“Do you mind if I ask a favor of you? For dinner tonight?”

  He gave a slight bow. “I’d be pleased to help in any way I can.”

  “Good, because I’ve done something rather rash, and Mother will be furious.”

  “Oh dear. I’ve experienced her wrath before.”

  Lady Linfield laughed. “As you know, Mother has invited the whole neighborhood for tonight’s celebration. But I . . . I felt the need to invite some guests of my own. It’s something I should have done long ago, but I never quite had the courage. I hoped I might count on you to help me—”

  Just then the butler came in. “Lady Linfield, may I have a word?”

  She looked to Edmund. “Excuse me for just a moment.”

  He nodded. The butler leaned in, but Edmund could still hear his lowered voice. “Your guests have arrived. Would you like me to escort them to the drawing room?”

  Lady Linfield shook her head. “No, no, bring them right to me.”

  The butler nodded and left.

  Edmund stepped closer. “You were saying?”

  “I hoped you would help me. I feel your support may be invaluable this evening—”

  “Lady Linfield, your guests.” The butler moved aside and gestured to the group standing behind him. “Miss Hayward, Mr. Hayward, and Mr. Warwick.”

  Edmund stared, caught off guard at the sight of Eleanor. Her copper eyes were luminous, her skin pale. Yet somehow the burden of grief did not diminish her beauty. He scrutinized her, trying to determine whether there were any outward signs that might indicate how she had fared since Samuel’s death. Her gaze darted around in uncertainty, and she clasped her hands together in front of her.

  Lady Linfield stepped forward to meet them. “Mr. Hayward, how

  are you?”

  He bowed. “I’m well, thank you.”

  Eleanor touched her father’s arm. “Oh yes,” he said. “And this is Mr. Warwick, visiting from Herefordshire. The husband of my late wife’s cousin.”

  “It is so nice to meet you, Mr. Warwick. And Miss Hayward, I’m so happy you came.” Lady Linfield’s tone was warm and inviting.

  Edmund stepped forward, his heart in his throat. “It’s good to see all of you again. I hope you have been well.” There was so much more he wished to say, but now was not the time.

  “Yes, of course,” said Mr. Hayward.

  Eleanor raised her eyes to Edmund’s, and he froze at the unexpected warmth he saw there.

  “Thank you for having us,” Eleanor said to Lady Linfield. Edmund wondered if anyone else heard the slight trembling of her voice. “And let me again congratulate you.”

  “Thank you. I look forward to introducing you to Lord Linfield. Shall we make our way to the dining room? All of our other guests have already arrived.”

  As they followed Lady Linfield to the drawing room, Mrs. Clark came down the hall.

  “Louisa! Do you know why there are three extra settings at the table? Mrs. White told me that you . . .” She stared at the Haywards, and her face darkened. “What are they—”

  Eleanor’s face creased in concern.

  “Mother, these are my guests. You know Mr. Hayward and Miss Hayward. And this is Mr. Warwick. Lord Linfield has been most anxious to meet them.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Edmund stepped forward. “Shall we go in to dinner?” he asked, forcefully linking arms with Mrs. Clark and steering her toward the drawing room.

  ***

  The drawing room was crowded, and Eleanor could see now that Louisa had downplayed tonight’s gathering. Every family in Canterbury had been invited to celebrate Beatrice’s and Louisa’s recent nuptials. Eleanor surveyed the group as they entered, recognizing the people she had known all her life. People who had been friends, until news of Samuel had spread. Over the next several minutes, quiet whispers spread throughout the room, and very few had the good manners not to stare. It took some effort for Eleanor to breathe. She stayed stock-still, facing everyone head-on, for tonight it simply wouldn’t be possible to remain obscure. She took a deep breath. Better to get it over with now.

  Charles Clark cut through the guests to greet them. “Mr. Hayward, Miss Hayward. And Mr. Warwick, how good to see you again.”

  Mrs. Clark glared daggers at her son, but he appeared not to notice.

  “We were just saying how we’d love to do another morning of fishing, weren’t we, Fletch? Or perhaps as the weather turns in the next few weeks we could go hunting.”

  Mr. Warwick’s response drifted through the back of Eleanor’s consciousness. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Miss Coombs. What was she doing in Kent? Miss Coombs walked over, tucked her arm in Edmund’s, and with the slightest rise of her brows, pulled him into conversation with Beatrice and several others. Beatrice glanced at Eleanor and quickly looked away.

  Eleanor sucked in air, trying to slow the beating of her heart at the sight of her old friend. Her chest tightened, and she didn’t know why she’d dared hope she and Beatrice might be friends once more. Why had Louisa invited her in the midst of all this? In a roomful of critical faces, Eleanor felt exposed and alone.

  Louisa turned and smiled at her. “The crowd is even larger than I expected. I’m afraid Mother got a little carried away.”

  Eleanor smiled, trying to hide her apprehension. “I hope we are not intruding.”

  “Please, don’t think that. I very much wanted you here.” Louisa moved nearer, drawing Eleanor aside. “Perhaps it is tasteless for me to bring up the past, but I have long been assaulted by guilt for the way my family cut you off after what happened with your brother. I wish I had possessed the courage to stand up to Mother and Beatrice before now, but I feel I must apologize for my own behavior and for theirs. I hope you may still consider me your friend.”

  Eleanor ducked her head, caught off guard at Louisa’s kind words and the way they seemed to heal a tiny corner of her heart. “I have few friends, but I shall count you among them.” She reached out and took Louisa’s hand. “And now, where is the fortunate Lord Linfield?”

  Louisa looked around, catching sight of her husband. “Oh, I haven’t even introduced you yet. Lord Linfield!” she called, motioning him over. Lord Linfield smiled at Eleanor as he reached his wife’s side. “Lord Linfield, this is Miss Hayward, a dear friend from my youth.”

  He bowed. “Miss Hayward, it is a pleasure.”

  “Lord Linfield,” Eleanor said, curtsying. “You are a lucky man.”

  “Indeed I am.”

  Others came forward to congratulate the Linfields, and Eleanor stepped back, trying to slip into an inconspicuous corner.

  The vicar then appeared beside her. “Miss Hayward, how nice to see you tonight.”

  “And you as well, Mr. Balfour.”

  “My children have inquired after you. They have been quite beside themselves in your prolonged absence.”

  She clasped her hands together, suddenly self-conscious. She wondered if the vicar minded that she was often their playmate. “I hope you do not object to their spending time with me. Your children have befriended me in a way few are willing to.”

  Mr. Balfour took his hands out of his pockets. “No, I do not mind. I am glad of it. I wish you could have seen Henry this afternoon. The children were pretending to be squirrels and gathering nuts. He stuffed fourteen acorns into his cheeks. ‘Wait until I tell Miss Eleanor!’ he said. ‘She’ll never believe it!’”

  Eleanor laughed aloud, and a host of people turned to stare. She covered her mouth, quieting. “I have missed them sorely. Perhaps I shall see them later this week.”

  He nodded, still smiling. “And how are you faring?” he asked softly.

  She breathed out slowly. “The house feels empty.”

  The lines of his forehead creased. “Death is always a difficult adjustment. But I supposed you had some companionship in Mr. Fletcher.”

  Her eyes widened. “Mr. Fletcher?”

  “Yes, I had thought—” he said, pausing. “Well, perhaps not.”

  Her heart thumped forcefully, the way it had when she’d done something wrong as a young girl. “Can you explain what you said about Mr. Fletcher the other day? When you expressed your surprise that he didn’t come?” She took a deep breath. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to know.”

  He leaned forward, his voice quiet. “Only that Mr. Fletcher came and asked me to attend Samuel’s burial. The way he spoke on your behalf, I mistakenly thought perhaps you two were . . .” A small laugh became a sigh. “Ah well. Never mind my ramblings. I’ve not been a young man newly in love for many years. Now, you’ll excuse me, won’t you? I must find Mrs. Balfour. She will wonder what’s become of me.”

  Eleanor stared after him, his implication setting her off balance.

  A moment later dinner was announced and the crowd made their way to the dining room. The table had been set for at least thirty, and Eleanor thought of all the memories that had passed here in this very room, when, at least to some degree, all of the Clarks had considered her a friend.

  Eleanor found herself seated by Mr. Weston, whom she had once known quite well, and a young woman who was new to the area. Despite her efforts, conversation remained stilted. Her presence obviously made them uncomfortable.

  Glancing down at her father, her heart contracted a little. His face was lined and tired, and his suit, though freshly pressed, was out of the fashionable mode. He looked down at his dinner plate while he ate, occasionally taking a sip of his wine. No one spoke to him.

  “How long until he becomes drunk?” she heard someone say.

  “Do you think he knows there won’t be any gaming tables here tonight?” came the reply.

  Eleanor tensed, gripping her fork until her knuckles turned white. Mr. Warwick spoke from across the table. “We prefer a tame game of whist, don’t we, Mr. Hayward?”

  “I’ll join you,” said Edmund near the head of the table. “Whist is a favorite of mine.”

  He caught Eleanor’s gaze and smiled, and she felt a prick of regret at how ungraciously she had accepted his help with Samuel. He’d been nothing but kind to her since he had learned the truth of what had happened between them, and she had been brusque, holding on to the hurt of the past.

  As dinner drew to a close the women excused themselves while the men stayed for an after-dinner glass of port. Louisa was at the center of a large group in the drawing room. Determined to make her excuses as soon as the men rejoined them, Eleanor found a lone chair in an isolated corner of the room.

  Beatrice walked into the room with Miss Coombs, purposefully overlooking Eleanor, and the two took seats near a table within hearing distance. They took no care to keep their voices hushed as they talked.

  “Is it true that you were at one time good friends with Miss Hayward?” asked Miss Coombs. Her red-satin dress shone in the light, and Eleanor looked down at her own dress, a worn, blue muslin, faded by age.

  “Unfortunately yes. The folly of my youth. Right after her brother’s desertion some investigators showed up at our door, looking for Samuel Hayward and asking all sorts of questions about the entire family. The thought of being connected with something like that!” She shuddered, and Miss Coombs’s mouth dropped as Beatrice continued. “My mother warned me no good would come of my friendship with her, and she was right, much as I hated to admit it. No one talked of anything else for months, and of course, everyone knew we had been friends. My connection to her put my entire future at risk!”

  “How awful. I’ve tried to mention as much to Mr. Fletcher—”

  “Did you know he once had a passing interest in her?”

  Eleanor’s insides tensed.

  “Oh?” asked Miss Coombs in a high-pitched voice.

  “She was just a diversion, I’m sure. All men have weaknesses. His taste has clearly improved, and I’m sure tonight will only remind him of that.” Beatrice glanced over in Eleanor’s direction. She lowered her voice, but it still carried to where Eleanor sat. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into Louisa or why she might have invited the Haywards. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, not a spectacle. She secured Lord Linfield and got herself a title and now seems to take great enjoyment in exercising her influence and provoking us all. My mother especially.”

  “Miss Hayward?”

  Eleanor looked up in surprise, and her heart raced forward like a skittish colt. Edmund took a chair from a nearby table and set it near hers. “I fear I must warn you that your entire future may be in jeopardy should you choose to sit near me,” she said, her voice edged with bitterness.

  His knee brushed hers as he sat down, and she tried to ignore the flood of warmth it sent through her body. “No one knows what the future may hold, no matter how carefully they abide by society’s rules,” he said lightly. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I never had a chance to say so, but I’m terribly sorry about Samuel.” Concern creased the corners of his mouth.

  “Thank you.” She studied her gloves, noticing a small tear in the seam.

  “I know my offer may be unwelcome, but I hope you know that if there is anything I can do . . .”

  Why did he have to be so kind? Her chest tightened, heart contracting. “I think not,” she said quietly. “You’ve helped us so much already.”

  He looked down. “The circumstances may have been different, but I know what it is to lose a brother.”

  She nodded, pulling at the seam in her glove. “That’s right; I’d forgotten.” She glanced up to find his blue eyes, and her breath caught. “It is harder than losing a parent, I think. For one expects that.” She tilted her head back and took a breath, forcing her emotions down.

  He nodded thoughtfully, and his look became distant, as if her words had touched somewhere deep inside of him. She’d forgotten how comfortable it was to talk to him, how she could speak her mind freely and feel understood. Her heart slowed as she scolded herself for wanting what could never be. It would be Miss Coombs who enjoyed his company in the future.

  She took a deep breath, forcing a lightness to her voice. “Allow me to thank you again for bringing Dr. Follett,” she said, turning to face him. “The pain of losing Samuel was eased somewhat in knowing he’d had the best care. That there was nothing more we might have done.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Even though he was delirious at the end, and in a great deal of pain, when I’m not being selfish, I think . . .” She heaved her shoulders back with a sigh. “I think what happened is for the best. He couldn’t find peace, and I doubt he ever would have. Perhaps his soul was too tender for this world.”

  Edmund cleared his throat and nodded, silent for a moment. “And how is it being back with the Clarks?”

  Eleanor felt Miss Coombs’s eyes on her but refused to acknowledge her. She gave Edmund a small smile. “Did you see Mrs. Clark’s face when she saw us? I need not say more.”

  He laughed quietly. “It is a look I am more acquainted with than I wish to be.”

  She glanced over at Mrs. Clark, who sat in a circle of friends. “Then you risk much sitting with me,” she said, chancing a look at him.

  He met her gaze, eyes full of intensity. “I find I am willing to risk much where you are concerned.” His tone was quiet, intimate.

  “Mr. Fletcher, there you are.” Miss Coombs appeared in front of them, Beatrice beside her. “Oh, Miss Hayward! I didn’t see you there.” Her mouth turned down in the slightest sneer. She gestured to Beatrice. “Mrs. Perry was just telling me about the uproar it caused when your brother’s misdeeds became known. Was it truly awful?”

  Eleanor flinched, and then a great well of anger rose up inside of her, and she felt Edmund tense beside her. She swept to her feet, unable to stand another of Miss Coombs’s barbed remarks. “It truly was. But not quite as awful as when someone I believed to be my friend showed so little compassion in the face of my heartbreak.” She pierced Beatrice with the strength of her gaze. “Good night, Mrs. Perry. Miss Coombs.” Her tone softened as she turned to Edmund. “And thank you for your kind words, Mr. Fletcher.”

  Without looking back, Eleanor crossed the room and found her father and Mr. Warwick. With as much grace as she could muster she approached Louisa and made her excuses, determined that she would not subject herself to such humiliation again.

  Chapter 20

  Edmund closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The smell of sun-ripened apples from the orchards mingled with the lingering scent of the hops fields, waiting to be gathered into the oasthouses. The mix of smells brought on a wave of melancholy, reminding him of the day three years ago when he’d set off for Canterbury to explore the castle ruins and the abbey, the day he had fallen in love with Eleanor.

  “You look as if you’re about to fall asleep,” said Miss Coombs, her voice teasing. “Am I boring you?”

  “You are many things, Miss Coombs, but never a bore,” Edmund said, extending his arm. “Come, I’ve been wanting to show you the grove of whitebeam.”

  She adjusted her bonnet and took his proffered arm. “Very well, then. Lead the way.”

  Several of the others milled about in the gardens, and Edmund steered Miss Coombs through the hedges, needing some time alone with her. No matter how he dreaded it, it was time to do what he had put off for too long.

  He led her down the path west of the house, pointing out the trees as they came into sight. “Ah yes. Here they are.”

  “Ooh, I didn’t expect the red berries. They’re very picturesque.”

  The word picturesque grated against him for some reason. It was a word that could be used to describe anything of beauty. “Yes. They look festive, don’t they? As if they’re determined to celebrate Christmas during the summer months.”