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A cruel evening, indeed.

“August, Miss May?”

Mrs. Moon’s voice from afar cut through the commotion around them, and only then did Livvy break her hand free from August’s. Cold instantly enveloped her, despite the heat of the dance hall.

“Come,” August said softly, offering his arm to Livvy instead.

Together, they made their way around the throngs of individuals swarming the doors leading to the storm outside, each one more anxious than the next to arrive home in safety.

Finally, they reached the rest of the Moons and Emma, who walked together toward the doors calmly.

“The unfairity of it all,” Ophelia whined to her mother with yet another invented word. Portia’s lips pulled down into a deep frown, as well. “Why can we not stay?”

“No one be stayin’, love,” Mrs. Moon cooed.

“Ye two could stay behind and dance with only each other, if ye wish to,” August said with a teasing glint to his eye.

Portia looked over her shoulder with a ready scowl, only then noting Livvy, who still held onto August’s arm. Together, the sisters eyed Livvy’s hand on their brother with narrowed eyes.

Mr. and Mrs. Moon must have noticed, as well, for they glanced furtively between August, Livvy, and Emma—who had apparently made it a point to show she was pleased with August’s attention to Livvy, smiling broadly in their direction. His family no doubt wondered what the devil was going on.

Livvy attempted to pull away from August, if only to hide from the attention she was receiving, but he rested a hand over hers, keeping her there.

She peered up at him as his family looked away, but he merely kept his gaze focused straight ahead, though she didn’t miss the small smile on his lips.

Perhaps having the evening cut short wasn’t so bad after all, so long as August kept his hand over hers.

And so he did as they and the others waited in the whipping wind and rain for the boats to take them back home.

“It be freezin’,” Ophelia groaned as the first half of the boats left with their passengers in tow. “Can’t Portia and I go on ahead with our friends? They’ll be there faster.”

“No, we be stayin’ together as a family,” Mr. Moon said.

Ophelia and Portia both pouted once more, then cast their eyes, again, at Livvy—as if they blamed her for the storm.

Livvy had seen them only a handful of times at the assembly. She hadn’t realized until now that she didn’t mind that fact.

A few moments later, another bolt of lightning lit the night’s sky, illuminating the group huddled together in mounds of tightly knit jackets and cloaks, appearing as miniature dark hills in the mist.

Livvy flinched at the thunder booming above them, but August pulled his arm closer to his side, securing his hold of her.

“’Tain’t safe to be out ’ere much longer,” Mr. Moon said, eying the skies.

Another flash lit the world around them, revealing the boat creeping ever closer to the mainland as it tossed to and fro on the water. Livvy’s stomach tightened at the thought of traveling across such torrential waves.

“We can’t board that, Father,” August said under his breath, though Livvy was close enough to hear.

Mr. Moon nodded in silence.

Sure enough, as the boat was docked, those remaining on the mainland were swiftly informed that they would need to seek shelter until the storm weakened, as the sea was no longer safe to travel across.

Only then did Livvy’s worry mount. What were they to do?

“No way back?” Ophelia cried out. “I be wet and cold. And me slippers be ruined from all this rain. Of all the nasty tricks ’Eaven be pullin’ on we innocentin’ folk—”

“Hush, Ophelia,” Mrs. Moon said with a shake of her head. She glanced up at her husband. “I suggest we go back to the inn. Find a few rooms to sleep in tonight so we may all rest well. When the storm lessens, we can ’ave word sent to the Pengellys and Mr. May that their daugh’ers be well.”

Emma and Livvy gave Mrs. Moon a grateful nod, though Livvy longed to tell the woman not to bother for her sake. The Pengellys would no doubt be beside themselves with worry. Father, however, wouldn’t be fussing over Livvy at all. He’d no doubt be completely unaware of her absence until morning, if not later.