It is a testament to my mother’s skills as a hostess that she did indeed sound pleased.

“We could not let dear Cousin Charles come over by himself,” Dulcie explained.

“He does not know the way,” added Antonia.

It could not have been a simpler journey-one had only to ride into the village, turn right at the church, and it was only another mile until our drive.

But I did not say this. I did, however, look over at Mr. Brougham with some sympathy. It could not have been an entertaining drive.

“Charles, dear,” Dulcie was saying, “this is Lady Crane, and Miss Amanda Crane.”

I bobbed a curtsy, wondering if I was going to have to climb into that carriage with all five of them. I hoped not. If it was hot in here, it would be beastly in the carriage.

“Lady Crane, Amanda,” Dulcie continued, “my dear cousin Charles, Mr. Farraday.”

I cocked my head at that. My mother was correct-his name was not Brougham. Oh dear, did that mean he was related to Mrs. Brougham? I found Mr. Brougham the more sensible of the two.

Mr. Farraday bowed politely, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes caught mine.

I should say at this point that I am not a romantic. Or at least I do not think I am a romantic. If I were, I would have gone to London for that season. I would have spent my days reading poetry and my nights dancing and flirting and making merry.

I certainly do not believe in love at first sight. Even my parents, who are as much in love as anyone I know, tell me that they did not love each other instantly.

But when my eyes met Mr. Farraday’s…

As I said, it was not love at first sight, since I do not believe in such things. It was not anything at first sight, really, but there was something…a shared recognition…a sense of humor. I’m not certain how to describe it.

I suppose, if pressed, that I would say it was a sense of knowing. That somehow I already knew him. Which was of course ridiculous.