The excitement over Hazel's engagement changed to the minutiae of preparing for the wedding, which wasn't exciting at all. Mabel reflected in solitude more often than she cared to. Thinking of heart matters was an ungrateful task. For all the time it took, it yielded nothing but sighs and painful pangs in her chest.

While the novels made suffering appear noble, she found it vexatious if it were anything. Her sensibility stubbornly refused to let go of Everett. It's a terrible foolishness, the reason protested, you must forget him utterly. Her heart just circled back to pick over the night of the ball. What she had said, what she had done, how she could have turned her dismal wooing around by some clever stratagem.

The ruminations didn't stop with the sunset. They snuck into her dreams. Particularly in her dreams! In Morpheus' realm, her dress—not the drab blue, no, a garish scarlet-and-gold dress she had never seen before—would fall off in the middle of a maddeningly fast waltz with Everett. Bare to the waist, she screamed. He only harrumphed and asked, "Why, how many hidden accomplishments do you have, Miss Walton?"

At other times she saw Everett on his knees before her in the inexplicably sunlit gardens of the manor. Only sometimes his handsome face transformed into Radcliffe's. Those were the best dreams she'd had in her life, except when both events mixed and she woke up exhausted, mortified and feverish. Once awake, she flipped through the dream book for different answers than her heart whispered.

The suggestive atmosphere that surrounded her mother and Hazel—the maiden about to be given away in marriage—made Mabel's pining worse. The interrupted threads of their conversations, the falsely lowered eyes and the special embarrassed laughter only teased her curiosity about what could have been if she didn't fumble. Or how her dreams might have ended, if Everett did more than mock her accidental nakedness.

So tormented she became, that she took to standing by the particular window at night instead of sleep, gazing at the stars, but also sweltering inside because beyond the window, if one passed the trees and the field, there was the Border Lake.

Everett was swimming there at dawn, Miss Carter told her once. She contrived that if she could have a glimpse of him, even from afar, it would be easier for her to bear the burden of this hopeless infatuation. Though, of course, it was completely impossible.

Her melancholy didn't escape Mrs. Walton's sharp eyes, but herself being much preoccupied with the wedding matters, she allowed Mabel to visit Miss Carter whenever it pleased her. This was the only thing that cheered her up.

Once, three weeks since the fateful ball, and a week ahead of the first banns being read to announce Mr. Aldington's and Hazel's wedding in the parish church—there was to be three banns' reading in the church, one every Sunday, as was proper—Miss Carter smiled a secretive smile at Mabel when they were alone.

"I have a gift for you, Mabel," she said, "but I cannot hand it over without a warning that you must conceal the truth as to what its origins are from your mother. If such deception bothers you, tell me right away, and I shall send it back, without passing it onto you, and we'll say no more of it."

Mabel stared aghast. It was very obvious that the gift was from a gentleman, otherwise Miss Carter wouldn't have made such a fuss over it.

After being overshadowed by Hazel's happiness and this awful longing for Everett, she craved a token of affection for herself. But to deceive her mother about such a token—whatever it may be—by telling it came from Miss Carter, not from...

She chewed her lip.

Who was her secret admirer?

"It is not from Dr. Berkshire, is it?" While heartbreaking, it would make her decision easy. The man came to dinner with Mr. Aldington for he was to be the best man at the wedding. Unluckily, he took an immediate liking to her, despite lack of encouragement from her.

"Are you asking me to show my hand? It spoils the game." Miss Carter's eyes crinkled at the corners.

Mabel cupped her hands by her (decently covered) chest in a pleading gesture. "Please, tell me if so! He's the most insipid, awkward gentleman I've met."

"He can't be so bad, can he?"

"Oh yes he can. He is old, and boring, and he laughs in the same manner a goat bleats," Mabel complained. "Miss Carter, I simply cannot endure his presence!"

"Look at this blush! Far more fetching than the sulking, isn't it?" Miss Carter asked Amelia.

Amelia, who was playing with a ginger kitten, lifted her head. "Far, far more fetching." Then, in the same tone, she cooed, "...just look at this itty-bitty pink nose and these wee little beans!"

Miss Carter and Mabel studied the kitten's tiny paw. The pads and the nose were indeed the gentle colour of tea roses.

"Oh, what a sweet little boy!" Miss Carter agreed. "I would never press a gift from him on you. From Dr. Berkshire that is. Our tiny tiger is innocent of the obligations of love yet."

Mabel sniggered. "I... I don't know."

Miss Carter watched her with an inquisitive, but impenetrable stare. The fluffball rolled in Amelia's lap, batting at her curls; they matched perfectly in their colouring. Clock ticked indifferently in the corner.

The gift had to be from Everett. He must have felt remorse for being so rude! Warm glow spread through her, imagining Everett overcome with pangs of guilt at the same time as she was overcome with pangs of regret. If he were remorseful, wasn't it a Christian thing to forgive him? And she wouldn't know of his repentance if she rejected the token.

"I shall tell Mother that it's from you," Mabel said, her head spinning with excitement. "What is it, do you know?"

Miss Carter shook her head. "You'll have to find out for yourself. It has been wrapped."

Wrapped! It had to have been delivered from London. The merchants in Kendal would have never wasted paper on the wrapping.

Miss Carter left the sitting room to return with a package wrapped in brown paper, secured with twine and a red wax seal.

Mabel stared at it, her breath caught in her throat. It looked so mysterious this way, so desirable... a gift from London. For her! Then, her stupor changed to impatience, but the more she rushed, to break the seal and loosen the knot on the twine, the clumsier her hands moved, the fingers filled with more cotton. She was making a mess of it, a terrible mess!

It was a miracle that she didn't break a nail, but that thought immediately fled her mind when the wrappings came off. An exclamation of delight burst out of her chest. She brushed the contents, marvelling. Sheets of the best quality artist's paper, watercolours and brushes... a treasure.

"Merciful heavens," she breathed out. All the wonderful things she had loved so, yet neglected through this summer in favor of dancing crowded before her mind's eyes. She nigh scooped the bundle to press it to her heart, she was so well pleased.

No, no, that won't do. She might crumple the paper accidentally. Reverently, she caressed the pristine surface of the top sheet.

"Oh, how did he know?" she murmured, as the warm pool of adoration spread through her chest. For that demonstration of tender affection, for this guess, she could forgive him anything. How did Everett know to make such a royal and intimate gesture?

He didn't and he couldn't, because she had never mentioned painting to him. As much as she yearned for the gift to be from him, it couldn't have been. Then who?

The answer hung in the air even before she plucked out a card hidden between the paper sheets. The sure handwriting on the glossy cardboard didn't look like it could be his at all. Everett's penmanship would have been racing, she imagined, with long, sharp strokes on his t's and i's, because all of his gestures were sweeping. But the man whose temperament would fit well with this handwriting; the man who knew of her passion for the watercolours; this man could only be...

She brought the card closer to her misting-over eyes to read the card.

Miss Walton, Radcliffe wrote, Please accept this small token of my appreciation. With gratitude for our delightful conversation and apologies for the unjust insults you suffered. They did not reflect poorly on the lady of your accomplishments and grace, only on the unfairness of the one who'd make them.

He signed only with his initials, RC, as if he wanted to remind her that his given name was Radcliffe and that there were two Chesterton brothers.

Radcliffe...

A beautiful name for an heir, Everett had told her.

A beautiful name for a generous and thoughtful man! Mabel exclaimed internally, playing with the card, but her eyes fastened to her lovely paper. What should she draw first? Never mind what, as long as it's worthy of that opaque, solid surface... the colour wouldn't corrode on it, the strokes won't feather.

Through the haze of excitement, her heart thudded painfully. Only a moment ago it was aflutter believing the gift to be from Everett. Now it celebrated Radcliffe. Was her affection so easily bought with a trinket? Yes, trinket, no matter how pricey!

The card slipped between her numb fingers, imagining Everett's sardonic smile. He'd say something awful, she was sure.

Why was Radcliffe doing it?

Radcliffe had earned her affection that night, no matter what else had passed. If only she fought through the crowd to talk to him... But she didn't because she was too engaged in recovering from the disgrace Everett landed her in. Too raw from the collapse of her dreams.

Perhaps the gift was Radcliffe's way to finish their conversation. Be true to yourself and forget Everett's harsh judgment of you; or your mothers. Forget them. Forget Everett.

It was... crafty.

"Would you be so very kind as to convey to Lord Chesterton how grateful I am for his gift?" Mabel asked.

"This would be impossible. He is accompanying Lady Catherine to Cordelia's estate."

He left this token for her with Miss Carter and departed. A parting gift then? Though, it would have taken time to send to London for this hoard. Mabel sighed. "What a pity! I wish I could query him as to why he would bestow this upon me."

Miss Carter lifted a brow as if telling her not to play coy, but Mabel shook her head at such an obvious hint.

"No, no, it is not courtship. He is too remote for that."

Miss Carter's brows threatened to pierce her hairdo.

"I do not mean to call him uncourteous, on the contrary, but--" she stammered. She didn't know how to explain it.

"You think you know men, and then they still surprise you," Amelia noticed philosophically from her corner.

"Radcliffe is among the more complicated men, I should think," Miss Carter said. "And as such he is more prone to surprise us."

Mabel's head drooped. "Please, do not ask me further how I know, but I am positively sure that Lord Chesterton doesn't like me."

Most particularly after the way she appeared to him on the veranda. A furious child, complete with wet shoes, rather than a lady... of—how did he put it?—a lady of grace and rare accomplishments.

Miss Carter exchanged a glance with Amelia. "We won't press you for your dark secrets, dear child."

Mabel stifled a whimper. A child! Merciful Heavens, he was consoling her like a child who dasheed into Everett's way and fell over her feet.

"That would be unseemly," Amelia called back.

"I am the worst matchmaker in the parish. Never argue this sad truth again, Amelia."

Amelia tickled the silky fur on the kitten's plump belly. "Absolutely the worst."

"Ah!" The word matchmaker lit up Mabel's mind like a ray of sunshine cutting through the clouds.

Radcliffe said something about her chastising his brother, like nobody else. Might he be playing a bit of a matchmaker himself? It is in his interests to have his brother married, they all had said so. For their title to have the future in the direct line instead of dying out or passing to a far out relative, Everett had to marry... what if Radcliffe saw a foil to his brother's explosive temperament in her? This would be far better than treating her like a weeping child.

"It's... it's a lovely token." She tried the soft bristles of the brush on the palm of her hand—it had a perfect spring to it. Perfect!

But if her guess was true, why wouldn't he ask Everett to visit them and apologize in person? Of course, he didn't seem like a man who apologized readily. If he liked her at all, he should have, instead of relying on his brother to do it for him with this gift.

A frustrated sigh blew out her cheeks. Everett tended to confuse her senses and leave her in a quivering puddle.

She picked up the brush again, then dropped it: Miss Carter and Amelia were watching her marvel at her treasure and struggle with herself for God knows how long. Indulgent smiles curled the women's lips, but still.

"I am sorry for being such a boring company tonight, Miss Carter, Amelia!" Mabel reached to take the older woman's hands into hers. "Please forgive me."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Miss Carter said, smiling even wider, eyes twinkling.

Emotions flooded Mabel. "Why should love torture us so? I envy Hazel for no longer having to ever again worry about it. Things must be so simple once a girl marries!"

Amelia lifted the kitten into the air, made smooches at its tiny nose and pink foot pads, then darted a sideways glance at her. "Be careful of what you wish for, my dear. You could very well be married and thus left without doubts."

Tears and jittery giggles spurted all at once out of her. "Yes, yes, to Dr. Berkshire! That would be simple indeed."

Miss Carter freed her hand gently to pat Mabel's with it. "Take advice from an older friend. Enjoy the gift and don't scruple over the propriety. It came from the most honourable heart you could imagine."

A sigh lifted her chest unbidden. Radcliffe was an upstanding man and couldn't have meant anything untoward.

"Believe it or not, he would have been flattered to find out that he is not considered an easy conquest," Miss Carter whispered.

"Please—" Mabel wanted to beg Miss Carter not to carry her words to Radcliffe, but she cut her off with a chuckle. "But I would never write anything of the kind to him."

"My lips are sealed as well," Amelia echoed gravely.

Mabel slipped Radcliffe's notecard between the paper. It would have been better to throw it away, but she just couldn't. This might well be the last trifle before she found her way in the world away from her father's house and became thrifty. Radcliffe gave this final breath of luxury to her. She'd treasure the memory of it, even when it's gone.

"I think I shall do as you advised," she promised to Miss Carter in a whisper. "Enjoy the gift and trust Lord Chesterton's good character."

"That's settled then and in the best possible way!" Miss Carter beamed, then glanced at Amelia. For a moment, the two ladies became so lost in a shared smile, that Mabel grew tempted to tip-toe away with her bounty.