“Yes, you can. You used to be adept at it, and you’re much older now. You’ve had more practice at how to behave.”
She snorted. “If I begged prettily enough, would you change your clothes and come over to the party?”
“No. I can’t leave my boys alone, and I would never show up where I wasn’t welcome.”
“Miss James is there.”
“Then she’s braver than I am. Boswell would hate to have me stroll in. Miss Ralston would too. I have no doubt she would deem me to be putting on airs, and I’d just as soon never have her notice me.”
“What do you think of her?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t plan to ever offer an opinion about her—not even to you.”
“I went out on a limb and urged Jacob to cry off from the betrothal. When he loathed Mother’s attitudes on every subject under the sun, I pointed out that perhaps he should question the match she arranged for him.”
“What was his response?”
“He said he was content to proceed, that it was better than searching on his own for a vacuous debutante.”
Sandy smiled. “Thank the Lord he didn’t drag home one of those.”
“I heartily concur.”
He pulled her close and kissed her for an eternity, and it was the most romantic interlude she’d ever endured. He made her feel special and adored, which was lovely.
Eventually, he drew away, and he seemed perched on the edge of a profound remark. She braced, excited for what it might be, but he simply said, “You need to return to your party.”
“It’s Roxanne’s party. Not mine.”
“Still, you shouldn’t be loafing over here. Your mother may have passed away, but it doesn’t mean we’re free to dally. If you were discovered in my parlor, I can’t predict what sort of upheaval would ensue. I could probably weather it, but you’re in no condition to be pushed into a scandal, and I won’t be the cause of any negative gossip about you.”
“I suppose I’ll depart—but quite grudgingly. You’re a beast for kicking me out.”
“It’s for your own good, and you know it too.”
“That was always your admonition to me in the past.”
“My prior chastisements are as apt now as they were back then.”
A spurt of recklessness flooded through her, and she said, “What if I snuck in later?”
“To do what?”
“To . . . to . . . join you in your bed.”
It was a shocking proposition, and she’d never previously been so risqué. Luckily, he didn’t laugh or scold her.
“First of all,” he said, “I’m up at the crack of dawn to get to work, so I can’t engage in the type of nocturnal antics I enjoyed when I was younger. And second of all, if you tiptoed into my bedchamber, I’d likely die of an apoplexy.”
She grinned. “I shouldn’t risk it then.”
Their conversation dwindled, and he gazed down at her, his expression tender and even a tad lustful. He’d claimed he wasn’t interested in a carnal tryst, but her lewd suggestion had altered something between them.
She wasn’t partial to marital conduct. She’d suffered enough of it during her marriage, but she yearned to lie next to him in the quiet hours of the night. He would cradle her in his arms and whisper in her ear until dawn.
Those were the kinds of passionate moments she’d dreamed of experiencing as a girl, but that could never have been achieved with cold, brutal Mr. Howell. With her tossing the prospect of a physical relationship out into the open with Sandy, new possibilities might be blossoming.
He led her to the door, then he dipped down and stole a final kiss.
“Go,” he said.
“I don’t want to.”
He chuckled. “Go anyway. You have to.”
He peeked out, saw no one, and gestured for her to creep off. She paused for an instant, filling her eyes with the sight of him, then she hurried away.
He didn’t linger in the threshold to watch her, and she thought she heard him set the latch to bar intruders, as if he suspected she might actually sneak in and climb into his bed.
Would she ever dare?
Now that she’d planted that seed in her head, it sounded like a terrific idea. Why not try it? Why not indeed?
Joanna was seated on a bench in the garden behind the manor. She was staring at the house, liking how the windows shone against the black sky.
Inside, dozens of revelers were milling, dressed in their finery. They were chatting, drinking, playing cards. In one parlor, they were dancing. She, herself, had participated until she became so overheated that she’d had to cool down.
She was acquainted with many of the guests, and everyone had been polite. If they were disturbed to have her sharing in the merriment, they’d kept that opinion to themselves.
The attendees were mostly neighbors, as well as the more important merchants from the village, so it wasn’t odd for her to have been invited too. She had suitable gowns for a fancy party, so she hadn’t looked out of place. She hadn’t felt out of place either.
She never did. She was perfectly content in any social situation. Her father was an earl’s dastardly son, so she had a high, if dissolute lineage, and she thrived in any circumstance. But she never forgot the stratifications that ruled their lives. People weren’t aware of her ancestry, and she never informed them. They simply viewed her as a healer who birthed babies and dispensed tonics.
She was delightfully happy the Captain had demanded she come. It was so rare when she was included in a jubilant event, and it had been a splendid experience. It was just after eleven, and soon, she’d leave for home. When she arrived, she would jot down every detail in her journal so she could show them to Clara later on.
The Captain appeared on the verandah. He leaned on the balustrade and peered out at the sky. He was drinking liquor, and he sipped it slowly, giving her a lengthy chance to study him.
She hadn’t been able to predict how they’d interact during the festivities, but he’d been
