She was in love. Lady Sarah Pleinsworth was in love.

And it was grand.

The following morning

“Something is wrong with you.”

Sarah blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked at Harriet, who was perched on the edge of their four-poster bed, watching her with considerable suspicion.

“What are you talking about?” Sarah grumbled. “Nothing is wrong with me.”

“You’re smiling.”

This caught her off guard. “I can’t smile?”

“Not first thing in the morning.”

Sarah decided there could not possibly be an appropriate response and went back to her morning routine. Harriet, however, was in full curiosity mode and followed her to the washbasin, eyes narrowed, head tilted, and letting out dubious little “hmmms” at irregular intervals.

“Is something amiss?” Sarah inquired.

“Is there?”

Good heavens, and people called her dramatic. “I’m trying to wash my face,” Sarah said.

“By all means, you should do so.”

Sarah dipped her hands in the basin, but before she could do anything with the water, Harriet poked her own face even closer, scooting right between Sarah’s hands and nose.

“Harriet, what is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you?” Harriet countered.

Sarah let the water drain through her fingers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re smiling,” Harriet accused.

“What sort of person do you think I am that I’m not allowed to wake up in a pleasant mood?”

“Oh, you’re allowed to. I just don’t believe that you’re constitutionally able.”

It was true that Sarah was not known to be a morning person.

“And you’re flushed,” Harriet added.

Sarah resisted the urge to flick water on her sister’s face and instead splashed some on her own. She dried herself off with a small white towel, then said, “Perhaps it is because I have been forced to exert myself arguing with you.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Harriet said, ignoring her sarcasm completely.

Sarah brushed past her. If her face hadn’t been flushed before, it certainly was now.

“Something is wrong with you,” Harriet called, hurrying after her.

Sarah paused but did not turn around. “Are you following me to the chamber pot?”

There was a very satisfying beat of silence. Followed by: “Er, no.”

Shoulders high, Sarah marched into the small bathing room and shut the door.

And locked it. Really, she wouldn’t put it past Harriet to count to ten, decide that Sarah had had more than enough time to complete her business, and barge right in.

The moment the door was safely barred from invasion, Sarah turned, leaned back against it, and let out a long sigh.

Oh dear heavens.

Oh dear heavens.

Was she really so fundamentally different after last night that her younger sister could see it on her face?

And if she looked that different after a night of stolen kisses, what would happen when . . .

Well, she supposed technically it was “if.”