Melody’s face soured. “His meaning was clear. But perhaps he preferred to spend the afternoon in the company of a lady than a farmer’s daughter.”

Jane winced as Melody flew from the room.

“Good heavens. What has gotten into the child?” Mr. Ellsworth turned to Jane with his eyebrows high. “Does she think that the whole neighbourhood must dance attendance to her whims?”

“She is young, and . . .” Jane hesitated to commit her sister’s potential indiscretion to words, but as her sister had not taken her into confidence, and as Jane feared for Melody’s state of mind, she continued on. “I fear she may be developing an attachment to Mr. Dunkirk.”

“Does he return it?”

“I do not know.” Jane plucked at the waist of her frock. “Certainly his behaviour has been above reproach in every instance of which I am aware.”

Mr. Ellsworth nodded, evidently satisfied with that reassurance. “Then we must hope that Melody will not embarrass herself while we wait for this fancy to pass.”

The front door slammed.

Jane hurried to the window and peered out. Melody strode across their lawn, heading for the fields between their home and Banbree Manor. Jane caught her breath. “I fear that is what she has set out to do.”

Her father looked over Jane’s shoulder. “I will go fetch her before she can damage our neighbour’s good opinion of her.”

Jane nodded, though she wanted to tell her father to let Melody do as she would. Let the headstrong girl make a fool of herself. The rational part of Jane knew that Melody was not her obstacle to Mr. Dunkirk’s affection. Jane was too plain and too quiet to engender any interest in him or any other gentleman.

Jane turned from the window and sat at the pianoforte. She loosened the fold around it, silencing the distant song. Quietly, she began to play, losing herself in the music.

Her fingers played across the keys and stroked thin folds of glamour on the ebony and ivory surfaces. Colours swirled around her in answer to the sound. She welcomed the light-headness, which came with too much glamour, as a distraction from her cares.

When the front door opened, Jane kept her attention on the pianoforte; she did not want to speak with Melody and have to comfort her. But that was unjust; Melody could not know how her actions affected Jane.

Bringing the song to a close, she looked up as the colours around her faded.

Mr. Dunkirk stood in the door to the drawing room. His face was alight with wonder. “Forgive me, Miss Ellsworth. I had told your sister I would call, and am later than I intended.”

Jane’s heart pounded with more than the effort of glamour, and a flush of warmth flooded her face. “Mr. Dunkirk. You have just missed her; she has gone for a walk with my father.” Jane rose with care, pretending that gray blobs did not swarm in her sight. She would not swoon in front of him. “But please be welcome. May I offer you tea or a brandy?”