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It was a small confidence to offer him. He received it without making her wish she had kept it to herself, and a quiet relief spread through her. Elizabeth drew a deeper breath. Beyond them, Charlotte called that Lady Wetherby had found something else to inspect. Lord Rosedale offered his arm before they turned toward the others. “The path narrows here.”

She could have managed it alone. He knew that as well as she did. Nevertheless, she easily accepted the invitation and rested her hand on his sleeve, feeling the firm warmth of his arm beneath the fine wool. “Thank you.”

He matched his pace to hers. Elizabeth noticed he didn’t hurry her when she paused to look at a flower, or make her feel she needed to explain it, and the realization settled in her like warm sunlight. By the time they reached Charlotte, she had stopped remembering to be nervous.

That evening, Elizabeth wore the purple gown. She had not planned to choose it when she returned to her room after the walk. She had intended to rest, read a little, and dress in the cream silk she knew suited an ordinary dinner, the safe, familiar gown that asked nothing of anyone.

Then her maid opened the wardrobe.

The purple silk caught the late light, rich and lovely among the paler gowns beside it. Elizabeth looked at it for a moment, her heart beating a little faster, then asked the girl to take it down. Now, before the looking glass, she wondered whether she had made a mistake. The color pleased her. It had pleased her when she first selected it and again when she packed it. The neckline was no lower than several she had seen the previous evening.

That did not prevent her from feeling remarkably exposed. She felt the cool air against her collarbone and the soft whisper of silk against her skin, and she lifted a hand to the bare curve of her throat. She took the shawl from the chair and settled it about her shoulders, drawing it close.

Her maid adjusted one fold, smoothing it with deft fingers. “There, my lady.”

Elizabeth studied her reflection. The shawl made the choice easier. She could keep it close or let it fall a little when she grew comfortable. She needed no more than that, and the thought loosened something in her.

A knock sounded, followed by Charlotte’s voice. “May I come in?”

Elizabeth’s maid opened the door. Charlotte entered, greeted the girl, then turned toward Elizabeth. Her expression warmed, her eyes softening. “That is a lovely color on you.”

“Do you think so?” she asked.

Charlotte nodded. “I do.”

Elizabeth touched the edge of her shawl, pulling it a little tighter. “I wondered whether it might be too much.”

“For dinner?” Charlotte asked.

She nodded. Charlotte came to stand beside her before the glass, her shoulder brushing Elizabeth’s. “You will find several women downstairs wearing considerably more trimming. If anyone becomes overwhelmed, it will probably be by Lady Markham’s feathers.”

Elizabeth smiled, a small laugh escaping her. Her friend did not mention a gentleman or suggest that she must permit anyone to admire her. She merely straightened the shawl, tugging one corner into place, and asked if she was ready.

“I believe so,” Elizabeth said, drawing a steadying breath.

They went downstairs together, their skirts whispering on the stairs. In the drawing room, Elizabeth looked for Lord Rosedale before finishing her greeting, her eyes sweeping the candlelit room. He stood near the window, speaking with another gentleman, the evening light behind him. When he saw her, he paused in conversation.

It was brief. His gaze moved over her gown, then returned to her face, and something in his expression, a quiet, startled warmth, made her glad she had not chosen the cream silk. Then she became frightened by how glad she was, and her fingers curled in the fringe of her shawl.

Charlotte remained beside her while Lady Wetherby asked about their afternoon. Elizabeth answered, her voice a little too bright, aware that Lord Rosedale was approaching only when his shadow fell lightly across the carpet. “Good evening, Lady Andover.”

“Good evening,” she said, lifting her eyes to his.

He greeted Charlotte, then looked back at Elizabeth. “I hope the remainder of your day was pleasant.”

“Yes, thank you.” She held his gaze, though her pulse fluttered. “I enjoyed the walk.”

“So did I,” he said.

Charlotte turned toward their hostess to ask about a guest who had not yet appeared. Elizabeth knew her friend was still near, but the conversation beside her became indistinct, a soft blur of sound.

Lord Rosedale kept his attention on her, steady and warm. “That gown is very becoming,” he said quietly.

Elizabeth had prepared herself for a compliment. It was one of the few exchanges she could manage without much thought, a familiar step in a familiar dance. “Thank you.”

Yet her reply felt different tonight. She wanted him to understand she was pleased, not merely polite, and the wanting made her bold. “I have not worn it before,” she added, her voice not quite steady.

“Then I am glad I was here to see it first.”