“The chemisette is fine cambric and these gold buttons are glowing in the sunshine, and I do allow that this full ruche of blond net around the throat is the height of elegance,” Belinda continued, ignoring her twin.

“Er . . . it’s very becoming.” West thought that the layers of netting around her throat made her look rather like those old portraits of Queen Elizabeth with her head atop a platter of stiff white lace ruff.

“And these blue forget-me-nots on my bonnet, and my gray half boots. It’s like I stepped out of the pages of the Ladies Pocket Magazine!”

“Pride goeth before a fall,” said Betsy.

“Don’t you dare trip me, Betsy Grace Delamar,” Belinda said, knowing her sister hated her middle name. “If I get mud on my lace netting, so help me I’ll never forgive you.”

“You look like a dress shop exploded and you were in the middle of it all. You can only see your cheeks and your eyes. How’s a gentleman supposed to find you in all that netting?”

“Ladies,” said Viola, stepping in between them. “Isn’t it a splendid day? The sun is shining, and the birds are singing a song about building their nests and lining them with feathers.”

“They’re probably eyeing Belinda’s netting,” Betsy said. “Shouldn’t wonder if one of them swoops down and tears off a yard or so.”

West had to laugh at that. “Belinda looks very well. And, Bets, you may run over and watch the cricket match, but only until we’re finished walking. And I said watch, mind you.”

“Jolly good of you!” Betsy ran off with no hesitation, her race across the pathways generating scandalized glances and whispers.

Viola smiled at him gratefully and his heart skipped a beat. That’s what he’d been waiting for this entire morning, to see those dimples.

He had the sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to take her hand.

Wanting to kiss a pretty woman was ordinary. He would have been alarmed if he didn’t want to kiss her.

Wanting to take her hand in his and stroll through a park . . . that was . . . unprecedented.

You could hold her hand. Make her smile. Give her your heart.

No, he couldn’t. He was supposed to be courting Lady Winifred. It was his duty to the family. The problem was . . . his heart was torn between duty and desire.

He desired Viola, and he wanted to be with her and maybe he was even smitten with her, as Jax had accused, but he couldn’t be with her for so many reasons, not the least of which was that he’d given up his right to such simple pleasures.

The smell of fresh crisp air with the hint of impending rain. The sound of robins twittering.

An alluring woman’s smile of approbation that made the day feel complete in a new way.