Sophia stiffened. “It was not one of the Ferrell twins, but Viscount Northrake’s eldest son.”

“Whoever it was, it was the poorest attempt at poetry I’ve ever heard.”

Sophia’s face turned red. “Oh! How can you say that? You have no appreciation for romance. None at all! Why when I think—” Sophia suddenly stopped, her gaze moving from Harriet to Chase. A sly smile crept across her lips.

Harriet recognized the signs immediately, alarm making her stiffen. “Sophia, don’t—”

“Captain!” Sophia leaned across the table toward the man. “I daresay you don’t remember this, but you and Harriet were quite fond of the barn. In fact,” she said, seeming to grow braver by the moment, “we were forever finding the two of you in the hay. Just as you remember.”

Harriet wished the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole, but it was not to be. The floor remained hideously firm, and all she could do was paste a smile on her lips and avoid looking at the captain.

She was certain the fool would be grinning, and she simply could not face such mockery. Harriet cast a wild glance at her siblings, seeking assistance, but none was to be had. Stephen was far too busy holding back a huge grin, while Derrick shoved a roll into his mouth to stifle a guffaw. Sophia was pretending to have something in her eye, so she was turned away, but her shoulders were shaking with laughter.

Only Ophelia wasn’t laughing…she was frowning, her head tilted to one side. “I dislike the barn myself. Too smelly by far.”

Derrick swallowed his roll. “Depends on how distracted you are when you’re there.”

“Distracted? By what? We’ve only two horses now. The rest of the place is empty.”

Stephen choked. “I ah, think that was the point.”

Ophelia’s brows lowered. “The point? How can an empty barn be any different than one that is in use—Ohhhhhh!” Her expression cleared even as her cheeks pinkened. She looked in awe at Harriet. “Oh my!”

“For the love of—” Harriet began, only to catch “Captain John’s” gaze. His blue eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curved in a faint, challenging smile. Harriet’s jaw tightened. He was enjoying her embarrassment, the wretch. She sent him a quelling glare.

Normally, her quelling glares served their purpose and could silence an unruly sibling in seconds. But somehow, they seemed to have no effect on overly handsome men with large bruises on their foreheads.

“Harriet,” Mother said, her soft voice distressed.

“Yes?”

“Would you…could you…please pass me the butter.”

“It’s right in front of you.”

“Oh! So it is. Well, then. I shall need some more bread.”

Harriet reached for the bowl, unaware that the captain was doing the same thing. To Harriet’s shock, his fingers brushed hers, lingering a moment.

She sent him a startled look, then noticed he wasn’t looking at her, but at her hand. She followed his gaze and realized that he was looking at the ring.