Jane longed for the gentlemen to leave so that she could confront Melody directly. It was not possible; it could not be possible that her sister had lied to secure the attentions of Mr. Dunkirk. How much of the injury had been a sham? Had Melody truly stumbled, or had even that been part of her tableau vivant to draw Mr. Dunkirk in? For surely he, and not Captain Livingston, was the target of her play, else she would have enacted it while with Captain Livingston.

The morning passed in a torment for Jane as she struggled to conceal her suspicions from the men, and Melody strove to detain them.

Jane could scarce believe the preening and strutting that they performed for the benefit of Melody.

If Mr. Dunkirk mentioned his hunter, then Captain Livingston had to tell of his, and of how high a fence the horse could leap, which then caused Mr. Dunkirk to relate an anecdote about a previous hunt.

They went on in weary circles, Jane pretending to listen, while Melody seemed positively enraptured by their efforts, though Jane knew she loathed hunting. It was clear that Melody did not want to be alone with her sister, and so she encouraged the men to stay as long as they would.

Once, when Captain Livingston remarked on how fine the day was, Melody remarked, “Ah. I wish I could go outside, but I shall hope that it is as fine tomorrow.”

Then, nothing would do but for each man to offer to help her outside. Placing her in a chair, they each took an arm of it and carried her out onto the lawn. Jane followed in her role of chaperon, wishing that her mother or father would emerge so that she could retire and be done.

Though she knew that she should aid her sister in making a match, Jane could not stomach the games that Melody played. When at last Nancy came out to let Jane know that their tea was laid, the gentlemen carried Melody back inside and excused themselves. Mr. Dunkirk had promised Beth that he would be home to take her riding, and Captain Livingston had business to attend to for Lady FitzCameron.

As soon as the front door had shut and the men were safely away, Jane turned to Melody, having spent the afternoon deciding on the best course to take in questioning her sister. If she were wrong about Melody, the damage of her suspicion would not be borne, but she did not have an opportunity to exercise her plans, for as soon as she turned, she saw that Melody was sitting up with both feet upon the ground and tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Jane, forgive me.” Melody put her head on her hands and gave way to her feelings in a manner that shocked Jane. “I did not mean to—I do not know why I did it—but once done, I did not know how to undo it. It’s wretched, I know, but don’t tell.” She raised her head, eyes red with anguish. “Please do not tell.”