“Mama bought me a necklace and bracelets and rings there before,” Joy said. “And she bought matching ones for herself. I do not really remember. I was very little then. But we both still have them, and sometimes we put them on and think we look very splendid. And Papa calls us his pretty ladies and we laugh.”
Winifred smiled at her. Joy seemed to love her stepmother. Her father had met and married her mother in the Peninsula during the wars, Winifred had learned in the past few days, but she had died of a winter chill. Mr. Ellis had carried their infant daughter home after the last battle had been fought in Toulouse. Joy would not remember her mother, of course, but at least she would knowofher. There were stories her father would have told.
But envy was not productive. It was totally inappropriate today, when all was happiness.
The girls had to bump elbows with others as they looked over all the jewelry—garish beads, gold and silver chains that lookedungoldlike andunsilverlike, necklaces, bracelets, bangles, rings, brooches, and earrings. But they were all particularly drawn to the chains, which glittered with fake splendor in the sunshine. For a few moments they stood in a huddle, counting the money they had left.
To a chorus of halfhearted protests, Colonel Ware paid for what they wanted and then had to endure hugs and kisses from his niecesand fervent thanks from the others. They dashed off to display their treasures to parents and siblings and grandparents.
Winifred was left with Colonel Ware—and at least a dozen other people jostling one another for a closer look at the jewelry. They stepped out of the way. She must make an excuse and leave him, Winifred thought, a bit flustered. She did not wish to give the impression that she was following him. How ghastlythatwould be. But before she could open her mouth, he asked if she would like a glass of lemonade at the inn.
“But will Miss Haviland mind?” she asked, and thenwishedher wretched tongue would not keep blurting out thoughts before she could filter them.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why should she?” he asked.
She could feel her cheeks grow hotter.
“I am sorry,” he said. “That was an unfair question. I do not doubt it was common knowledge that I was courting the lady and actually took her off for a private tête-a-tête yesterday morning after speaking with her father. I did indeed make the offer, Miss Cunningham. It was rejected.”
“Oh,” she said, startled. “I am so sorry.”
“You need not be,” he said. “I was actually relieved. She is not the woman for me. And I am not the man for her. Fortunately, we came to a mutual agreement on that point. She is without any doubt as relieved today as I am to be free. I like her very much, I must add. I will always consider her a friend.”
“I am sorry,” she said again.
“Lemonade?” he asked.
“Yes.” She walked across the green with him while parents organized the youngest children for a three-legged race, and the maypole dancers, all dressed attractively to coordinate with one anotherin pale pastel shades, straightened the ribbons, and the fiddlers who would play for them after the races had been run tuned their instruments.
“And you?” Colonel Ware asked after settling Winifred at a small table outside the inn. “Will Owen mind that you are here with me?”
Owen was with Stephanie now. They were helping organize the races.
“We are very good friends,” she said. “In all truth, that is so. We have specifically agreed to it.”
“And you are not…upset that there is nothing more?” he asked her after two large glasses of lemonade had been set before them.
“No,” she said. “Sometimes two people were designed to be friends but nothing more. Like you and Lady Stratton when you were both very young.”
“Have you ever watched maypole dancing?” he asked.
“A few times in Bath,” she said, relieved that the subject had been changed, though she was still feeling a bit dizzy.
He was not going to marry Miss Haviland.
“It is a skilled exercise,” he said, “and calls for a lot of trust. It needs only one of the dancers to go astray and the whole pattern falls into disarray. This is a good troop, though. Sidney Johnson has directed it for years. He farms not far from here. The dancers practice every week throughout the year in his large barn. Pippa was once a member, and I believe Stephanie has dabbled. The dancers are marvelous to watch.”
They were both free, Winifred was thinking. But that did not mean…She gave herself a mental shake. This was a day that had begun magically. She was determined that it would continue thatway. As soon as they had finished their lemonade, she would make an excuse to go somewhere he was not going—to watch the last few races, perhaps. She was not going to trap him into feeling he was stuck with her company.
And she was not going to be stuck with his, she thought with a slight smile.
But he was pulling back the folds of a clean white handkerchief he had taken from a pocket and setting a small silver brooch—veryunsilverlike—on the table between them. It was in the shape of a daisy.
“A priceless gift I thought must have been made just for you,” he said, laughter in his eyes and in his voice. “A daisy. A humble, often overlooked, underrated flower that is nevertheless one of the prettiest and most enduring of all.”
“For me?” she said, hand to chest.
“It was a huge extravagance, I know,” he said, laughing. “Surely real silver, of course. But you ought to have something by which to remember a summer fete at Ravenswood and Boscombe.”
