The ladies of the party, after breakfast, resolved to take a walk. The gentlemen, even lovesick Jack, declined, ostensibly because they felt their boots might get smudged. In reality, Lord Blingchester required a respite from feminine chatter.

Gavin couldn’t blame him. Lady Blingchester would try the patience of a saint. Her strident voice more often than not complaining – about the weather, the food, or her own perceived ill health (although to Gavin’s eyes, she was rudely robust). She directed the bulk of this putrid flow at her husband, who looked as if he’d started life a jolly chap, but had deflated after marriage.

As a general rule, Gavin was disposed to be kind to the fairer sex, but Lady Blingchester had made her dislike of Preshea evident. Gavin, while realizing his lass did not give two figs for such a woman’s good opinion, was not unaffected. He liked watching Preshea charm everyone, yet Lady Blingchester would not be charmed.

So it was that the ladies – the Duchess of Snodgrove, Lady Blingchester, Lady Violet, Miss Leeton, Lady Flo, and Miss Pagril – sallied forth into the sunlight, parasols raised against it, enjoying the delights of a world washed clean.

Preshea stayed behind. Because the duke stayed behind, and Gavin was convinced she too was charged with his protection.

Lord Blingchester grumbled at the cursed addition of a female to his much-desired peace and suggested a game of high-stakes cards. Preshea was clearly not frightened by vast sums recklessly changing hands, but she also did not attempt to participate. It being a game for four, Gavin left the others to it. Poor Jack was abysmal at cards, and what little funds he possessed were bound to be lost in the space of the two hours it would take the ladies to walk the grounds.

Gavin opted to relax near the fire and read the Mooring Standard, all the way from London, only two days old. He wasn’t really reading it, however.

Preshea stood looking out the window. There wasn’t much to see; the gardens were ill tended, with nothing in bloom. Yet somewhat had caught her attention. That perfect face was arrested in an expression of … wistful pain? It was irresistible.

So, he went to stand next to her and look as well.

She tensed and then seemed to give an internal sigh and let him stay, sharing her silence.

The ladies drifted about the grounds outside. The duchess, Lady Blingchester, and the older girls had attained a goodly distance and were striding towards the fields beyond the gardens. Miss Pagril and Lady Flo, on the other hand, had decided against such a robust endeavor and deviated to amble through the maze, arm in arm. There was nothing so spectacular about this undertaking that it required Preshea’s focus.

“You dinna wish to join them?”

Preshea did not turn. “I am content here, thank you.”

It rankled. He wanted her to notice him. “You’re na the type of lass with many female friends?” It was not a question, but he raised his voice at the end as if it were, so it came off less insulting.

“I attended finishing school. Long ago. There were girls there as those two are.”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering at her implication. He’d noted the affection between the two youngest ladies. They acted as lovers might, but he didn’t know how worldly Preshea was in that regard. Especially since he’d felt how tentative her kisses were.

Fortunately for him, she continued. “Girls who had such friendships that they could finish each other’s sentences. How terrifying it must be to trust anyone that much. And yet I happen to know that even now, twenty years on, they are still friends.”

She looked at him, finally.

He kept his face calm and open. “I’ve sisters. They’re considerable loyal to their pals. I’m na one of those lads who holds that only men may enjoy true friendship.”

Preshea returned her gaze to the window. “I have always preferred isolation. Less chance of betrayal. Occasionally, as I get older, I wonder if perhaps it might once have been worth the risk.”

“You’re na so old. There is still time.” He wanted to wrap both arms around her and pull her close to stop the sadness she did not show.

“I think not.”

“You might let them in a little, tell them somewhat more about your life. Those two – Miss Pagril and Lady Flo – they wouldna judge harshly.” Really, he was saying, You could tell me more, you could let me in, I wouldna judge.

“You think there is something to judge?” She twisted his meaning.

“I think that you believe so.” He twisted it back.

She shrugged. Her fine white shoulders rose and fell against the lushness of her gown. It was blue again – a deep, rich velvet, cut tight everywhere it should be tight. It was trimmed about the neck, wrists, and ankles with white muslin so fine, a man might think those parts were see-through. He suspected she wore it during the day because it would be too visible at night with those touches of white. What a remarkable woman, that he should judge her fashion choices thus, without flinching.

Gavin left her to her wistfulness and returned to his newspaper. She needed to feel his lack much as he’d felt hers over the last week.

Jack, having lost all his funds and not so dim as to dip into imaginary coffers, came to join Gavin.

“Anything interesting?” Jack was chipper for a destitute.

“Lost your shirt, laddie?” Gavin tried a diversion, to avoid admitting that he’d not been reading the paper.

“Lost your heart, old man?” Jack shot back quietly, tilting his head to where Preshea was now perched in the window seat.