The party remained under the shade of the laurel until the sun began to set; then they wandered back to the house, each carrying a basket of strawberries.

Jane walked beside Captain Livingston and Miss Dunkirk, feeling more like a chaperon than a maid herself. The good captain reached for both of the ladies’ baskets, refusing to let either one keep hers, despite the fact that both had carried them while picking the fruit. As Jane released hers, she said, “I recall that we were safest when your hands were full.”

He laughed and said, “And I recall that I was safest when you did not have your thimble.”

“My thimble? What can you mean by that?”

“I mean that you thumped me soundly on the head whenever I came in reach. I still have a lump from one of your beatings.” He bent his head to Miss Dunkirk. “See if I don’t.”

“I am certain that if Miss Ellsworth thumped you upon the head, you deserved it.”

“Oh! I am wronged. What have I done to provoke such mistrust?”

“It is not that I mistrust you, but Miss Ellsworth is so trustworthy and elegant that I am certain she would never do something that was not proper. Therefore, it must have been proper to thump you on the head with a thimble.”

“I was the sweetest boy imaginable, I assure you. I have it on the greatest authority; you need only ask Aunt Elise how kind and gentle I was.” He spun, looking for Lady FitzCameron, but they had entered a copse of trees and were shielded from the rest of the party. “Well, when we emerge, she will tell you. See if she doesn’t.”

Jane laughed. “Captain Livingston, I would say you are as much of a rogue now as you were then, but your methods have altered.”

“Wronged! Oh, the ignominy. The wretched—” His words were cut off by a sudden pained cry behind them.

Recognizing her sister’s voice, Jane’s heart leaped to her throat, lodging there with sudden fear. She hurried back from whence they had come, moving as quickly as she could over the twisting path, but was soon passed by Captain Livingston.

Beyond the copse, her mother called, “What is it?” and other members of the party cried their queries. Jane rounded a tree in time to see Captain Livingston and Mr. Dunkirk lift Melody off the ground between them. Their arms were clasped together, creating a makeshift sedan chair. Melody leaned, pale as death between them.

Her slipper lay on the ground.

Miss Dunkirk came up behind Jane and grasped her arm. “What has happened?”

Her brother replied, “Miss Melody has stumbled on a root. I fear she has twisted her ankle badly. Run along, Beth, and tell Mr. Ellsworth.”

Jane stayed by their side as they picked their way through the copse of trees. Even with care, Melody’s foot bumped against odd branches, eliciting moans from her lips. When they were out of the trees, Jane led them across the field to the back of the house, knowing that they could get Melody to comfort soonest by entering through the breakfast room and avoiding the shrubbery, whose twisting paths would be sure to pain her sister further.