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Cheeksapple red, the young woman gracefully shifted to a sitting position, yanking her ugly brown gown over her shapely calves. A gray and white feather floated onto her lap. Another stuck out from the remains of her chignon, most of her lovely hair having tumbled around her shoulders in a cloud of springy, flaxen curls.

Hergoose wasted no time waddling onto her lap and draping his neck across hers. At once, she wrapped her slender arms around him.

Allwas forgiven, it seemed.

Despitethe awkwardness of the moment, Darius found their interaction touching. He’d never known anyone with a pet goose, but he couldn’t deny their genuine affection for one another.

“That goose is a menace, MissWeldon.” Mrs. Clarke gave a disdainful sniff and lifted her chin. “He ought to have been consigned to the cooking pot years ago. You’d be wise to serve him on a platter for Christmas dinner.”

HONK!Hiss. Hiss.

SirWaddlesby bobbed his gray and white head menacingly toward the outraged matron, who had the good sense to retreat several paces.

“Goodness, Araminta.” Eudora wrinkled her dainty nose. “I imagine it must mortify you to make such a spectacle of yourself.” She touched her smooth, neatly coiffed locks. “My word, your hair…”

Dariusfurrowed his forehead.

Surelygenuine concern prompted Eudora despite her comment having the air of a veiled insult.

“Yes, quite,” MissWeldon agreed with the bravado of someone accustomed to humiliating scrapes—likely caused by SirWaddlesby. She combed her fingers through her unruly curls in a vain attempt to tame the wayward tresses. Upon coming in contact with the wayward feather, she plucked it from her hair with a chagrined grimace.

Sympathystirred behind his ribs.

Noone enjoyed being on the receiving end of laughter and ridicule.

Theyoung woman set her goose down. “Stay there. You’ve caused enough ruckus for one day.”

SirWaddlesby bowed his neck, apparently penitent. Or perchance, the shiny black pebble by his foot had caught his attention.

Peck. Peck.

“Allow me.” Cassius extended his hand to assist MissWeldon.

Onceon her feet, he handed her the glove. “I hope the glove is salvageable.”

“Thank you.” A wistful smile tipped MissWeldon’s rosebud mouth upward at the corners while she carefully folded the satin, then tucked it into her pocket.

Herkeen-eyed goose watched until the crimson cloth disappeared.

Thefeathered fiend released a long breath and made a humming noise.

Coulda goose sigh in disappointment?

Astab of irritation toward his brother for being so quick to assist the young woman and for being the recipient of her winsome smile speared Darius.

Brushingoff her gown, MissWeldon faced him, her expression solemn. “I beg your pardon, my lord, for toppling your ladder. I didn’t see you.”

Mrs. Clarke made a rude noise—somewhere between a grunt and a jeer. “Thatis as obvious as your reconstituted gown, which you no doubt sewed yourself.”

Dariusscowled at the woman’s calculated cruelty.

Mrs. Clarke was a nasty piece of work.

“Mama!” A giggle escaped Eudora before she clapped a gloved hand over her mouth.

Nervousnessat her mother’s blatant rudeness or laughing at MissWeldon’s expense?

Onewas understandable. The other was wholly unacceptable. AndEudora’s youth was not an excuse. Even a child knew the difference between compassion and unkindness.