“You danced with me here once before,” he reminded her.

“Ah, yes, indeed I did.” She lifted her hand to make sure her hat was straight. “And if I remember, it ended in an ugly brawl from which I had to be rescued.”

His grin widened. “That’s what you get for trying to mix Yanks and Limeys together on the same dance floor.”

She sighed. “I have to admit, it wasn’t one of my better ideas.”

“Well, since I’m the only ‘bloody Yank’ here, as the villagers are fond of calling us, you don’t have to worry about anything upsetting this little shindig.”

“Not unless Martin decides to sample the cake. I’d better get over there.”

She left his side with reluctance. Her moments with Earl were all too brief lately. His duties at the base kept him busy, and what little time he could spare with her gave them scant opportunities for meaningful conversation. Which perhaps was just as well.

With a divorce pending, Earl had promised to keep his distance until the matter was settled. Even then, so many problems regarding their relationship would still exist. His home in America and her duty to the villagers of Sitting Marsh being the most prominent.

Elizabeth heaved a heavy sigh as she approached the rounded, frail shoulders of her butler. There were times when she heartily wished her kitchen maid mother had chosen to marry someone of her own station, instead of an earl and lord of the manor.

Martin’s hand wavered under the weight of the food he’d piled on his plate. Fat, savory sausage rolls sat on top of delicate, crustless shrimp paste and cress sandwiches. Pickled onions neatly lined the plate’s rim, while a slice of cold pork pie balanced on top of a wedge of Gorgonzola cheese.

“Oh, there you are, madam.” Martin looked guiltily at the loaded plate. “I thought I’d have a little refreshment while Violet makes a ghastly spectacle of herself associating with that charlatan. I was told to help myself.”