“Miss Wilkins.” He gave a gallant bow.

“Dr. Colville,” she responded with a tilt of her head.

As he straightened, his eyes connected with hers. The rich brown depths churned with turmoil. He hesitated, and his brow creased as though he would speak his mind. A glance to the other women on the blanket as well as to the pavilion beyond revealed that all eyes were upon them.

All eyes including those of Mr. Scott.

A tremor of anxiety rippled through Mercy, and she shook her head, silently pleading with Joseph not to speak to her, not in front of everyone.

He took the ball from her without saying a word, giving her only a nod of thanks. Then he ran back to his teammates.

Mercy folded her hands in the layers of her new skirt and twisted the material. Silently she prayed the attention would quickly shift away from her and that everyone would soon forget Joseph had singled her out.

She hardly dared to budge for the rest of the game. Once it ended, she stood and moved into the sunshine as the committee and other important members of the community came out from the tent. She wished she could sneak away to the Marine Barracks, but the women from the Female Immigration Committee had warned them not to go about town unchaperoned, at least not until the excitement over their arrival had passed.

“Mercy Wilkins, isn’t it?” came a voice next to her.

Mercy turned to find Mrs. Moresby. With her thick shoulders and torso, she had the build of a large man, but like yesterday her attire was feminine to the extreme. Her gown was trimmed with more lace and ruffles than Mercy had ever seen. Instead of feathers, today her wide hat was decorated with a bright array of ribbons.

“Aye, I’m Mercy Wilkins, ma’am.” Mercy curtsied.

“No need to curtsy to me, Miss Wilkins.”

Mercy straightened but kept her eyes fixed upon the woman’s skirt—the layers upon layers of silky material.

“I hope you’re enjoying your stay so far,” Mrs. Moresby said.

“That I am. Right well, ma’am. Thank ye for making us feel welcome and for giving us so many nice things.” Mercy patted her skirt to indicate her appreciation for the clothing.

“I’m glad to do it.” Mrs. Moresby reached into her colorfully beaded reticule, retrieved a handkerchief, then pressed it against her forehead. “Do you mind moving into the shade, Miss Wilkins? Whenever I’m in the sun, I’m afraid I burn like bacon in a frypan.”

“’Course, ma’am. Right away.” Mercy walked with Mrs. Moresby into the shade, which took them a slight distance away from everyone else. She was struck again today as she was last evening that Mrs. Moresby was polite and considerate, more so than the others on the committee.