched her carefully for some hint the ride was making her ill, and yet, with her pink cheeks and soft smile, she was a vision of happiness, and he was incapable of looking away.
Breath caught in his chest, he just stared at the sun as it bathed her olive-kissed skin.
“People will wonder,” Lady Kinsley said, shattering his focus, “about the babe.” She nudged her chin in Gwynn and Rose’s direction.
Drawing the babe close, the young maid averted her gaze.
Of course, killer of joy and destroyer of moments.
Temperance sat up. The earlier serenity in her expression gone, replaced with a more familiar somberness. “I . . . Yes. There . . . might be questions,” she murmured. “And I’m sorry for that.”
Dare frowned.
There were some undercurrents there, ones that he recognized.
Kinsley glanced down at her lap. “It doesn’t really matter what they say, does it?”
And unlike the usual tartness that coated her words . . . there was a hesitancy.
Temperance stretched a hand out, covering one of Kinsley’s with her own. It was a display of support and comfort . . . and so very . . . Temperance. Thinking of others before herself.
And it drew Dare’s attention to that detail which he’d otherwise not paid a jot of attention to—the gossips. There could be no doubting that in this Dare’s sister was, in fact, correct. Every passerby, every rider . . . lords and ladies walking alone . . . men and women walking arm in arm . . . all stared as they passed. Their appetites insatiable for the gossip the carriage provided.
Their barouche journeyed through the entrance of Hyde Park and down the graveled riding path.
“This is the time to come out if one wishes to be seen,” Kinsley said sotto voce. And there it was once more from his sister, a flash of unease.
Was it at her being here with her East London kin? Or was it . . . something more?
As if she felt his focus, Kinsley yanked her skirts and, lifting her nose, looked off in the opposite direction.
The carriage drew to a stop near the edge of the Serpentine River, and his sister rushed to accept the driver’s help disembarking. The girl started off with Gwynn, who carried a basket.
Jumping down, Dare reached for Rose. “She hates me,” he said, careful to keep his lips from moving, lest they be read by every last lord and lady present. Reaching back, he helped hand Temperance down.
“She doesn’t know you still, Dare,” she said gently, taking the babe back from him. They started on the trail after Kinsley and Gwynn.
“She likes you fine enough,” Dare pointed out, knowing he sounded like a petulant child.
“Because I talk to her,” she said simply. “I ask her questions and listen when she speaks.” Temperance lowered her voice. “Were you aware there was some manner of scandal surrounding her? That there are rumors she was involved with some . . . disreputable gentleman.”
He frowned. “I . . . No.” But I should have been. I should have gathered those details about her.
“Tell me, at this point,” Temperance said gently, “is she anything more than a means to an end for you?”
That properly silenced him.
“I’m not passing judgment, Dare,” she said. “I have been of the same frame of mind where Kinsley was concerned. Until now.” And yet she’d come to see the same woman who’d been disparaging and rude to her at the start as a friend. It spoke volumes about the manner of person Temperance was. Forgiving. Compassionate.
She touched a hand to his sleeve. “This . . . reunion is impossible for the both of you. Blood does not always a family make, and as of now, that is all you and your sister share. But that doesn’t have to be the case, and I’d venture