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“ T hat is three sighs in just three minutes, Sophie,” Amelia said from across the carriage.

“Is there a limit on sighing?” Sophie asked.

“Of course!”

Today there was to be a fete in the local village. It was a long-standing tradition, and one all members of Garland Hall attended. Patrick had told them last night during their evening meal that it was important the locals met Sophie.

No one else seemed to notice the frosty atmosphere between Lord and Lady Coulter, even if they had barely spoken a word to each other all evening.

“It has been so long since I went to a fete,” Amelia said. “I hope they have fudge.”

Looking out the window, Sophie saw the armed man on horseback riding beside her window and knew two more, one of which was Robbie, were on the driver’s seat.

She had gone to her own bed last night after they had all retired for the evening. Patrick had been playing pool with Stephen, so she’d decided, considering the tension between them, that her bed was better. She’d woken to him picking her up and carrying her back to his bed.

No words were spoken, and she fell asleep again with his heavy arm around her waist. In the morning, he’d been gone.

She understood his words had come from fear. Understood and accepted he was worried Jack Spode would get to her, but his words had hurt, and she’d reacted.

“Four!” Amelia said.

“Sorry, it is just so nice to be out in the sunshine. I wish Timmy and Letty could be here. They would love this.”

Her brother had woken with a sniffle, and Letty had said she would stay behind with him, as she had letters to write.

“There will be more fetes, Sophie.”

“I know. Now, do you want to tell me what is going on between you and Stephen?”

“No,” Amelia said, looking out of the other window. “Do you want to tell me what is going on between you and the Dark Lord?”

“Dark Lord?” Sophie queried.

“I gave him that name the first time I met him at a ball. He was all brooding and quiet and—well, dark.” Amelia laughed at Sophie’s puzzled expression.

“It is only with you that he smiles, Sophie. It is obvious that he loves you, because when you are in the room, everyone else ceases to exist and his eyes follow your every move.”

“He has not said as much, and I’m afraid we argued yesterday,” Sophie admitted.

“He loves you, Sophie. So, whatever is going on between you two, I suggest you fix it.”

She nodded. “I will, but he is not always easy to talk to.”

Amelia laughed. “I’m sure he’s used to having things done his way. You will just have to convince him otherwise.”

“And how is it you are so wise about these things?”

“I’ve watched many married couples communicate,” her friend said.

“Well, as we are confiding in each other, then I must say that Stephen cannot take his eyes off you either.”

“He is far too arrogant and self-important.” Amelia dismissed the words with a flick of her wrist. But Sophie had seen the spark of interest in her eyes when Stephen was nearby. “Besides, until this business with Mother has reached a conclusion, I can think of nothing more.”

“You wrote to her when you arrived, and that letter will reach her soon. We will await her reply and then decide on the next course of action,” Sophie said. “You will always have a home with us, Amelia, no matter what the outcome is.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the hand Sophie held out to her. “Now, we are going to enjoy ourselves today at the fete, eating food and purchasing whatever we wish.”

“I like that idea.”

Ribble had told Sophie his lordship would be needed to oversee things, which was why he would be there early.

What things, she had no idea.

“This is pretty,” Amelia said as the carriage clattered over a stone bridge into a lovely little village. Houses lined either side of the road, and Sophie saw people everywhere she looked.

“Clearly many are here for the fete.”

“They better have left me some fudge” was Amelia’s reply.

The fete was held on the village green opposite the church.

Sights and smells that made their mouths water bombarded the ladies as they stepped down.

People milled around a group of stalls displaying a variety of items. There were smiles and laughter and small children running in several different directions.

The sight reminded her of the village she’d been raised in, and she felt a pang of loss for her mother, who would be shocked and pleased to know what had become of her son and daughter.

“Hurry, there is shopping to be done,” Amelia said, towing Sophie toward the stalls.

Where is Patrick?

They wandered, they laughed, and Sophie introduced herself to people.

Many spoke to her of Patrick, saying what a wonderful man he was and how generous he had been to the locals.

She’d known he was a good man, but hearing it made her proud to be his countess, even if they were angry with each other.

Amelia spent most of the time with her mouth full of something sweet.

“Don’t you dare moan to me this evening, Amelia Logan, if your stomach hurts.”

“How could anything so delicious be harmful to a person? How is your arm, Sophie? Do you need to rest?”

“I feel fine, thank you. The sling helps when I am standing for long periods.”

“If I may have a word, my lady?”

Sophie turned to find a man behind her. Round rosy cheeks, heavy jowls, with not a hair on his head, he wore a pink-and-navy waistcoat embroidered with gold threads and teamed with primrose-yellow pantaloons.

Both she and Amelia blinked at the sight.

“I am Squire Pickles, my lady, and we would be honored if you would judge the pie contest,” he said, sinking into a bow that seemed to take a long time and a huge amount of effort. Just when Sophie feared he would topple, he righted himself with a loud bark of laughter.

“Lord Coulter, it seems, is running behind schedule,” Squire Pickles boomed as he looked at his pocket watch.

“He is not here?” Sophie asked. Ribble had said he’d gone on ahead of them to the village. If he isn’t here, where is he?

“Lord Coulter never misses our competition, so I know it is only a matter of minutes before he arrives,” Squire Pickles said. “So, if you would step in until he does, we would be grateful.”

Sophie was not overly fond of pies and had already eaten her fair share of Amelia’s sweets, yet she could see refusal was not an option.

Where is Patrick? Was this tightness in her chest and worry gnawing at her belly what he’d experienced yesterday? Because if so, she was even more understanding now.

“Of course, Mr. Pickles, the countess would be delighted to judge,” Amelia said when she felt Sophie had hesitated too long to give her answer.

“Excellent, excellent! If you will follow me, my lady, we shall begin.”

“I don’t even like pies,” she hissed at Amelia.

Her friend gasped. “But that is sacrilege. In this country, we are born eating them. Get up there, do your duty, and smile while doing so,” Amelia said. “I will sit here and wait for you, Sophie.” Amelia pointed to a group of seats close to the tables set up with pies.

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” Sophie hissed. “Where is Patrick? He should be here by now.”

“He will be.”

“What if something has happened to him?”

“He has Lord Sumner with him. I’m sure they’ve just been delayed. Now, focus on smiling and being the Countess of Coulter.”

As yet, she had not told Amelia the truth about her identity but knew one day that, too, would have to be shared. She hoped her friend was as understanding as Patrick and Stephen when that time came.

She gave her friend a weak smile. Amelia popped another piece of fudge into her mouth and smiled back.