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She looked again at the sky. It was so beautiful, and so ordinary. Taking Georgie up here most likely made them regret Vauxhall even more.

“Stars aren’t thrilling like rockets. Once in a great while, one shoots across the sky, but mostly, they stay in one place and shine.” She wiped her clammy palm on her skirt, willing a star to shoot. But the stars were motionless. “They don’t explode. They don’t make noise. They don’t give off smoke, or the stimulating smell of gunpowder. Or if they do, they’re so far away you can’t tell.” All of her second thoughts were knotting together in her stomach, making a heavy ball. “I should have realized this would seem dull, after the spangles and plumes. We can go back down.”

Georgie had already dropped onto the linens. They were stretching out their long legs and settling their head on a pillow. “How far are the stars, really?”

She set down her lantern, then stood with her arms hanging awkwardly, overwhelmed by hesitation.

“They look impossibly close,” they said. “Come see.”

Heart thundering in her ears, she lay down beside them. Wind streamed over the parapet, gentle and warm. The night was mild, balmy and summer sweet. The knot in her stomach loosened.

“They look close,” she agreed. “But only if they’re truly that small.” She lifted a fanciful finger to touch one of the tiny, twinkling lights.

Georgie trapped her wrist on the way down and brought her knuckles to their lips.

“Thank you,” they said, breath seeping through her fingers.

“I know you’d rather be there,” she whispered. “In Vauxhall. In London.”

“That’s the thing.” They rolled onto their side, propped themself on an elbow, and peered down at her. Their face was shadowed, the lantern light touching one cheekbone with flickering gold. “I’d rather be where I am, with you.”

She almost shook her head. Because she was hearing always. She was hearing anywhere, together. And surely, they meant something more specific. They meant this particular moment. They meant it would do. Country fireworks. The two of them, beneath the stars, for this one birthday night.

She didn’t know the hour. She couldn’t mark midnight with a dazzling show. But she knew what she wanted to do instead.

“My plan,” she said softly, “is to make you smile like Charles Peach was smiling at St. Alcmund’s.”

They’d been smiling. But now their smile faded. The way they looked at her…

Her pulse raced faster.

“I want to do something to you,” she continued, “like Lord Phillip did to him, in the ferns.”

The corner of their mouth tipped up. “What do you think they did?”

“I almost asked Lord Phillip,” she confessed, “as we were leaving, but I couldn’t figure out how to get him alone.”

Georgie’s laugh rang out, and they flopped on their back, hands pressed to their eyes. “My God.”

“I like to gather information.”

“You do.” Georgie’s murmur was richly amused. “I know.”

“I have thought about it. I expect there was thrusting, based on reading, observation, and extrapolation. We could thrust. Fingers must work as well as pricks.”

“I might die,” said Georgie. “You’re killing me.”

She raised up on an elbow. “You don’t like my plan?”

They folded their arms beneath their head. “I love it. I love everything about it. Keep talking.” There was something more than amusement in their voice. “Thrusting, and what else?”

“Kissing. Of course.”

“Of course.”

“It’s so lovely. To kiss.” She was blushing. “I’m sure it’s lovely on places other than the mouth.”

“And on other mouths,” Georgie drawled, and she gave her head a dizzy shake, confused into a resurgence of awkwardness.