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Lady Langton looked again, her strained expression lightening. “Oh, I see it now. I cannot pick out the details on the wings, but I see the colors.” She smiled happily. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“It is, indeed,” Elizabeth said, smiling in return.

They stood quietly watching the butterfly flit from one flower to another, and Elizabeth tuned her ear to the conversation occurring not more than four or five feet away.

“Absolute poppycock,” the baron said. “Of course Twining wants the tariffs lowered on tea; his business depends upon it. Which is exactly why the PM should pay no heed to his counsel. Goodness only knows where he came up with the figures he’s been bandying about. It’s ridiculous to believe the government can make up revenue by slashing taxes.”

“So you plan to vote against the cut in tariffs,” Lord Langton said.

“Of course. And all right-minded gentlemen should do the same,” the baron said. “As much as we don’t want to admit it, Langton, smuggling is providing jobs and an income for thousands. There are too many people dependent on those goods and services.”

“But at what price?”

The baron snorted. “Don’t tell me you plan to take the moral high road on this, Langton. Or is it just that the tales you’ve heard down in your part of the country have left you feeling squeamish?”

Elizabeth clenched her fists at the baron’s snide tone. No one at this garden party knew what occurred on the beaches of Kent better than Lord Langton.

“I was at Cambridge with the PM,” Lord Langton said, his voice even. “I happen to know the man’s brilliance with numbers. If he says the country will recoup more money by dropping the tariffs, I believe him.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Langton,” Lord Forwood said. “I thought you were your own man. You’d be far better off generating some original thoughts than relying on Pitt’s.”

Elizabeth caught her breath. The baron had gone from barely veiled insults to being wholly offensive.

“Your advice is noted, Forwood. I hope you enjoy the rest of the garden party.”

Footsteps moved away. Elizabeth assumed it was Lord Langton leaving, but she did not dare turn around.

“Would you like to take some refreshment beneath the canopy now, my lady?” she asked Lady Langton.

“Very much,” Lady Langton said with alacrity. “I wish you to try the orange-flower-water cake and tell me if you’ve ever tasted the like.”

Elizabeth was quite sure she could already answer that question. This entire event was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

Purposely avoiding looking for Lord Langton or Lord Forwood, she scanned the seating beneath the canopy for an available table. Finally spotting one in the far corner, she took Lady Langton’s arm and led her toward it. Several people greeted the viscountess by name as they walked past, and even more eyed Elizabeth with varying degrees of interest, curiosity, and hostility. Elizabeth tried to ignore the unwanted attention, and although Lady Langton exchanged a few brief pleasantries or polite nods, they did not stop to talk, and before long, they reached the vacant table and took their seats. Instantly, a servant appeared at Lady Langton’s side to offer her tea and her choice of divine-looking cakes and pastries.

While Lady Langton made her selections, Elizabeth studied the people sitting nearby. Across from them, two elderly ladies were finishing their cups of tea and seemed to be discussing the merits of taking regular trips to the sea. To their right, three young men were arguing the value of a particular race horse, and to their left, three young women sat with their heads close together, whispers, giggles, and the fluttering of fans, suggesting that their subject matter was the gentlemen standing beside the nearby statue.

Elizabeth followed their not-so-subtle glances and discovered that the gentlemen in question were, in fact, Lord Langton and the Earl of Bloxley. She looked away. It should not have come as any surprise. The two men were by far the most handsome—and likely the most eligible—guests at the garden party. There must be many young women anxious to attract their attention. The thought rankled, and Elizabeth could not help but study her tittering neighbors more carefully.

The first resembled a porcelain doll, with blonde curls that had been powdered the same color pink as her gown. The second wore a shimmering gown of green silk, with cream ribbons and lace festooning her large hat. The third, to her astonishment, was Lady Forwood. Elizabeth recognized her plum-colored gown and elaborate feathered hat. Her features were flawless, but as Elizabeth watched, she saw the baroness’s smile falter. Seconds later, Lord Forwood appeared at their table, hovering above her. Elizabeth turned away, but she was close enough to hear their interaction.

“I fear that I must interrupt your time with your friends, my dear,” he said. “It appears that we must leave for Kent sooner than I previously thought.”

“But we have been here less than an hour.” Lady Forwood was not happy.

“A perfectly acceptable length of time,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Business calls me to the south, and I can delay no longer.”

“Very well.” Lady Forwood’s voice rang with resignation.

She must have turned to bid her friends farewell, because there was a low murmur of female voices followed by the crinkle of shifting skirts and the scrape of moving chairs. Attempting to ignore the Forwoods’ interaction beside her, Elizabeth turned her attention to the tea tray arriving at her own table. The servant had just placed a teapot and two teacups in the center of the table when over all the other sounds around her, Elizabeth heard a horribly familiar crack, crack, crack. Scarcely daring to breath, she glanced to her left to see Lord Forwood impatiently waiting for his wife to say her goodbyes. He had his silver-tipped walking cane beneath one arm, and with one hand he was pulling on the fingers of the other. One by one, his knuckles popped.

Lady Forwood walked toward him. He offered her his arm, but rather than greeting her with a word of appreciation or a smile, he looked toward the statue where Lord Langton and the earl yet stood. With his eyes narrowed and his expression wary, he muttered something under his breath, then he moved toward the stairs and the house beyond.

“Would you pour, Miss Doyle?”

Elizabeth swung back to face Lady Langton, her heart racing. Pour? Was that one of her responsibilities as the viscountess’s companion? Praying that she could perform the simple task without spilling tea all over the pristine tablecloth, she lifted the teapot. Her hand was remarkably steady.

“Would you like milk and sugar, my lady?” she asked.