“There is no need for you to apologize,” Annabelle said wryly. “Lillian is the one who should be sorry…though I suppose I’d have to go hang before she would ever say so.”

Daisy shrugged. “There are times when my sister must suffer the consequences of her own actions. But one of the things I adore about her is that when she’s proven wrong, she will admit it, and even make sport of herself.”

Annabelle did not return the smile. “I adore her also, Daisy. So much that I can’t let her walk blindly into danger—or in this case, ride straight toward it. It is obvious that she doesn’t understand how dangerous that jumping course is. Westcliff is an experienced horseman, and as such, he had the course built to suit his own level of skill. Even my husband, who is a powerful rider, says that it is a challenge. And for Lillian to attempt it when she is not accustomed to jumping sidesaddle—” A frown shuttered her forehead. “The thought of her being hurt or killed in a fall is unbearable.”

Evie spoke softly then. “M-Mr. Hunt is on the terrace. He’s standing by the French doors.”

The three of them glanced toward Annabelle’s large, dark husband, who was dressed in riding clothes. He stood with a group of three men who had approached him as soon as he had set foot on the back terrace. They all chuckled at some quip that Hunt had made—no doubt some off-color remark. Hunt was a man’s man, and therefore well liked by the usual crowd at Stony Cross Park. A sardonic smile curved Hunt’s lips as he glanced over the clusters of guests seated at the outdoor tables, while servants moved among them with platters of food and pitchers of fresh-squeezed juice. His smile changed, however, when he saw Annabelle, the cynicism transforming into a tenderness that made Daisy feel slightly wistful. It seemed as if something passed through the air between the couple, some intangible but intense connection that nothing could sever.

“Do excuse me,” Annabelle murmured, standing. She went to her husband, who took her hand as soon as she reached him, and lifted it to press a kiss into her palm. Staring at her upturned face, he retained possession of her hand, and his head inclined toward hers.

“Do you think she is telling him about Lillian?” Daisy asked Evie.

“I hope so.”

“Oh, he must handle the matter discreetly,” Daisy said with a groan. “Any hint of confrontation, and Lillian will turn mulish.”

“I imagine that Mr. Hunt will be very circumspect. He’s known as a very effective negotiator in business matters, isn’t he?”

“You’re right,” Daisy replied, feeling marginally better. “And he’s accustomed to dealing with Annabelle, who has a rather fiery temperament herself.” As they conversed, Daisy couldn’t help noticing the odd phenomenon that happened whenever she and Evie were alone…Evie seemed to relax, and her stutter all but vanished.

Evie leaned forward, unselfconsciously graceful as she leaned her chin in the shallow cup of her hand and propped her elbow on the table. “What do you think is going on between them? Lillian and Lord Westcliff, I mean.”

Daisy smiled ruefully, feeling a twinge of concern for her sister. “I think it frightened my sister yesterday to realize that she might find Lord Westcliff attractive. And she doesn’t react well to being frightened—it usually makes her go off full-tilt and do something reckless. Hence her determination to go and kill herself on horseback today.”

“But why would that frighten her?” Puzzlement colored Evie’s expression. “I should think it would please Lillian to attract the notice of someone like the earl.”

“Not when she knows that they would be at constant loggerheads with one another if anything were to come of it. And Lillian has no desire to be crushed by a man as powerful as Westcliff.” Daisy sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t want that for her either.”

Evie nodded in reluctant agreement. “I …I suppose the earl would find it difficult to tolerate Lillian’s colorful nature.”

“Rather,” Daisy said with a droll smile. “Evie, dear…I suppose it’s tasteless of me to draw attention to it, but in the past minute your stammer has disappeared.”

The red-haired girl tucked a shy smile in the concealment of her palm, and glanced at Daisy from beneath a sweep of auburn lashes. “I’m always much better when I’m away from home…away from my family. And it helps if I remember to talk slowly, and think about what I’m going to say. But I’m worse when I’m tired, or when I have to speak to str-strangers. There’s nothing more terrifying to me than going to a ball and facing a room full of people I don’t know.”

“Dear,” Daisy said softly, “the next time you face a room full of strangers…you might tell yourself that some of them are just friends waiting to be found.”

The morning was fresh and misty as riders congregated before the stables. There were approximately fifteen men, and two other women besides Lillian. The men were dressed in dark coats, breeches that ranged from fawn to mustard, and top boots. The women wore habits that were fitted closely to the waist, trimmed with braid, and finished with voluminous asymmetrical skirts that were buttoned on one side. Servants and stable boys moved among the crowd, bringing out horses and helping the riders to mount at one of three mounting blocks. Some guests had elected to bring their own horses, while others made use of the renowned stock of the Marsden stables. Although she had toured the stables on a previous visit, Lillian was struck anew by the beauty of the well-tended thoroughbreds that were led out to the waiting guests.