“I think Frances has fallen in love with him,” Harriet said.

“Probably,” Sarah agreed.

“He’s very kind to her.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He taught her to play piquet this afternoon.”

It must have been while she was helping Anne at her final dress fitting, Sarah thought. She could not imagine when else he would have had the time.

“He didn’t let her win. I think she thought he would, but I think she likes that he didn’t.”

Sarah let out a loud, long-suffering sigh. “Harriet, what is this about?”

Harriet tucked her chin back in surprise. “I don’t know. I was just making conversation.”

“At”—Sarah looked vainly for a clock—“whatever time it is?”

Harriet was quiet for a full minute. Sarah managed to get from forsythia to pigeon before her sister spoke again.

“I think he likes you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lord Hugh,” Harriet said. “I think he fancies you.”

“He doesn’t fancy me,” Sarah retorted, and it wasn’t that she was lying; it was more that she hoped she was lying. Because she knew that she was falling in love with him, and if he did not feel the same way, she did not know how she could bear it.

“I think you’re wrong,” Harriet said.

Sarah turned resolutely back to Miss Butterworth’s pigeons.

“Do you fancy him?”

Sarah snapped. There was no way she was going to talk to her sister about this. It was too new, and too private, and every time she thought about it she felt as if she might burst out of her skin. “Harriet, I am not having this conversation right now.”

Harriet paused to think about this. “Will you have it tomorrow?”

“Harriet!”

“Oh, fine, I won’t say another word.” Harriet made a big show of turning over in bed, pulling half of Sarah’s covers off in the process.

Sarah let out a snort, since an obvious display of irritation was clearly called for, then she yanked at the blanket and turned back to her book.

Except she could not concentrate.

Her eyes sat on page thirty-three for what seemed like hours. Beside her, Harriet finally stopped rustling around and fell still, her breathing slowing into light, peaceful snores.

Sarah wondered what Hugh was doing, and if he ever had difficulty falling asleep.

She wondered how much his leg hurt when he went to bed. If it pained him at night, did it still hurt in the morning? Did he ever wake from the pain?