As Ned’s father leads the way to the dining room, Wendy tries to catch Ned’s eye again, but he studiously looks everywhere but at her. She contents herself with watching him instead, as unobtrusively she can, while still remembering the important things—which fork to use, to sit up straight, to nod and smile as though she’s listening. It’s easy enough. Once they’re seated, Ned’s father dominates the conversation. John occasionally contributes when he’s allowed. Michael doesn’t speak at all, and neither does Ned. Wendy isn’t even invited, as though she’s merely a piece of furniture or decoration at a table meant for men.

It gives her time to observe, building herself a picture of the new world she’s meant to inhabit. She sees now why John was insistent and ashamed all at once. Her future father-in-law is a force of nature, a bully—a man like Jamieson, though his methods are far subtler. He’s a man used to the world giving way to him. Despite the similarity in their appearances, Ned seems to be his father’s opposite, quiet, and almost afraid. Wendy feels a surge of pity for him. The parts of the conversation she absorbs center on Ned’s brother, Allan. Not once does she hear her future father-in-law even mention Ned’s name. He is as much a fixture, a piece of furniture at the table as she, both to be moved around at will.

While he doesn’t look at his son, her future father-in-law looks at Wendy more than once, appraising, seeming pleased when she takes small bites of her food, keeps her hands folded in her lap otherwise, and maintains silence. She hates him, instantly and completely, but Ned, almost despite herself, she finds intriguing.

“Will you join me for brandy and a cigar, Mr. Darling? We have details to discuss.” Ned’s father turns to John as the plates are cleared, and Wendy starts, her stomach knotting with tension. She’d almost allowed herself to forget the reason for this luncheon.

“Of course.” John stands, nervous and flustered. She’s never known John to smoke a cigar in his life.

“Might we step outside for some air while you talk?” After so long in silence, Wendy’s voice sounds small in the room, lost among the gentle clink of fine china, polished silverware and delicately cut crystal glasses.

The four men turn to look at her. Ned’s father frowns. She imagines him making a mark on the debit side of a mental ledger. Rather than shrinking, she focuses her attention on Ned, smiling in a way she hopes will not intimidate him.

“I’d be pleased to volunteer my services as chaperone,” Michael says.

Wendy turns, surprised, just in time to catch the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. There’s amusement in his voice as well, and it fills Wendy with hope.