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Poor Maria guessed correctly that she would be left out, but Sarah could spare no pangs for the girl, being too occupied with her own concerns.

For too soon the expected invitation arrived from Mrs. Dere, and far too soon she was seated in Lord Dere’s coach beside Mrs. Barstow and Frances to be carried over the hard, frosty ground to Perryfield.

“My uncle wanted to have Harker and Ogle stop at the rectory as well, to pick up Dr. Rearden and Mr. Langworthy,” Mrs. Markham Dere informed them, when they had greeted each other and were warming themselves before the fire, “but I reminded him that you Barstows had not yet been introduced to the new curate, so it simply could not be done.”

“Therefore my coachmen must make another trip to fetch them,” added the baron in his gentle voice.

His niece by marriage stood alongside him, her golden hair gleaming beside Lord Dere’s silver head and one hand placed on her son Peter’s shoulder.

While Mrs. Dere was always an impressive woman, handsome, immaculate and well-dressed, Sarah was especially struck by her that afternoon in the vast Perryfield drawing room because she imagined how different this reception would appear to Horace Langworthy after the Barstows and their crowded parlor.

Here everything shone: Mrs. Dere’s hair, the ormolu sconces and mantel clock, the polished wood furniture, the scattered porcelain pieces.

Enough winter sunlight filtered through the windows to throw bars of light and dark across the heavy carpet and figured plasterwork.

“How did you like Dr. Rearden?” asked Mrs. Barstow, thinking to approach the subject of Mr. Langworthy’s acceptability by indirection.

The baron smiled. “He—”

“Quite unexceptionable,” declared Mrs. Dere, “though he had little to say to me. He is perhaps Mr. Terry’s age and more accustomed to academic duties than such as our parish will require.”

“Jolly fellow,” observed Lord Dere. “What do you think, eh, Peter?”

“I like his whiskers,” said Peter, with a flat air unusual to him.

Mrs. Dere rolled her eyes. “Peter was disappointed not to be taken to Iffley Cottage this evening.”

“He does usually get to, whenever we come to Perryfield to dine,” Frances said.

“And Reed makes them something tasty and interesting to eat, like—what was that Gordy said you had last time? Icicle sandwiches? It was really shavings of white carrot and roast pork.” She gave the boy a playful nudge.

“Today you must stay here with the dull grown-ups.”

As ever, when Frances exerted herself to ease matters with Mrs. Dere, the mistress of Perryfield thawed. “Well, Peter, you may think furthering your acquaintance with the curate dull, but you did like the sailor, I believe. You had enough to say about him later.”

Here was the opening they had been waiting for, and Peter gave an outright bounce on his toes. “I did like him, Mama, and you must must must let me take navigation lessons with Gordy and the Tommies! I will die to be left out!”

“Now, now,” she murmured, her frown returning.

“I have told you I will make up my mind soon on the matter, though I still cannot see what earthly use such a skill would be. You are not going to be a navy officer, after all, any more than Gordon or the Tommies, and I cannot think what the man was about, putting such an idea into all of your heads.” Her disapproval swept from her son to fall upon Sarah.

“Honestly, Mrs. Sebastian, it is one thing to invite your late husband’s friend to pay his respects, and quite another for him to take up residence with our new curate and make a stir. ”

Despite having known Mrs. Markham Dere for over two years now, Sarah was caught off guard by this charge.

Indeed, of all the Barstow ladies, she was most used to being ignored when at Perryfield, having neither entangled herself with the baron (Adela), shamed the family with a sordid history (Jane), or won Mrs. Dere’s favor with hard work and flattery (Frances).

Sarah had always imagined Mrs. Dere considered her a younger version of her mother-in-law: quiet, proper, and harmless—apart from wearisome poverty and dependence, of course.

Here was a new development! And how unjust to be attacked for something which was none of her own doing. She bore up to face it, however.

“Madam,” she replied, her voice a touch higher than its usual register, “before Mr. Langworthy wrote to announce he would be coming, I had no more notion of it than you. Nor did he come at my request, but rather he was asked to do so by my late husband Sebastian, and altogether without my knowledge.”

When Mrs. Dere made no answer, only lifting a questioning brow, Sarah was forced to go on. “You see, he was Sebastian’s fellow officer and good friend, and he asked him to make sure Bash and I were…provided for, in case of his—Sebastian’s—death.”

“And if you were not? What was Mr. Langworthy to do in that instance?”

Feeling herself blush, Sarah said, “Share what he could spare, I suppose. Navy men are inclined to look out for each other that way. But—because of Lord Dere’s goodness to us, Mrs. Barstow’s income, and the pension afforded me from the Chatham Chest, no more was required.”

Mrs. Dere knew very well the baron hated to have his generosity held up for all to see, and as his generosity was no favorite subject of hers either, she moved on.

“That’s all very well, Mrs. Sebastian, but seeing, as you say, that your needs are met and more, why should he then stay? That is my question.”

“In truth, I do not know.”

“For my part,” interposed Mrs. Barstow, “I am glad he will stay longer, for talking to Mr. Langworthy of my son gave me a little piece of him again.”

“Yes, how fortunate for our little community,” spoke up Lord Dere. “Even if we have no future sailors among our young boys, it can do them no harm to learn of the danger and sacrifices such men have made in these times.”

“Yes, sir, exactly!” cried Peter again, and if he had asked Frances for advice, she would have told him he was in danger of doing it too brown, but Mrs. Dere easily ignored him.

“That may be true of navy men in general, Uncle,” she resumed, “but we know nothing of this particular person, as even Mrs. Sebastian admits. I have nothing to say against him, you understand, having only met him yesterday, but I confess to a…slight uneasiness as to how quickly he has insinuated himself into the community. Lodging at the rectory! Offering to teach Dr. Rearden’s pupils and the foremost young man of the parish!

” (Gesturing to Peter, in case no one knew whom she meant.)

“We do know, however, that my son not only approved of him but considered him an intimate friend,” spoke up the elder Mrs. Barstow stoutly, “and that is the only endorsement of Mr. Langworthy we require, is it not, Sarah?”

“Sebastian did—certainly—he—Mr. Langworthy, that is—was certainly Sebastian’s intimate,” Sarah floundered.

How could she possibly please both these important women in her life?

While she shared Mrs. Dere’s suspicions of Mr. Langworthy, siding with Mrs. Dere against her own mother-in-law was out of the question.

As usual, when one tries to please two widely separated camps, Sarah’s reply pleased neither. Mrs. Barstow regarded her with a hint of reproach and Mrs. Dere with clear vexation at her wheyishness. But finding her the weakest link in the chain, the latter pressed harder upon her.

“Mrs. Sebastian, you are perhaps best positioned to speak to Mr. Langworthy’s character, if your husband confided in you. Did Mr. Sebastian Barstow ever characterize his friend as… impulsive? One inclined to…take advantage of the liberality of others?”

“He—er—”

“Mrs. Dere,” Mrs. Barstow interjected again, now seeing she must do battle alone and drawing herself up, “my lost son not being present to mount a defense of Mr. Langworthy, I must speak.” She held up deprecating palms. “I am sure, if Mr. Langworthy took a liking to Dr. Rearden and had no other matters pressing upon him at present, there is no reason to suspect him of any other motive beyond a wish to show us kindness, for Sebastian’s sake.

I must admit I took to the young man instantly for that reason and was quite candid in saying I hoped we might have more opportunities for conversation—”

“You do not suspect him, then, of also hoping to stretch his limited means?” uttered the relentless Mrs. Dere.

“I do,” blurted Sarah, her pulse speeding.

“If—if he was anything like my Sebastian. Having never been a poor lieutenant yourself, Mrs. Dere, you will have no idea how nearly all of them must ‘stretch’ as you say, until their luck turns and they come into some prize money. How much more when the Peace has put them ashore on half pay! If—if Mr. Langworthy was quick to accept Dr. Rearden’s invitation, I can only say Sebastian would likely have been just as quick, in his shoes. ”

The speech won back some of Mrs. Barstow’s favor, at least, though Mrs. Dere’s lips pressed into a line.

But there was no time for more. The footman Wood flung open the drawing room doors, announcing, “Dr. Septimus Rearden and Mr. Horace Langworthy!”