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As Grace adjusted her hat and glanced at their fields, mourning the lost time, a flash of movement caught her eye. She stopped short.

Sweeping a silver scythe across wheat stalks was Willa Leroux.

When Grace let out a happy laugh, Mother followed her gaze. “Well now, I like that girl,” she said.

Grace nodded. “She’s not afraid of him.”

Mother sighed. “I remember when I wasn’t. Come, Grace.”

Grace desperately wanted to join her new friend. She took a step toward her, then paused. Grace wasn’t sure she had the luxury Willa did. Willa was a Clairmont, even if she didn’t bear the name. Grace was a Robbins. Before the madness the Rogue had stirred up, the mayor had made it clear he intended to target her family. That anger might have taken a back seat, but it wasn’t gone.

It was painful to turn her back on Willa and continue toward the town square.

Grace’s family was one of the last to arrive, and yet the town square was eerily quiet. The few young children in town were chattering and crying, but teenagers and adults alike didn’t speak.

Except Russell, who bounded over to the Stantons and struck up a blaring conversation with Lizzy’s brothers. Russell, Cyrus, and Jesse crowed, declaring they’d win every event.

Grace shook her head, tuned her brother out, and walked over to Lizzy.

“Oh! Grace, you’re here! I’m so tired of those boys. They’ve been arguing since midday yesterday, when they saw Frank lugging a sparring dummy in front of our home. A sparring dummy. Can you believe it? I can’t tell whether I’m more affronted by the eyesore or excited to watch the action.”

Grace nodded, uncertain how to respond. She couldn’t care less about the aesthetics. As for excitement, she felt too sick with worry to entertain such positivity.

Lizzy didn’t seem to notice Grace’s melancholy. “I bet you’re excited,” she said. “It ought to be fun to see James wielding a sword.”

James wielding a sword?

Grace frowned. Maybe a month ago, she’d have watched, heart aflutter, trying to keep her expression prim for the sake of his reserved sensibilities. Right now, she wasn’t sure what to feel. He’d missed their meeting, robbing her of the chance to decide once and for all what she thought of him.

Lizzy eyed Grace. “That was a lackluster response. You have totryto show interest.”

Grace sighed. “I’m not exactly in the mood today, Lizzy.”

Lackluster. That was a great word to describe her attitude toward James—a shiny ideal of a rebel, now dulled by reality.

The thoughts of James had her subconsciously scanning the crowd. She found him standing with his back to her, sunlight glinting off his curls.

Wait, no. She’d made this mistake before. Those curls were black as coal, no signs of the streaks of red she would see in James’s hair.

She’d found Garrick, not James.

If he hadn’t been facing away from her, she’d have known the difference instantly, in part because she was sure Garrick would have stared at her in that way that sent her stomach swirling, reigniting the burning handprint where he’d held her arm.

What was her rebellious heart up to? Why couldn’t Garrick be a little less stunning? And why couldn’t James make it easier for her to tell herself what she wanted and banish unwanted attraction? This duality of desires brewed guilt deep within her. She couldn’t let herself be pulled into the charisma of a Clairmont. Especially not while thoughts of huddling next to the Rogue beneath his cloak brought giddy heat to her cheeks.

“Well.” Lizzy drew out the word with a teasing lilt. “I see. How about watching Garrick compete? Does that sound more fun? He’s got quite the lean, defined muscles, that one.”

Grace started. Curses. Lizzy had caught her staring. “Garrick? Clairmont? Why should I care about his arms?” But her protestations couldn’t banish the heat creeping up her neck. “I’m not all that excited about any of this, Lizzy. I want to be harvesting our wheat.”

Lizzy chuckled but latched on to the new topic easily. “Harvesting? Why would you want to be doing that? You’ve done it for a week already, and it looks exhausting and filthy. Today is going to be a blast.”

“You can’t be serious, Lizzy.”

Grace’s friend blinked in confusion at the edge to Grace’s words. “I… What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Lizzy, we’ve put a lot of work in all year. It would be devastating if this ‘morale boost’made it so half our crop won’t bring in a cent.”

“It’s just a day, Grace.”