"Oh, but it doesn't match my dress," Miranda said in feeble protest. He'd already fastened it atop her head. "How does it look?" she whispered.

"Smashing."

"Really?" Her eyes widened doubtfully.

"Really. I've always thought that violet ribbons look especially nice with brown hair."

Miranda fell in love on the spot. So intense was the feeling that she quite forgot to thank him for the compliment.

"Shall we be off?" he said.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

They made their way out of the house and to the stables. "I thought we might ride," Turner said. "It's far too nice a day for a carriage."

Miranda nodded again. It was uncommonly warm for March.

"You can take Olivia's pony. I'm sure she won't mind."

"Livvy hasn't got a pony," Miranda said, finally finding her voice. "She has a mare now. I've one at home, too. We're not babies, you know."

Turner suppressed a smile. "No, I can see that you are not. How silly of me. I wasn't thinking."

A few minutes later, their horses were saddled, and they set off on the fifteen-minute ride to the Cheever home. Miranda stayed silent for the first minute or so, too perfectly happy to spoil the moment with words.

"Did you have a good time at the party?" Turner finally asked.

"Oh, yes. Most of it was just lovely."

"Most of it?"

He saw her wince. Obviously, she hadn't meant to say so much. "Well," she said slowly, catching her lip between her teeth and then letting it go before continuing, "one of the girls said some unkind words to me."

"Oh?" He knew better than to be overly inquisitive.

And obviously, he was right, because when she spoke, she rather reminded him of his sister, staring up at him with frank eyes as her words spilled firmly from her mouth. "It was Fiona Bennet," she said, with great distaste, "and Olivia called her a silly old cow, and I must say I'm not sorry that she did."