Harry turned back to Olivia. He was not sure he had ever seen such well-controlled fury. It was impressive.

“It’s so nice to see you this morning, Winston,” Miss Cadogan put in, quite possibly oblivious to the familial tension. “Are you often out and about this early?”

“No,” he replied. “Mother sent me to fetch Olivia.”

Miss Cadogan smiled brightly and returned her attention to Harry. “Then it seems you are the only regular morning visitor here in the park. I, too, came looking for Olivia. We haven’t had a chance to chat for ages. She has been ill, you know.”

“I did not know,” Harry said. “I hope you are feeling better.”

“Winston was also ill,” Olivia said. She offered a frightening smile. “Much sicker than I.”

“Oh, no!” Miss Cadogan gushed. “I am so sorry to hear that.” She turned to Winston with great concern. “Had I known, I would have brought you a tincture.”

“I shall be sure to inform you next time he falls ill,” Olivia told her. She turned to Harry, lowered her voice, and said, “It happens more often that we would like. It’s very distressing.” And then, down to a whisper: “He was born that way.”

Miss Cadogan rose to her feet, all of her attention on Winston. “Are you feeling better now? I must say, you look a bit peaked.”

Harry thought he looked the picture of health.

“I’m fine,” Winston bit off, his ire clearly directed at his sister, who was still sitting on the bench, looking extremely satisfied with her recent accomplishments.

Miss Cadogan looked past him to Olivia, who was shaking her head, mouthing, “He’s not.”

“I will definitely bring you that tincture,” Miss Cadogan said. “It tastes a bit foul, but our housekeeper swears by it. And I insist that you return home at once. It’s chilly out.”

“It’s really not necessary,” Winston protested.

“I was planning to return soon, anyway,” Miss Cadogan put in, proving that young Bevelstoke was no match for the combined might of two determined women. “You may escort me.”

“Do inform Mother that I shall be back momentarily,” Olivia said sweetly.

Her brother glared at her, but he had clearly been outmaneuvered, and so he took Miss Cadogan’s arm and led her away.

“Well played, Lady Olivia,” Harry said admiringly, once the others were out of earshot.

She gave him a bored look. “You are not the only gentleman I find irritating.”

There was no way he could ignore a comment like that, so he sat beside her, plopping right down into the spot recently vacated by Miss Cadogan. “Anything interesting?” he asked, motioning toward her newspaper.

“I would not know,” she replied. “I am besieged by interruptions.”

He chuckled. “My cue to apologize, I am sure, but I shan’t indulge you.”

Her lips pressed together, presumably pinching back a retort.

He sat back, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, letting his lazy pose signal that he was settling in beside her. “After all,” he mused, “it is not as if I am invading your privacy. We are sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. Open air, public place, et cetera, et cetera.”

He paused, giving her the chance to comment. She did not. So he continued on with: “If you’d wanted privacy, you might have taken your newspaper to your bedchamber, or perhaps to your office. Those are places, would you not agree, where one might operate under the assumption of privacy?”

Again he waited. Again, she refused to engage. So he lowered his voice to a murmur and asked, “Do you have an office, Lady Olivia?”

He did not think she would answer, as she was staring straight ahead, quite determinedly not looking at him, but much to his surprise, she ground out, “I do not.”

He admired her for that, but not enough to change tack. “Pity, that,” he murmured. “I find it most beneficial to have a place that is my own that is not used for sleeping. You should consider an office, Lady Olivia, if you wish for a place to read your newspaper away from the prying eyes of others.”

She turned to him with an impressively indifferent expression. “You’re sitting on my maid’s embroidery.”

“My apologies.” He looked down, pulled the fabric out from beneath him-he was barely on the hem, but he decided to be magnanimous and decline to comment-and set it aside. “Where is your maid?”

She waved her hand in an unspecific direction. “She went off to join Mary’s maid. I’m sure she will return at any moment.”

He had no response to that, so instead he said, “You and your brother have an interesting relationship.”

She shrugged, clearly trying to be rid of him.

“Mine detests me.”

That caught her interest. She turned, smiled too sweetly, and said, “I would like to meet him.”

“I’m sure you would,” he replied. “He is not often in my office, but when he gets up at a reasonable hour, he breakfasts in the small dining room. The windows are just two past my office toward the front of the house. You might try looking for him there.”

She gave him a hard look. He smiled blandly in return.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

He motioned to his mount. “Out for a ride.”

“No, why here?” she ground out. “On this bench. Sitting next to me.”

He thought about that for a moment. “You vex me.”

Her lips pursed. “Well,” she said, somewhat briskly. “I suppose that’s only fair.”