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Grace saturated her words in arrogance. “I’m too tired to dance.” She may shake in the sheriff’s presence, but she could hold her own against his son.

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Ah. I see. Maybe next month.” He didn’t even give her the satisfaction of appearing distraught, dulling the sense of power this brazen rejection might have given her.

“Garrick!” Willa Leroux marched up to her cousin, and Grace’s face flamed in anger at the sight of her. “Come, I want to dance,” Willa said, leveling a glare at Grace. The petite girl’s full height placed her barely above Grace’s eye level sitting, so for once, Willa could look down on her. “Don’t waste your time on rude waste-aways.”

“Some of us have actual work to do during the day,” Grace shot back.

Willa rolled her eyes, turning away with such energy that the bronze clasps attached to the small braids in her hair swung about her face. Willa pulled at Garrick, and as he followed, he finally looked directly at Grace, who was glaring at Willa and barely caught the moment. Was that a smile?

Grace scowled.

Typical Clairmont, relishing discontent.

Grace’s anger burned so hot she knew the splotches wouldn’t fade for the rest of the night. She grabbed for the wrap she’dtossed on the back of her chair at the start of the event and wound it about her neck.

Leave it to Willa Leroux to make an annoyance worse.

It wasn’t bad enough that Jonathan had abandoned Grace; a Clairmont relative had to move into his family’s home. Mayor Nautin loved to target those against him with decrees and taxes until they fled, then fill the vacancy with those who’d keep him in power—all those people his “nobles”duped into coming to a failing town. But hey, at least they got to come to a party once a month.

As Grace and her parents walked back home later that night, she tried to shed her lingering anger. The late-summer wind tickled her arms where her wrap didn’t reach, cooling the fury but not dousing it.

The moon was a sliver, and little light touched the town. Grace watched the world just at the edge of the lantern light, anxious to see what the darkness hid but averse to the futility of staring at black masses and expecting detail to suddenly illuminate.

Their manor came into view, a two-story home with a deep porch, lighted by a hovering lantern light. The flag hanging from their eaves, which displayed the family crest of the royal Arelli ruling line—a rampant bear reared up in a fierce growl surrounded by curling streams of water—flicked in the gentle wind.

From a distance, the oakwood building seemed as grand as it had been when it was built hundreds of years ago, but Grace knew that behind the sturdy oak door, the floorboards creaked and wobbly furniture hid cracks and chips.

She dashed ahead of her parents to their front door, where she greeted Milo Tucker, holder of the lantern.

Everyone locked their doors these days. One never knew when the mayor might decide he had a right to everything in your home. Even friends turned enemies when hunger madethem desperate. With the supplies Grace’s family set aside for distribution the morning after a soirée, they liked to have extra protection for Russell, who was too young to attend.

And who better to deter intruders than a Tucker? The five Tucker brothers might have been copies of each other, especially now that the youngest was fifteen years old and quickly filling out the same frame as his brothers. All had shoulder-length dusty-brown hair, golden suntanned skin, and eyes the color of oakwood. They were average in height, stocky, with thick muscle gained through hard labor farming, milling some of their crop, and repairing buildings and machinery in town.

Frank and Milo did seem a bit leaner than their brothers, though that was only noticeable when the family stood together. Perhaps the slimming resulted from working as servants for the Stantons for a couple years.

“Anything exciting this evening?” Grace asked.

Milo was soft-spoken, but he took any job he was given seriously.

“No, Miss Robbins. Not at the manor. Your brother is safe.”

Grace smiled. If Russell was fine, then so were the supplies stored beneath the floorboards in their dining room.

“Only at the manor?” she asked. “Was there excitement elsewhere?”

“Some movement in Sherwood Forest sent birds flying in loud protest. Probably an animal wandering about.”

Grace chuckled. “Some poor deer forgot it wasn’t nocturnal.”

“Likely.”

“You’d better get home, Milo.”

Milo nodded and immediately headed down the stairs. Mother and Father paid him, then he walked toward their carriage at the back of their manor.

The Robbinses stored their carriage with the Tuckers these days. Her parents claimed it a service to the Robbins family notto have to house both a carriage and wagon on their property, but Grace knew that the Tuckers had sold their own carriage a few years ago in order to afford to feed their family of seven, five of whom were growing young men of considerable bulk.

Grace pulled her wrap tighter and surveyed the town as she waited for her ambling parents to make their way to the door with the key.