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Lizzie found herself listening hard. The confessional tone in his voice caught her off-guard. “What do you mean, bad timing?” she asked with a hitch in her voice.

His fingers stilled, and instead, he cupped her mound possessively with his palm. “Just what I said.”

“I don’t understand,” Lizzie persisted.

He exhaled noisily. “Are we having this conversation now?”

“Apparently,” Lizzie responded tartly.

He rolled off her so he lay on his side facing her. After a moment, he placed his hand on her hip as though he could not bear for them to have no contact. “I met Betsy at a dance last spring in Chelsea. She was there with some cousins, I think? One had a loud braying laugh like a donkey.”

Lizzie nodded. “Our cousins the Stocktons. Harriet’s laugh is quite unfortunate.”

“You weren’t there,” he said accusingly.

Lizzie sniffed. “I do not care for the Stocktons,” she said primly.

A smile curved Benedict’s lips. “So disapproving, Lizzie. Why?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I just don’t.” She plucked at the blanket. “Besides,” she said avoiding his eyes, “they did not invite me. I was not considered merry company.” Before Benedict could say anything, she added quickly. “Betsy did not say she met you at a dance.”

“Likely her parents would not have approved of a public masquerade ball.”

Lizzie sucked in a shocked breath. “No indeed! And if that is not just like Cousin Harriet to organize such an entertainment! She knows full well Uncle Josiah would not have agreed to such a thing.”

“Where were you that night?” he asked, surprising her.

Lizzie shrugged. “In general, I stayed home when Betsy went to stay with them. She went for a whole month last March. I collect that must have been when your paths crossed.”

He grunted. “We met up the next day as a group, and the acquaintance went on from there.”

Lizzie frowned and rolled onto her back. Benedict immediately crowded into her side.

“What?” he asked, pulling her back into his arms.

“It feels strange. Hearing how you courted Betsy,” she said abruptly.

He breathed out shakily. “It wasn’t anything really,” he said, drawing her close. “If I had not been caught up in that brawl a couple of weeks later, we would never have got engaged.”

“How do you make that out?” Lizzie asked.

“Your cousin started writing to me in jail. I was miserable and feeling lonely.” He shrugged. “She wrote pretty enough letters. It was just … an entanglement.”

“Yet you would have married her, if not for the events of that unfortunate dinner party,” she pointed out, feeling a coldness steeling over her.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No, I was already looking for a way out by that point.”

Lizzie shivered and he dragged her hard against him. “You say that now,” she persisted. “But at the time you – you made her promises.” When she peeped up at him, he was regarding her gravely.

“Ask me what Betsy’s favorite flower was, Lizzie.”

“What is Betsy’s favorite flower?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I have no idea. Now tell me yours.”

“It’s violets.”

“Favorite season?”