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Her skin heated and she jerked her attention back to James. One challenge at a time.

“I do so hope there’s a green parasol,” Grace said. “Green goes well with my hair. Green looks wonderful on you as well. Matches your eyes.” Green like a verdure cloak.

James coughed. “Thank you. I shall search for a green parasol.”

Another sidestep. Curses. But then, it had been a long shot expecting him to claim green as a color he adored wearing.

“Your refreshments, Miss Stanton.” Milo appeared beside the picnic blanket.

“Oh, I’m parched.” Lizzy reached for a glass, fanning herself with her hand as though she’d been languishing in the sun for hours instead of smiling like a giddy matchmaker seconds ago.

“Would you like to join us, Milo?” Grace asked. He deserved to enjoy the picnic as much as they did. His family also had a harvest to gather, and since manor and town servants were allowed time off to help their families and neighbors bring in the crops that made up the bulk of Fidara’s income, he would work as hard as Grace over the next month and a half, and have a job to come back to when they were done.

Lizzy eyed Grace with a “What are you doing?” kind of annoyance.

Milo looked between Lizzy and Grace, not sure what to do. With no added direction, he glanced at the picnic blanket and adjusted the large tray in his arms, as though trying to figure out a graceful way to sit without dumping anything.

“Allow me,” James said. He reached out, took the tray from Milo, and placed it on the blanket in front of Grace. Milo smiled in gratitude but didn’t sit.

“And now, I must continue wandering,” James said. “So many people to speak to today.”

Lizzy looked devastated. “Oh, but James, you just got here.”

“I’ve business to attend to.” James rose to his feet and made his escape.

As Grace watched him leave, she pouted.

She hadn’t proven a thing.

“Oh, Milo!” Lizzy exclaimed. “Your timing is just rotten.”

Grace cringed. “Lizzy. He was just doing his job.”

Milo only nodded and muttered an emotionless “My apologies, Miss Stanton.”

Lizzy ignored him and instead turned to face Grace, suddenly joyous again. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you so bold with James. I was impressed.”

Grace considered telling Lizzy off again, but she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. She sighed. Her friend’s apathy could be cruel at times, but it also meant she didn’t care if the mayor hated the Robbinses. “I got tired of not knowing what he was thinking.”

Lizzy squealed and grabbed Grace’s arm. “A stroll through the square with a parasol he purchased for you. That’s the start of a courtship.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Grace responded instinctively, but the thought did foster excitement. Her botched interrogation might just be a successful bit of flirting. She imagined pleasant days with James, coaxing secrets from him, learning about how he’d grown tired of the way the mayor treated people and how he’d found a verdure cloak.

She’d convince him reviving the Rogue wasn’t the way to fight back, and together, they’d sit through soirées and find methods of undermining the sheriff for years on end.

Only, what started as a pleasant daydream quickly fizzled into exhaustion. Years on end of passive rebellion. Was that really what she wanted? The Rogue was living out the dream she’d had for years.

But no, it was too much of a risk. She knew that.

She didn’t have time to wait for James to shed his taciturn ways. Besides, he might not be the Rogue. She had no proof. Maybe it was Jonathan, after all.

There must be a way to find the Rogue, whoever he was—James, Jonathan, or… well, anyone who secretly didn’t align with the mayor—and convince him to shelve the verdure cloak.

Grace’s eyes drifted back to the mayor’s pedestal, where Garrick—she checked—had joined his father and Mayor Nautin.

Could she watch the Kavanah house for the Rogue? Grace had been so sure the hideout was no longer viable that she’d abandoned that plan. But if Sheriff Clairmont didn’t know to search the building, maybe the Rogue would continue to use it, if he hadn’t seen or understood her message. Should she stake it out tonight?

Mayor Nautin turned toward her, eyes downturned in annoyance as he pulled at the thick cloth about his neck, sweat rolling down a face red from annoyance or sunburn. His scraggly blond locks were plastered to his forehead.