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She had thought Papa overly proud to have a genuine Waterloo hero staying at the inn. She had thought little as a girl of England’s distant army. She’d been a child, not even at Mrs. Thwayte’s, while he’d been at war. Other men had gone about their business getting and spending, while he’d been at war. He’d been little older than she was now on the day of the great battle. She thought he had not yet let go of that day.

A bird took noisy startled flight somewhere behind her. She understood why she’d wandered so far. It was to think of him. Now it was time to turn back. She did not wish to alarm Cordelia and Cassandra. And Miss Throckmorton was right that Lucy should write directly to her father’s solicitor. She would send a letter in the morning. She laughed at herself. Men would be amused at the amount of time ladies devoted to thinking about them while they thought only of their own pursuits and not of ladies, at all.

With that resolution she looked around to get her bearings and found she was no longer alone. Harry Clare stood not four feet away watching her with an amused gaze.

“How did you find me?”

“You laughed. Did you want to share the joke?”

She shook her head.

“And,” he said, coming to stand at the foot of her tree, looking up at her, “you left a trail the whole army could follow through the dead leaves. Your shoes must be ruined.”

His standing so near changed the landscape of the wood. A minute earlier it had seemed an empty place; now it pulsed with life. She looked down at her muddied shoes and damp hem. Leaves clung to her skirts. “Oh dear, I’ll be in disgrace.”

“Not with your friends. They’ll be relieved to have you returned to them.” He looked around. “Not a place to hunt a husband, is it?”

She shook her head. Hadn’t she conjured him by thinking? “It’s an enchanted wood where anything can happen.”

“You should be tenderly flirting with four gentlemen at once.”

“Should I?”

“Confess. You let Miss Throckmorton drive you from the field?”

“I did,” she laughed. “She makes husband hunting seem quite effortful.”

His gaze altered. He looked at her in that way he had that heated the blood in her veins. He was not a comfortable gentleman like her Back Bench Lending Library friends. Around those gentlemen she was quite at ease, while around Harry Clare she was impatient, on edge.

“There’s no comparison,” he said. “Any man with eyes and a bit of sense will choose you.”

“How do you know that?”

For answer he reached up a hand to bring her down from her perch.

It was a fine strong hand, and the thought of that hand touching her and undressing her sent a rush of heat through her. “I am not asleep now. I will know if you touch me.”

“I hope so,” he said in a low husky voice.

She took his hand and felt the contact everywhere at once. Her body tilted toward him, and with a rush of little steps she descended. He steadied her as her feet touched the ground, and kept hold of her hand, but stopped short of drawing her closer.

His smile faded. “You’ve just begun to hunt a husband. Give it time.”

She looked at him, so near, but holding her at a distance when an instant earlier it seemed she must fall into his arms. “Must I? What if I want the husband of my heart to appear at once?”

“Maybe the fellow needs time. He might see you and want you, but he might need to put his own affairs in order before he can ask for your hand. He might not be as prosperous a fellow as a blacksmith or a water flask dealer. But never doubt he would choose you.”

He was being kind again.

A shout from one of the picnickers made them both turn. There were Mr. Bickford and Miss Throckmorton.

Harry Clare dropped her hand and offered his arm instead to lead her back. Miss Throckmorton talked about primroses as they made their way through the woods. Cassandra and Cordelia exclaimed over her and their worry, but did not scold.

Harry Clare came to her side again as she climbed into the carriage and contrived a few private words.

“I must leave London for a few days,” he told her, leaning against the carriage door.

“What? You would abandon me to the Miss Throckmortons of the world?” she whispered, making a joke of his leaving.