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“Roses are worse than cats.” Neal spoke right behind her, and she turned. He was twirling her parasol, grinning. “If that’s a Worth gown, you’d best think twice.”

“It’s not a Worth.” She gave the skirt a shake. The gown was simple, crepe de chine and black lace. “It’s a Stirling. Lucy’s aunt designed it for the Celestia Jordan. To play Ophelia. But she wanted white.”

Neal lowered the parasol, eyes sliding over her. “Lovely.”

“It’s not lovely.” She stood stiffly. “Lovely is trite. Lovely is . . .” Elizabeth Powell. Lavinia Yardley. So much for dreaming she could change. She was a ninny through and through.

“Lovely,” she muttered, and suddenly she was gasping for air. Neal tossed the parasol into the pansies and stepped forward. She stumbled back, would have gotten herself pricked and tangled in the roses, but for his quickness. He folded her into his chest.

“Easy now,” he said, soothing.

“She’s here. Your Elizabeth.” She clung to him. He was silent.

“It’s a small world,” he said at last, and held her tighter. She could feel his chin pressing through her widow’s cap.

“It is, isn’t it?” She’d been writing of the wider world, but in the end, the small world of the ton was what she knew best. She would let Neal down in Cornwall. Another Elizabeth Powell. Seeing the girl had made it patently obvious. She struggled to calm herself.

“Still,” she said, stepping back from him, “I didn’t think you’d have an invitation to the party.”

“Graham Sambourn and I were at Oxford together.”

She bent her lips into a smile. An Oxonian gentleman. Where was her brawny-armed, unkempt Cornish pirate? Neal’s muscles swelled his jacket, but he looked combed, clean, and wholesome. He was even wearing special sporting shoes with laces. He’d planned to play tennis, to participate in the party. Whereas she’d imagined they’d linger in the bushes, where fantasy ruled and daily pressures dissipated to nothing.

“You shouldn’t stay,” she said. “Poor Elizabeth.”

“If I thought my presence would make her awkward, I’d go.” His gaze was as straightforward as ever. “I assure you it won’t. I saw her last week, in fact. Varnham is making her wedding bower.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’ve hardly seen you. It didn’t seem important.” He studied her face. “Please believe me—there’s no cause for concern.”

She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t nod. She was concerned, not that he’d choose Elizabeth over her. She was concerned that in choosing her, he chose just as foolishly, as regrettably. She’d been trying to tamp down that fear since that awful, wonderful afternoon in the garden at Harcott House. She’d never known anything as good as his love. She’d lucked into it. She’d accepted it, a selfish act.

Her love wouldn’t be enough for him in the end.

As the silence lengthened, he tugged ruefully at his short, sporting tie. “If my presence makes things awkward for you, I’ll go as well. I only came here because you compelled me.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “My pirate queen.”

She almost catapulted into his arms. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Forget the rest.

I compel you to follow me, she’d say. Behind these holly trees.

He cleared his throat. “Elizabeth is here. I should tell you, so is your mother. I saw her in the house. I think I’d have recognized her, but I also heard her addressed.”

She jerked, a catapult arrested. “Oh.” She should have predicted it.

“I walked on,” he said. “But I would like to meet her.”

“I wouldn’t like it!” She snatched up her parasol. Anger, anger fortified. Hadn’t he listened? Did he still fail to understand what her parents had done, to her? “You should go.”

Whatever Neal saw in her expression made him catch his breath. He laid a gloved finger under her chin, tilted her head up.

“I love you,” he said, looking into her eyes, and then he kissed her, long and deep. His lips teased her. She fizzed all over, golden bubbles rising from her toes.

She wasn’t intoxicated. She was a flute of Möet. Delicious, ticklish, effervescent with his kiss. He pulled away.

“I would like to meet your father too,” he murmured.

One by one, the little bubbles popped. She flattened inside.