A burst of laughter from a neighboring group broke around us like bells. Mercy! I thought. Are we really conversing about the science of the moon?

“When the moon is growing full, it marks a C in the sky; as it wanes, the shadows on it make it mark a D.”

“But that’s wonderful! However did you learn that?”

“I read The Farmer’s Almanac, Miss Thomas.”

“Ah.”

He smiled at me through the dark.

I was, inexplicably, struck dumb. Perhaps he sensed my discomfort, for he stepped apart as though to peruse a better corner of the night. Several moments passed by in silence, and I could not help but note the strong line of his jaw set there against the white column. He placed both hands on the piazza railing, leaning forward.

“For how long do you plan to stay at Grange House, Mr. Lanman?”

“We leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Yes.” He turned round to smile at me. “Your father has been kind enough to allow me this respite before my family removes itself to New York, but I must begin to earn the trust he has so far placed in me.” An unmistakable urgency coursed through his voice, deepening it.

“I did not know your mother moved with you.”

“She is originally from New York. I think she is pleased to find herself back amongst familiar sights, and also”—he coughed—“Boston perhaps has too much of my own father about it.”

“Ah,” I said again, not wishing to sink into intimacies shared in darkness. Out from the house drifted laughter and conversation. Quickly, I must find a reason to leave this piazza full with its confidences and its moon.

“Miss Thomas?”

I started. The voice behind me was perilously close, indeed so close, I felt the breath on the nape of my neck.

“Miss Thomas,” drawled Bart Hunnowell, “may I have this dance?”

“You may, Mr. Hunnowell.” I took his extended arm, and, turning to adjust my skirts, I curtsied to Mr. Lanman. He had moved into the light cast by the open door, his face shining into mine without shadow, and upon it sat a stiff smile.