Joseph devoted so much thought to what he would say and do in Vauxhall Gardens, he’d made no assumptions about what Tessa would say or do.

The result was his brain wiped clean. He spoke very little. He reconciled himself to simply observing her.

No, not observe. Observe was too passive and detached. Joseph was relishing her. How could he resist, when she twirled and laughed her way through wet flowers, torchlit pathways, dancers, pantomimes, and trained dogs.

How, he wondered, returning her dazzling smile with a thin, uncertain grin, had he not braced for Tessa’s joyfulness? He’d felt something very akin to love with her at Berymede because of little more than her joy.

The combination of fair hair, blue eyes, and splashy silks had also played some part, of course—he’d loved those too. Like a sneak attack, she’d trotted these out tonight. Gone were her horrible dresses and severe hair.

The sight of her in this dress had quite literally stopped him where he stood. Stoker had nearly collided with his back and mocked him, which Joseph supposed he deserved. He’d been blindsided. Again.

But perhaps this had been his chief failing from the beginning. He’d never stopped to anticipate. Not in Belgravia, when he’d been on the attack, not at St. Katharine Docks, or in the park.

He wondered if it would always be this way. Would she always take him by surprise? And if so, was it so terrible?

Yes, he thought, watching her gasp at the antics of a diminutive juggler, it is. He was unsettled by surprises. Surprises meant he was unprepared. Surprises put him at a disadvantage.

You love the surprise of her, he thought, the notion as nonsensical as it was true.

“How talented he is,” Tessa said of the small man, clapping breathlessly.

She turned to Joseph and put two gloved hands on his forearm. “Can you believe it? Five teacups and a pot of water? And all the while on one foot!”

Joseph stared at her hands on his arm, blinking down at the snug blue leather. It was unnecessary to look, of course. Her touch reverberated through him like the lash of a whip. The juggler’s foot was the furthest from his mind. He saw only her hands, he lived and breathed her hands.

“Sorry,” she said, snatching herself away.

It’s nothing, he wanted to say. Come back. But she was already spinning, her attention caught by a five-person choir singing a ballad in a gazebo across the path. She took two steps toward their syrupy voices, and then rushed to the periphery of the assembling crowd. Joseph followed as if tied to her with a string.

“It’s lovely,” she whispered when he caught up. He glanced down. Her blue eyes were filled with wonder, her lips slightly apart.

Joseph squinted into the gazebo. Musicians at Vauxhall were a mix of spotlight-hungry hobbyists and seasoned professionals. The assemblage in the gazebo was clearly the former, but Tessa clapped enthusiastically as they garbled their final note.

“Shall we seek out supper?” he said, hoping to veer her away before the choir came to some consensus on their next song.

“You don’t really enjoy Vauxhall, do you?” she said. “You wish you hadn’t come.”

Joseph frowned at the impossible thought of him not coming. “I don’t not enjoy Vauxhall. I’m just a bit jaded, I suppose.”

“Oh,” she said. She gave an exaggerated, knowing nod. “You’ve sailed the world and seen sights far more fantastical, have you?”

“It’s not so much that my travels have outpaced Vauxhall,” he said, “more so the perception of what I enjoy.”

She laughed. “What do you mean? Either you enjoy something or you do not.”

I enjoy you, he thought, but he said, “When your earliest years are spent in service—literally cleaning mud from boots, emptying chamber pots—and you rise above it, those early trappings become a little warped in your view.”

They came to a fork in the path, two smaller walkways branching around a great trellis, heavy with roses. Tessa admired the flowers, stepping forward to smell each blossom.

“Stoker and I came to Vauxhall often as boys,” Joseph said. “Sometimes we had money to buy tickets, sometimes we navigated the river on a skiff and slipped over the wall. Now that I’ve the means to avail myself of any meal or entertainment in London, it’s difficult for me to return.”

“But is this the way you view every simple thing you enjoyed as a boy? Do you eschew sunrises, for example? Or puppies? These were available to you, then and now.”

“No. Not sunrises or puppies. I’m happy Vauxhall rages on for the masses, and it is my pleasure to escort you, but I’m dubious of attractions that charge less than four shillings at the gate. That was my old life, you see, before I made myself over into . . .” He struggled to find the correct word.

“A rich man?” she provided.

“I was going to say man of means, but it’s clear you take my meaning. Vauxhall was the purveyance of Joseph the servant. Joseph the—”

“Rich man,” she cut in, laughing.

“Man of means,” he emphasized, “prefers the opera.”

She made a little noise of understanding, neither judgment or affirmation, and they crunched down the path, weaving around couples and families and a man with a large snake coiled around his outstretched arms.

“I’ve a question,” she announced. But she said nothing for another four or five steps. “At Berymede,” she finally went on, “you spoke often about an ambition to run for Parliament. Is this still your plan?”

Joseph looked at her. This, now? he wondered. He said, “Yes, in fact. It is. But I admit it knowing full well that Parliament is an unlikely ambition. I may pass my entire life in pursuit of it. But it’s not impossible, is it?”

They turned a corner and a food stall came into view. It was a rolling cart stacked with wheels of cheese, baskets of fresh bread, assorted fruit, and paper cones of warm chestnuts. Joseph raised his eyebrows, an invitation, and Tessa nodded with enthusiasm. He bought a block of cheese, two loaves of the aromatic bread, and a cone of nuts.

“Ale?” he asked the vendor, but the old man shook his head and pointed to a half barrel stacked with bottles of wine. Joseph held up a finger. “One bottle, if you please.”

They carried the meal to a wooden bench, Tessa pulled off her gloves and carefully unfurled the cone of paper, nudging the chestnuts into a little pile and arranging the bread and cheese. Joseph used his knife to open the wine and then stabbed the point through the paper with a whack. Tessa gave a satisfying jump and then laughed.

“Now I wonder,” she began, dislodging the knife and slicing the cheese, “can a man who is too lofty for Vauxhall Gardens properly advocate in Parliament for poor children? This was your goal in running for office, was it not? Resources for children without means?”

Joseph took up a loaf of bread and tore it in half. “Yes, well—for schools.” He’d often wondered at Berymede if she’d been listening when he spoke about his Parliamentary dream.

Tessa nodded and selected a slice of cheese. Delicately, she sniffed it and nibbled a small sample. Her tongue darted out. She licked her bottom lip.

Joseph’s own mouth watered. He reached for the bottle of wine and took a swig. “I believe I take offense to the notion that I am too lofty for Vauxhall. It’s not loftiness. More like . . . unease.”

“You are afraid of the Gardens?”

He choked on the wine. “Ah, no.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Returning to the fixtures of my youth—Vauxhall, for example—feels a bit like going back in time. I have this feeling that the very space might reclaim me in some way. Swallow me up. As if all that I have accomplished has been a dream and here is where I really belong.”

“But you are not uncertain of your station, Joseph, surely.”

He shook his head. “Not uncertain, merely—forward-looking. No looking back.”

“Except for the poor children.”

He laughed again. Her wit was so very quick. He’d seen this at Berymede, although not applied in this way. Not insightful. She had gushed over his every comment in those weeks; now, she challenged. He had the thought that he could talk to her all night.

“I fell into the path of education out of chance. But it’s so very rare for a serving boy to happen into the generous employ of an earl willing to hire tutors and cancel chores so he could learn calculus and French. I believe the education of children should not be left to a one-in-a-million chance. If primary school in England was standard—a school in every village—imagine what talent we could discover.”

“But have you given thought to seeking out lower-class boys who show some potential? Boys you could sponsor, as the earl sponsored you?”

“I believe every child in Britain can be taught to read and write and do sums. No one should be singled out. Potential can be hidden, and even those without any particular potential should enjoy literacy. It’s ambitious, I know. But if I could win a seat in the House of Commons, I might effect real change.”

“So this is why you dress so finely and ride such an expensive horse. This is why your matchbox is silver and you never seem to wear the same boots twice?”

“If you’re accusing me of loving the finer things in life, I’ve no defense. Conveniently, these finer things also fit into my larger plan of running for public office. So the answer is both yes and no. I both enjoy and require fine clothes and horses. A good meal and other luxuries.”

“And a wealthy gentleman’s daughter as your wife . . .” Tessa said.

Joseph went very still. He replaced the bottle on the bench. “No, Tessa.” His tone was harsh and she flinched, but on this point, he could not be misunderstood. “That is not the reason I wanted a wealthy gentleman’s daughter.” I lived and breathed you, he thought.

But she had known this at the time. He’d never been vague about his affections for her. He had concealed nothing. She had been the concealer.

“Forgive me,” she said, casting her eyes down. “I . . . I’ve consoled myself with the knowledge that my father’s wealth and connections would be a boon to you. Marrying you saved two lives. I wanted you to gain from it as well. Of course, now—”

“My interest was solely in you,” he said quietly. The truth. It made him angry that she would suggest otherwise.

She stared at the food. After a long moment, she said, “I understand your tenuous relationship with your old life—when you were a servant—and the way it is now, with your wealth and refinement. When I . . .” She paused and glanced up cautiously. Joseph refused to soften his gaze.

She swallowed and continued, “When I think of the idle, vapid, featherheaded girl I was before I moved to London, I cringe. I am loathe to ever slide back into that . . . that . . .” She picked up three chestnuts and then replaced them in a line, one by one.

She finished softly, “May I never entertain such a pointless existence ever again.”

“Your existence was not pointless at Berymede,” he said. Another true statement. Your existence thrilled me.

She shrugged and picked up a piece of bread. “My existence at Berymede is not like it is now.”

Joseph’s stomach dropped. “No,” he said. “I suppose it is not.”

Now, her life contained a baby, it contained a newfound interest in business. Now she was beginning to explore London.

Also now, Joseph was not part of her life.

Tessa took a deep breath and brushed the crumbs from her hand. She gestured to the wine bottle. “May I?”

She brought the bottle to her lips, laughing a little. He watched her struggle to drink and grin at the same time.

“I’ve compelled you to drink wine straight from the bottle,” she said. “I would understand your wanting to leave this habit behind.”

“Drinking from the bottle is one of the few habits I carry over from youth. There was precious little crockery in Barbadoes. Life at sea, and all of that.”

“Stop,” she teased. “I cannot imagine you drinking wine from a bottle as a matter of course. In fact, I can’t imagine you drinking to excess at all. You were rather temperate at Berymede, I recall.”

“I nearly drank myself to death,” he said, “in Barbadoes.” All pride seemed to have left him.

“Oh.” She looked over her shoulder at a bed of moss and rock. “I’m glad you did not.”

He watched her profile, soft and perfect in the waning light, and she felt his gaze and smiled. Something warm and soft flowed between them.

I’m glad you did not.

It was hardly a declaration, but it was better, he thought, than wishing him dead.

He stood, grabbing the bottle of wine by the neck. With his other hand, he gestured to the path. “Come on then. There is more to see.”

He saw her eyes trace the tall, solid line of his body, saw awareness and playfulness and something more flit across her face. Her cheeks pinkened, but he didn’t look away. Slowly, he cocked one suggestive eyebrow.

She rose as if in a trance. He had the overwhelmingly welcome thought that she would walk to him, walk right into his arms, but instead she reached for his outstretched hand. He’d only meant to point the way, but she closed her fingers and tugged.

Joseph allowed her to lead him, following her down the trail. By the next turn, she had coiled her hand around his bicep and leaned in. His heart went very still for two beats but he strode on, escorting her with a nonchalance borne of a thousand female encounters with a thousand women all over the world, and thank God. It would not do to stumble now.

“What would you like to see?” he asked.

“Everything.”