It happened that, in spite of Mrs. Agate’s severe displeasure at Esther’s most ill-timed request, the accomplished cook managed to rise admirably to the occasion, supplying the evening’s festivities with a handsome assortment of refreshments. There were platters of cold roast beef and ham, bread and cheese, and several little dishes of pickles and preserves, all arranged alongside the plum cake, biscuits, mince pies, oranges, and comfits the girls had brought from town. Several bottles of wine completed the spread, which was so abundant that no one could have suspected the entire affair had been arranged that very afternoon, and under considerable protest.

“They shall want me to clean up after them too, I shouldn’t wonder. Thoughtless, frivolous rapscallions. Well, they’ll be sorely disappointed if they think I’m going to wait up for those jackanapes to finish their tomfoolery just to wash their dishes. That saucy little minx, who does she think she is? Just because her father’s gone away from home, she thinks I’ll bow and scrape to her every whim? As you please, Miss Holland, what’s your pleasure, Miss Holland?” The ill-tempered, middle-aged cook pulled a face and affected a high-pitched, simpering voice. “Poppycock! Why I’ve half a mind to take my services elsewhere. Throwing a party without any warning whatsoever. Why, if her father were here, I’d march right into his room and give him a piece of my mind!”

“But the dishes turned out wonderfully, Mrs. Agate.” Poor Kit, drenched in perspiration, did her best to console the irate cook after returning from having laid two more trays out in the drawing room for the guests to graze over.

“Yes, indeed,” Afton agreed as she fetched more linen and plates for the party. In the absence of most of the servants, she found herself slipping into the role very naturally. “Oh, let me get the door for you,” she said, holding it open for Kit, who was headed back out with a platter of cold tongue. As she did, a burst of laughter echoed down the hall, and Mrs. Agate winced.

“Those animals, I wish they’d cease this ruckus. My head is fit for cracking!”

“I’m sure things will settle down when they’ve a little food in their bellies, Mrs. Agate.” Like Kit, Afton did her best to pacify the older woman.

“Well, I shan’t stay downstairs any longer to find out,” she declared, heaving her enormous body out of the chair with a grunt. “I’m going to bed. And you can tell Miss Holland if there’s anything else that needs doing in this house this evening—she can do it herself!”

Afton and Kit exchanged a secret giggle as Mrs. Agate pushed past them both, then both girls returned to the drawing room to deposit their burdens.

Shoulders slumped with exhaustion, Kit approached Esther discreetly to whisper something in her ear. Esther nodded and waved her hand distractedly and Kit bobbed a quick curtsey before scurrying out of the room. Afton supposed she was heading to bed like Mrs. Agate, and wished she could disappear along with her, but her excuse did not work on Esther.

“What do you mean you are tired? It is only eight o’clock! You shan’t go to bed before midnight, Afton, I absolutely will not allow it! This is your party, after all!”

Her party, indeed. These people gathered here tonight weren’t thinking of her in the slightest, and she felt sure not one of them would miss her if she were to disappear. But, out of respect for Esther, she thought it best to remain, and make an effort at enjoying herself.

Thus encouraged, or bullied, rather, Afton smiled weakly at her friend and went to get a plate. In spite of the jovial mood going around the rest of the room, she felt fatigued and had almost no appetite, so she took only a small slice of bread, a little cheese and a mince pie, though she doubted she would manage more than a few bites.

She nibbled at the food in a chair in the corner, watching the others eat and converse gaily, doing her best to put names to the faces of everyone in the room.

Standing out immediately were the two men in uniform, probably the eldest pair in the room. Older and taller, Mr. Gibbs was more reserved, while his younger companion Mr. Bard was outgoing—and quite the braggart. He had not ceased to mention his commission (which no doubt his parents had purchased for him) from the moment he entered the house until now.

“So you see, even though Gibbs here outranks me as a Lieutenant, we’ll be in different regiments, so he won’t be able to order me around!”

“Are you sure about that?” Mr. Gibbs smiled slyly at his cousin who stopped to blink with uncertainty, and everyone, including Afton, laughed.

Next were the soldiers’ cousins, the Trumble sisters, with whom Afton was somewhat familiar by this point. The elder, Georgiana—the General, as Mr. Bard called her—was bossy and imperious in her expensive lavender gown. She was heavy and heavy-handed, and her voice had a way of carrying, allowing her to commandeer any conversation she wished. Meanwhile her sister, the small and meek Miss Alexandra in her pearl pink gown, seemed much accustomed to taking orders from the General, and going along with whatever her elder sister had a mind to do.

Then there was the Dyer family, Margaret and the twins.

Margaret Dyer in her dark green gown with her chestnut hair cropped short was a joyful, ephemeral creature, more fairy than human, Afton thought. She was beautiful and indifferent, cruel without being mean-spirited or deliberate about it. This was simply the nature of fairies.

The twins were utterly indistinguishable to her, with their honey brown curls, pink cheeks and cherubic faces, behind each of which lay a mischievous naughtiness neither could quite conceal. They were here for one reason, and one reason only: to flirt with their goddess, the beautiful Esther Holland. All others present at the party may as well not exist, so far as the Dyer twins were concerned.

After observing them for some time, Afton thought they were called Charles and Robert, and that Charles wore a gold waistcoat while Robert wore the blue, but they were so alike it was impossible to be absolutely certain.

“Hullo, there.”

Afton looked up from trying to distinguish the twins, and felt surprised to see Mr. Gibbs standing just in front of her.

“You’re by yourself; it must be terribly lonesome,” he observed. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all!” Afton said, a little panicked to have the handsome soldier single her out.

“Exhausting, these parties,” he remarked, seating himself beside her and stretching out his long legs. Afton observed he must be nearly as tall as young Mr. Holland. “I’ll confess I find them terribly draining.”

He glanced over at her, expecting some reply, but Afton suddenly found herself tongue-tied. Guessing her trouble, the officer smiled understandingly.

“Not that I’m anti-social, mind you,” he went on, turning his gaze back out on the lively room. “It’s just I prefer a more intimate setting.”

“As do I,” Afton murmured, then quickly bit into her mince pie.

“One cannot get to know a person until one has spent quiet time in their company. Listening to their thoughts, understanding their feelings and circumstances…”

“My sentiments, exactly, sir.”

Mr. Gibbs met her eyes and offered another smile, and Afton felt her heart skip a funny little beat.

“I thought you might feel that way.”

“Did you?” she breathed.

“In fact, I suspect you and I are quite alike, if you’ll pardon a rather presumptuous conjecture.”

“That we are similar? Sir, I should be flattered by any such praise. Though I hardly think I should deserve it.”

“No, indeed,” he laughed, “you’d be quite wrong. No, I can already tell. You are like me, Miss Green. Thoughtful. Sensitive. Mature.”

Afton felt her face was quite flushed at all this praise, and she turned her attention deliberately away from Mr. Gibbs and back out over the room. She swallowed and swallowed again, suddenly finding her mouth very dry.

For a minute, they both sat in silence. Afton pretended to be very interested in her meal while Mr. Gibbs continued to smile to himself and observe the room with a somewhat superior look. For a while everyone was occupied with eating, but soon enough, the guests clamored for entertainment.

“A game!” cried one of the twins. “We must have a game!”

“I am, as usual, two steps ahead of you, Robert,” announced Miss Dyer as she and the Elder Miss Trumble emerged from the corner carrying a gentleman’s top hat. “We have just invented a new game of charades, for we are all here too stupid to guess clever riddles.”

“Oh, indeed, far too stupid!” agreed Mr. Bard.

Laughter went up around the room along with an echoing chorus of agreement. Miss Dyer then went on to describe the new game, where a word would be drawn from the hat, and the recipient would have to pantomime the word until one of the teams guessed it, or the minute-glass ran out. Naturally, Miss Dyer and Miss Trumble would refrain from guessing the words they themselves had submitted, to keep the game fair.

“First, teams. Come each of you, draw a number from the hat.”

Esther came forward first, enchanted by the idea.

“Number two.”

“Team two, that is Georgiana’s team. You must sit on the left side of the room,” Miss Dyer declared.

“Me next!” The Mr. Dyer in the blue waistcoat squeezed his eyes shut tight as he felt around inside the hat, finally selecting a scrap of paper. Opening his eyes, he whooped excitedly to find he was on Esther’s team.

Each took their turn at the hat, and in the end the party was evenly divided with Miss Dyer, Miss Alexandra Trumble, Mr. Charles Dyer, Mr. Gibbs and Miss Green on team one, and Miss Trumble, Miss Holland, Mr. Robert Dyer, Mr. Bard and Miss Beattie on team two. As to the arrangement, certain gentlemen felt particularly pleased, while others were decidedly in a dour mood, including Afton’s teammate Charles, who cast dark glares at his brother, seated so casually next to Esther while he was stuck on the opposite side of the room.

When the time came to select and act out the first word, Margaret explained that Georgiana had prepared the words for team one, while she had prepared the words for team two, so all was fair, and, if they found any repeats, they were to be discarded, and another word drawn. There were, the team leaders assured the rest, ample words to keep them sufficiently entertained for as long as they desired.

“I shall go first,” Margaret declared, and thrust her arm into the hat. She pulled out a scrap of paper, read it and promptly ate it, much to the delight of the room.

“Georgiana, the minute-glass, if you please.”

“Yes, dear. Now, go!”

At once, the fairy-like Margaret began to walk as an innocent girl, then to stop and look up with a silent gasp of shyness and delight. Then she affected the air of another person, a man, Afton thought, impressed by her acting ability.

The man looked up and stopped as well. Then she became the innocent girl again, and held her hand over her head as though pinching something. She closed her eyes and leaned in with her lips pursed.

“A kiss!” shouted Alexandra.

“Lovers!” cried Robert.

Margaret jingled the invisible clasped item over her head as she continued to show a kiss.

“Mistletoe!” Afton exclaimed, and Margaret straightened in triumph.

“Yes!”

“Point to team one!”

Everyone applauded the actor as well as the guesser, and Afton felt her breast and face warm with pleasure as she squirmed in her seat, feeling both pleased with herself and shy, and eager to begin the next round.

A player from team two was volunteered, and after selecting a word from the hat, studying it with a frown then hiding it in her pocket, Esther took her place at the front of the room.

“Go!”

Esther immediately held her hands over her face, leaving slits over her eyes allowing her to see.

“Blinders!” someone shouted.

Esther shook her head and began to waltz with an imaginary partner.

“Dance!”

“Ball!”

She shook her head and covered her face again.

“Mask!” cried Mattie, and suddenly it came to Afton.

“Masquerade!”

“Yes! Another point to team one, good gracious. You are too clever, dear Afton,” Esther complained good-naturedly.

“Indeed,” Mr. Gibbs commented, favoring Afton with a dashing smile which this time set her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Very clever, Miss Green. I’m certainly glad you’re on our team.”

“Oh, Mr. Gibbs...” Afton felt her face would catch fire.

It was Alexandra’s turn now, and the poor girl drew ‘superstition,’ which she tried and failed miserably to convey, much to everyone’s amusement, so round three ended without a point being given. Next, it was Mr. Bard’s turn, who gave his best attempt at imitating his word, ‘donkey,’ going on his knees and making ears with his fingers. Becoming frustrated when no one would guess it correctly, in the final seconds he let out a loud, obnoxious bray, throwing the room into fits of hysterical laughter.

“An ass!”

“That’s it!”

“He jolly well is an ass, alright!”

“No, no!” Cried Miss Trumble, the only one not amused. “No giving clues with sound, that one is quite out, it does not count. Please, Mr. Bard, you must play by the rules!”

“Now I really feel like an ass,” he said with a sheepish grin, and everyone fell once more to hysterics.

Just at that moment everyone heard the click of the door opening, and the entire group looked toward it as a cold draft swept through the room.

Afton inadvertently found herself drawing a sharp breath, and unconsciously she clasped her hands over her breast.

What was he doing here?

Mr. Holland!