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“My sister may be an angel among women,” said Mr. Cole, the usual teasing tones present in his speech, “but she is stubborn in matters of family. Best leave her to it, James. She will not thank you for depriving her of even an hour with those little cherubs of yours.”

Verity didn’t move. Mr. Cole hadn’t recognized her.

She could hardly blame him. She was not ensconced in the cozy parlor of the little vicarage, embroidering a beetle, much to her mother’s annoyance.

Nor was she ankle-deep in the pond, waving a net about, her hair coming undone about her face.

Other than the color of her hair, there was nothing by which Mr. Cole could identify her from behind.

She was grateful for the temporary anonymity.

It gave her a chance to catch her breath and order her thoughts.

She quietly raised her fan to cover her face, keeping her back to Mr. Cole.

James Trenton had meanwhile shifted his attention to a different guest. “Do you see Lord Howell is here? And clearly enjoying himself, to boot. My cousin Ellena has had a remarkable effect on him. He was seldom seen at such gatherings before. I have never found him to be much of a talker, but he has been in animated conversation with her all evening.”

“That is true love, James dearest,” his wife replied.

“Lord Howell is a changed man. And she has become every inch the viscountess.” Mrs. Trenton tilted her head and smiled up at her husband.

“Look how fine her garments are. She is always the best-dressed woman in Munro. Even now that she is with child, she is as elegant as ever.”

“‘With child’?” Mr. Cole shot back in reply.

“Yes,” answered his sister. “Four months, I think. She is just beginning to show.” Mrs. Trenton crossed her hands to her heart. “It brings such happiness for me to know our Clarence and Jane will have a little cousin before the year is out.”

From behind the safety of her fan, Verity looked across the room.

She knew who the Howells must be. There had been enough whispered comments in their direction and people often did not take care to keep their whispers low enough not to be heard.

The viscount and viscountess were a handsome couple.

And not at all haughty. Even now, they did not stand apart with their noble peers, but remained the focal point of an ever-changing arc of people seeking their company.

Verity recalled the rivalry and animosity between Lady Penrose and Mrs. Sangford at the tea that Hope had hosted.

Lady Penrose was only a baroness, yet she and that supercilious Mrs. Sangford —and her equally unbearable daughters—had put on more airs then than the viscount and viscountess did now.

Mercifully, the Sangfords and Penroses had thought it beneath them to attend tonight’s event.

William had not spoken for a while. From the corner of her eye, Verity could see him staring across at Lord and Lady Howell, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, he asked, “Who is the blonde woman?”

For a frightful moment, Verity thought he meant her and prepared to reveal herself. But his gaze had not shifted, still resting upon the viscount and viscountess and the company around them.

“Do you mean the one standing beside my cousin?” asked Mr. Trenton.

“That is Miss Jillian Kinsey. I would say she is exactly your type—lacking boundaries, and prone to bursts of laughter—but she is not for you, old boy. She is a guest of the Howell household and a particularly close friend of the viscountess, my cousin. That can only mean trouble. Ellena would encourage an unhealthy degree of independence in her companion, such as she has shown in her own character. No man wants to deal with that sort of nonsense.” Mrs. Trenton lifted her fan quite suddenly, but not before Verity spotted the beginnings of a knowing smile.

“Besides,” continued Mr. Trenton, evidently entirely unaware of his wife’s secret opinion, “it would appear Miss Kinsey has her eye on Mr. Lewis Bradford, a friend to the viscount. A rather overreaching act on her part, if you ask me, what with her being a groundskeeper’s daughter and him being a barrister and a baron’s son.

But Ellena has no doubt emboldened Miss Kinsey in this regard.

She never did understand the rules of society.

No, William, what you need is a wife who will know her place, and many of these country folk do not.

In that regard, my Charlotte is a rare find. ”

“Er, James…” Charlotte Trenton touched his arm urgently. “Perhaps such remarks are best kept from present company?” She indicated with her head toward Verity.

James, never having met Verity, seemed to have no idea why his chatter should offend. “We have not been introduced,” he remarked. “Perhaps my wife could rectify that.”

She could, and did so at once. “Miss Lockhart, may I introduce my husband, Mr. James Trenton? James, this is Miss Verity Lockhart. You know, of Fernbridge ?”

Mr. Cole sucked in his breath.

Verity reluctantly lowered her fan. “Mr. Trenton,” she said, acknowledging the introduction with reservation.

The gentleman had not made a good first impression and she could hardly say she was pleased to meet him.

But she was willing to tolerate him awhile to enjoy the company of his wife.

He did not seem to notice or care that he had not found favor.

Instead, he offered a quizzical raise of the brow to Mr. Cole.

It gave Verity no small gratification, for his look seemed to say, “ This is the woman of whom you spoke? The vicar’s awkward daughter?

This fair maiden is her?” Of course, Mr. Trenton had never seen Verity traipsing mud into Cook’s kitchen with skirts dripping and tucking errant strands of hair behind her ears.

Mr. Cole, meanwhile, had found his tongue, if only barely. “Miss Lockhart,” he murmured, “I confess I did not recognize you.”

Verity turned to face him squarely and was rewarded with even greater surprise in his eyes and mouth, both opening more fully at the entire sight of her.

She silently blessed Hope for the sophistication of her dress and the nimble hands of her lady’s maid, who had managed her hair.

She knew she looked her absolute best. She had seen herself in the mirror before she’d left home this evening and recognized the look of amazement that was currently fixed upon Mr. Cole’s face, for she had borne it too.

“Good evening, Mr. Cole,” she said with a confidence granted her by her style of dress and hair alike. “Or should I call you ‘Lieutenant Cole’?”

“Mr. Cole will do, thank you.”

“Of course. Mr. Cole. I am…”

What was she? Relieved to see him, to have a chance to heal wounds? Happy, even, to be in his company? Hopeful for a rekindling of a friendship that had scarcely begun? Which of these, if any, could she say aloud?

“…happy to see you again,” she decided. “It seems a world away from the simple life of our little village.” She cast a pointed look at Mr. Trenton.

“And,” she added quickly, “we are both wearing entirely different feathers.” She smiled down at her skirt, which she displayed by pulling it to the side with one hand.

Mr. Cole hesitated but a moment, then appeared to take her cue. “Why, yes, Miss Lockhart,” he answered, brandishing his uniformed arms in an open “T. “We both display well indeed. Do you like my dress sword?” He put his hand upon the hilt and struck a pose.

Verity tapped the lacy tip of her closed fan to her mouth and pretended to give the question serious consideration.

“I am in two minds as to how I should answer,” she said after some thought.

“If I speak true and say that you are particularly well suited to the uniform, I am sure to be seen as flirting with you. And you know I do not encourage this type of thinking. However, if I say you are but a man dressed for dancing and deserve no further compliment, I will have done the truth of the matter an injustice. So you see, sir, it is better I say nothing.”

Charlotte Trenton clapped her hands. “Ah, William, Miss Lockhart has you well in hand, I see! Take her dancing, dear brother, for she knows no one else here but Mr. Sinclair and Dr. Westbridge, and the latter has already had the privilege.”

Dr. Westbridge made a small bow. “It was a privilege indeed, Mrs. Trenton. Do not allow the opportunity to pass, Mr. Cole. The lady is a fine dancer.”

Verity felt her cheeks grow flushed. “I am really only able to attempt a country dance. Also, I cannot converse well while dancing, as I must concentrate on the figures they have called. And my stepping is labored at best. It is only fair that you should know my limitations before you make the invitation.”

“It is well we are honest in this way,” agreed Mr. Cole, furrowing his brow into a frown that was contradicted by the mischievous twist to his lips.

“For example, I am not permitted to wear my sword while dancing. Alas, the thrill of dancing with me must therefore be somewhat reduced. However, my appearance, being thus diminished, will provide less distraction from the minutiae of counting to which you are bound. So you see, we are a disappointing pair and would be better suited to dance together than burden any other with our company.”

“I accept!” Verity laughed. “As always, Mr. Cole, you lack neither eloquence nor wit. At least while we stand and talk—and do not dance—we shall have a commendably good time of it.”