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“My dear Miss Kinney, what a pleasure it is to see you again.” Sara stood in the doorway to the parlor as though she had just arrived for a social call. They’d been practicing social graces all week and it was time to put Evie to the test.

Evie giggled, then swept Sara a curtsy. “How kind of you to call, Miss O’Connor.”

She plunked herself down on her chair and reached for a biscuit from the tray. Sara cleared her throat. Evie froze, her eyes rushing to Sara’s face. Sara nodded meaningfully to the settee.

Evie jumped up. “Won’t you sit down?”

Sara inclined her head and swept into the room. Evie’s eyes strayed to the treats once again, but she resolutely turned her head to Sara.

“We are having very fine weather today,” Evie said.

Sara’s lips twitched at the earnest expression on Evie’s face. “Indeed. Quite warm for November.”

“I trust you’ve continued in good health?” Evie infused just enough boredom into her voice to mimic the haughtiest debutante.

Sara tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snort of amusement. Evie’s face broke into a smile, and they dissolved into giggles.

“It must be so boring to be a lady,” Evie said after they caught their breath. “Don’t they ever talk about anything real?”

Sara thought about the conversation last week in this room. With James. She’d tried to talk about something real, but James Kinney hadn’t wanted to hear it. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Not often. Though once you get good at it, you can say a lot without any words at all.”

“What a waste of time.” Evie flopped against the settee. “Why can’t I just say what I mean?”

Because she’d be vulnerable. She’d get hurt. “Well, we must be mindful of others’ feelings, of course.”

“I wouldn’t say anything mean . But why can’t I talk about laws or history or the books I like?”

Sara couldn’t meet the look of entreaty in her charge’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she answered finally. “Young ladies can’t talk about things like that, at least not with acquaintances. But you’ll meet girls who will become friends. You’ll be able to talk to them.”

“Will I?” Evie toyed with her sash, twisting the loose ribbon around her finger. “Is that what happened to you? You found friends?”

“Uh—well, not exactly.” She ducked her head, avoiding Evie’s searching eyes until she could recover her poise. “That is, I’m just a laundress. I don’t need to make social calls.”

“Then how do you know how to do it?”

She’d prepared herself for a question like this, knowing Evie would eventually wonder. “I lived in a grand house when I was... younger. I heard many such conversations.” That much, at least, was true.

“Well, I think it’s stupid. Talking all day about nothing.”

The front door opened, and Sara tensed. James must be home early from his chambers. She’d managed to avoid him the past few days, slipping away to help in the kitchen as soon as she heard his tread in the hall.

There was no escaping him now. She smoothed the front of her new dress, a blue brushed cotton with a high neck and long, narrow sleeves. Simple to the point of severity, but it fit her well. In this dress, she became a lady again.

Mrs. Hobbes had surprised her by offering to help when she’d come across Sara attempting to draw out a pattern on the kitchen table.

With the two of them sewing every spare minute, they’d finished the gown faster than Sara had dared to hope.

Mrs. Hobbes had waved aside her thanks, muttering darkly about the unsuitability of a governess who dressed like a scullery maid.

The parlor door swung open. “If you’ll just wait here, Mr. Ridley, I’m sure it won’t be long before Mr. Kinney is—oh.

” Mrs. Hobbes spoke over her shoulder, coming to an abrupt stop when she saw the occupants of the parlor.

“Excuse me, Miss O’Connor. No one informed me the front parlor was occupied.

” Her tone indicated this was an unforgivable oversight.

Sara rose to her feet and tried to look repentant.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hobbes. Evie and I were just finishing our tea. We’ll be on our way.” She’d crawl out a window rather than be stuck with Andrew Ridley.

“Uncle Andrew!” Evie squealed and darted around Mrs. Hobbes to embrace the tall figure. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Andrew Ridley bent over her hand in a courtly bow. “How’s my little princess?”

Evie giggled and tugged him to Sara.

“This is my governess, Sa—Miss O’Connor.”

“We’ve met,” he said, not sparing a glance for Sara.

Sara cast her eyes about, wishing there was a discreet way to disappear from Andrew Ridley’s presence. For his part, he ignored Sara and allowed Evie to lead him to an empty chair.

“Come and have some tea. And cakes,” Evie said. He paused in front of the chair, long enough for Sara to realize he had no intention of sitting while Sara stood, poised for flight. She slid into a corner of the settee, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

“You’re looking pale, princess. Shouldn’t you be resting?” He spoke to Evie, but the words were directed at Sara. Questioning her competence.

“Evie has been improving by leaps and bounds, sir,” she said. “And she’s careful to rest every afternoon.”

Andrew Ridley’s eyes met hers and he lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

Sara flushed and straightened her spine. Let the man see for himself what Evie was capable of. “Evie, why don’t you prepare the tea?”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She ought to have made some excuse to leave the room and avoid the man. Instead, she’d drawn his scrutiny down on them both.

His cool gaze swept over her before turning to Evie. “Yes, Evie, please, do the honors.”

Evie’s lips firmed with determination as she began the lengthy ritual. Sara bit her tongue more than once, contenting herself with encouraging smiles and nods when Evie sent panicked glances her way. None of the interplay was lost on Andrew Ridley.

Evie dribbled splotches of tea twice across the pristine tablecloth, but she managed the process well. Very well. Andrew leaned back in his chair with his cup.

“Well done, Evie,” he said with a warm smile to his niece. “Where did you learn to pour? Did Mrs. Hobbes teach you?”

Evie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Sara—er, Miss O’Connor taught me.”

“Really?” Andrew Ridley’s attention turned to Sara, examining her like a specimen in a jar. “Miss O’Connor is full of surprises.”

“Indeed, she is.” James stood in the doorway, arms crossed. His narrow gaze settled on Andrew.

“Papa!” Evie rushed over to her father, and he bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Hello, poppet. Having a tea party, are we?” His eyes scanned the tableau in front of him and came to rest on Sara.

She forced herself to meet his gaze with a bland smile, refusing to speculate on his reaction to her new gown.

Sensing Andrew Ridley watching them, her eyes dropped to the cup in her hands, but not before she saw James’s gaze shift to Andrew with a frown.

She had the fleeting impression he was ready to slay all her dragons, even Andrew Ridley.

“Papa,” Evie called, turning their attention back to her. “I’m learning how to pour.” Her expression turned serious. “Will you join us?”

“Now that you mention it, I could use a cup of tea.” James turned to his daughter, a smile softening his face.

His eyes settled on the only empty seat, beside Sara on the settee.

He took a step forward and Sara braced herself.

She hadn’t been this close to him all week, not since he’d dropped a coin into her hand and told her to make herself presentable.

She forced her shoulders to face straight ahead.

But her body was only too aware that James Kinney was going to sit beside her.

And she wanted him to.

The settee wasn’t large enough for two adults determined to keep a safe distance between them. James angled his body away from Sara, training his eyes on his daughter.

“How do you like your tea, Mr. Kinney?” Evie asked, as though she didn’t know he only took a splash of milk.

James answered absently, his mind still reeling at the sight of Sara in her new gown, minus her mobcap.

It was a simple dress, without an inch of ruffle or lace.

Exactly what a governess would wear. So why did his eyes slide back to her and linger on the elegant line of her throat and the graceful curve of her hand resting on the arm of the settee?

He’d only ever seen her wearing a shapeless sack and a dowdy mobcap.

This woman beside him seemed someone else altogether. A lady.

“Evie, why don’t you tell your Papa about your day?” Sara said suddenly. “Trade seats with me. I’ll finish the tea.”

Sara was already rising out of her seat as though she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Evie swooped in beside him, curling to his side and jabbering on about her lessons.

Andrew peppered her with questions and the two were soon off in a lively debate about the merits of Oliver Cromwell.

James watched Sara, the conversation fading into the background.

She prepared the tea with an efficiency of movement that was beautiful to behold, all the while listening to Evie with an indulgent smile. Even Andrew stopped midsentence to watch her, his eyes widening in disbelief.

James had long suspected there was more to Sara than she let on, but to be so well-versed in such a ritual bespoke more than just a talent for mimicking her betters. She’d prepared tea, and often, though such a task was usually reserved for the lady of the house.

“Mr. Kinney?” Sara’s voice recalled him to his senses. She held out the cup.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking the saucer.

“Do you like Sara’s new dress, Papa?” Evie asked. Sara’s cup clattered in its saucer. Evie sent her a guilty glance. “Miss O’Connor, I mean.”

“I—it’s a very nice dress,” he muttered, taking a gulp of tea and burning his tongue in the process. He felt the weight of Andrew’s gaze on him, searching and suspicious.

“Well, it’s time I must be leaving,” Andrew announced, rising to his feet. “James, if you’ll see me out, there are a few things I’d like to discuss.”

“Certainly.”

It wasn’t until they were at the front door that Andrew turned to face him, his eyes piercing. “I don’t know what is going on in this house, James Kinney, but you’d best watch yourself.”

He was used to Andrew’s hyperbole, but his words still took James aback. “I can’t imagine what you mean,” he said, his voice bland.

“You know exactly what I mean. I see the way you watch her. To think I’d live to see Amelia’s place usurped by a—” He pressed his lips together. “It doesn’t bear thinking.”

James was caught between denial and mortification that his attraction to Sara had been so obvious. “Your suspicions do you a discredit, Andrew,” he said, opting for denial. “I have no intentions toward Miss O’Connor. If that is indeed what you are referring to.”

His words seemed to placate his friend. Andrew’s eyes searched his face.

“See that you don’t forget it.” He edged closer as they walked down the path to where he’d tethered his horse.

“Listen, I didn’t come here today to lecture you on governesses.

” His eyes began to crackle with excitement.

“There’s a meeting tomorrow. I want you to come with me.

” James’s heart started to pound. It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

A chance to find out what was really going on.

“We could leave as soon as the afternoon trial is done,” Andrew continued.

“It’s not far. Just north of here at Montgomery’s Tavern. ”

James wanted to shake some sense into his friend.

Reasoned letters and careful maneuvering were the ways to effect change, not a meeting of hotheads filled with alcohol and fueled by a sense of injustice.

But he needed to show Andrew he was open to change and willing to hear every side to the story. He nodded. “Yes, I’ll come.”

Andrew grinned, and James caught a glimpse of the open, generous young man who’d welcomed a newcomer into his life. Who’d given James a family again.

“Excellent. I knew you’d change your mind.

” He rolled his eyes with the familiarity of a longtime friend.

“You’ve always needed time to think things through.

” With a smooth motion, Andrew mounted his horse and spurred him down the street, as impatient as ever, weaving his way between the carts and pedestrians.

Filled with misgivings, James made his way back to the parlor. He paused a moment to observe Evie and Sara undetected. Evie giggled as Sara drank an exaggerated sip of tea, her pinky finger in the air, and took the tiniest bite of a biscuit.

“Why can’t I just eat as many biscuits as I want? There are lots on the plate.”

The smile left Sara’s face. “Indeed, my love, but you wouldn’t feel well after a whole plate of biscuits. Besides, many children have never tasted a biscuit. Doesn’t seem fair that you should eat so many, does it?”

“Why haven’t they any biscuits?”

“Sugar is expensive.”

“Oh.” Evie sank back in her chair, her face thoughtful.

“Come, let’s take the tea things to the kitchen. I’m sure Mrs. Hobbes could use some help with supper, too.”

James backed away from the parlor before either occupant noticed him. One minute she poured tea like a countess, the next she championed the poor. Who was this woman?