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“I understand that her grace is famously set in her views of proper training. Did you win her over to the Jay Kydd method?” Wenlocke asked.

Jay laughed. “It helped that I happened to agree with her about the harm of sweating and stoving. And then I had Bluebell, the dowager’s granddaughter on my side. Have you met her?” He glanced at Raven.

“Bluebell?” The duchess looked curious.

“My name for Lady Cassandra. She encouraged her grandmother to take up where they’d left off Hermes’s training years ago.”

Raven worked at appearing indifferent. He had spent days, now weeks, trying to forget Cassie, and yet the mere mention of her name brought her rain-soaked image sharply to mind. Again, he felt Wenlocke’s gaze on him. He roused himself to turn the conversation to other topics, asking about the Wenlocke children.

When the sky at last began to darken, they stood to say their good nights. Jay strode off briskly for the stables. Grandfather called for his man to assist him. The duchess offered Raven a kiss on the cheek and her best wishes for his ball. She planned to call upon the dowager in the morning.

Wenlocke took his wife’s hand. “May we borrow your moonlit garden for a while, Raven?”

Raven nodded and turned away.

*

By nine on the evening of Raven’s ball, an excited young footman reported that carriages lined the drive. Servants stood outside to manage the traffic, and in the entry hall, to help the guests with coats and hats. Raven met his guests inside the great hall now transformed for the ball. The dowager stood on his right, and on his left, Grandfather Cole, and Honoria. One by one the neighboring families entered, making their bows, and staring wide-eyed at the transformation he had wrought in the old room. Tall brass tripods topped with a dozen glowing candles, chandeliers, and large white urns overflowing with summer blooms concealed the dark paneled walls and brightened the old place. Above was the new plaster ceiling. The orchestra, on its dais, played lively airs.

Amabel was to arrive a little before ten, and Raven hoped he could take her directly to the bench in the garden to make her his before the duties of hosting claimed him. The important thing was to secure Amabel’s hand. Among those duties, the most worrisome was dancing the opening set with Cassie. If she came. The dowager seemed to have no doubt about the matter, but Raven could not be sure. He had not seen Cassie since the rain in June. The past weeks had been warm and dry as if rain had been banished from England.

Standing beside him, the dowager and Grandfather Cole had little to say to one another. Grandfather’s insistence that steam-engines would soon replace the horse had not pleased the dowager. Now only Honoria made an effort to engage Grandfather in conversation. Raven caught snatches of his grandfather’s booming voice rising above the babble in the room.

“Don’t know why the boy wants to bury himself in the country like this,” was Grandfather’s comment.

“You can see, Mr. Cole, that he’s quite well-liked here,” Honoria suggested.

“He wants me to meet this chit he’s taken a fancy to. I don’t hold much with all this title nonsense, but if the dowry’s right, the connection could be good for business. God knows, the boy’s not done any business while he planned this frippery ball, a colossal waste of a man’s blunt.”

“But your business prospers, does it not?”

“It does. We’ve got orders for the Cole engine coming from five cities in America and three more in England.”

“How gratifying to know your engine designs are so highly regarded.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the Duke and Duchess of Wenlocke. The duke with his cool authority and the delicate duchess with her springy golden hair and easy grace drew all eyes. The duchess offered Raven her hands and a warm smile. Wenlocke clapped Raven on the shoulder, and nodded approval.

People turned to stare, as the duchess, once the Princess Giovanna Saville of Malfada, called “the fairy princess” by the papers, greeted the dowager, who unbent slightly to smile. Grandfather Cole simply wrapped her in a great hug, from which she emerged with a twinkling grin. Her husband straightened her silk headdress, dislodged by the old man’s hug.

Raven grew more impatient as the room filled. There was no sign of Amabel. He wanted her to make an entrance, to draw the eye of every guest as the Duchess of Wenlocke had done. The ball was for her. The ring was in his pocket. Whatever misgivings nagged him in the last month, he was ready to put them aside. He had stuck to his plan of not seeing Cassie. And he believed it had helped, still thoughts of her had a way of intruding at odd moments of the day. He would see the boys go down to the lane to the dower house and know that they were going to see her. He would see the dowager’s carriage leave for Sunday services and know that Cassie was inside. He would see Jay Kydd in Dick Crockett’s wagon heading to the Crocketts after a day of training and know that Jay had likely spoken with her. He would hear of her from the craftsmen and merchants who had supplied the ball, invariably congratulating him on bringing Verwood back to life like the old days when Lady Cassandra was the beauty of the town.

At last, the word came that a pair of carriages had arrived from Ramsbury Park. Viscount Tyne escorted his sister and mother, glittering in silk and jewels, and looking above their company. Amabel’s two young cousins appeared more excited for the ball. Then the earl and countess came in with Amabel herself. Her parents hung back a little, letting Amabel make her entrance. She did not disappoint in a rose-colored gown with a sparkling tiara on her golden curls and her vivid eyes bright. She curtsied prettily to the dowager, and gave her hand to Raven’s grandfather with becoming modesty.

“Now, aren’t you every bit as pretty as my grandson said you would be,” his grandfather said.

Raven greeted her parents and then took her arm. There was no warmth in their greeting, but they seemed to approve the hall. Just as he’d hoped, Amabel drew the notice of the room, and an admiring hush followed them, as he led her to meet Wenlocke and his duchess.

“My goodness,” she said. “What a crush! I had no idea you had so many acquaintances in the country.”

“It is a neighborhood ball,” he said.

“How very democratic of you!”

“Do you like the hall?”

She made a show of giving the room a careful scrutiny. “I do. You did all this for me, I think. I’m glad you took my advice about the flowers. And I like the idea of the little tables.”

“I have reserved a pair of them for the Ramsbury party, but first I want you to meet my oldest friend, Wenlocke, that is my long-standing friend.”