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friends and gone off with them.”
    Mr. Horton or Morton—she hadn’t quite caught his name—shook his head, but the steps of the dance separated them and she didn’t catch his reply nor did she care. She had far more important things to worry about than George’s whereabouts. George came and went as he pleased. He would turn up eventually; he always did. Her most pressing problem was how to salvage her friendship with Hugh.
    When the dance ended, she looked around for Hugh. He was in conversation with Olivia and Major Danvers. Pinning a smile on her face, Abbie hurried over. As she drew near them, her steps slowed to a halt. Hugh’s face was in profile, and she had the oddest sensation, much like the one she had experienced all those months ago when they were first introduced. A lock of dark hair fell across his broad brow; his features looked as though they were carved out of marble; his coat hugged a pair of powerful masculine shoulders, his arm muscles bunched as he reached for a paper in Major Danvers’s hand.
    Roman centurion
, she thought.
    The awesome impression faded when Hugh slippedon his wire-rimmed spectacles and began to read. Roman centurions were not equipped with spectacles but with great metal shields and swords. Hugh was no warrior. He was a scholarly gentleman who had ruined his eyes by spending too much time with his books. The spectacles were vastly reassuring. He was still the same Hugh, still the best friend a girl ever had.
    Be natural
, she told herself.
Be natural
.
    “Hugh,” she said with unnatural brightness, “you’re back.”
    He turned his head slowly, and his tawny eyes gazed at her over the rim of his spectacles. “As you see,” he said.
    It seemed to Abbie that there was a moment of awkwardness, and she tried to cover it by looking around for somewhere to sit. Every chair and settee was occupied. Hugh solved her dilemma. He rose and held up the paper he’d been reading.
    “I shall put this with the rest of the accounts,” he said, looking at Major Danvers, then turning to Abbie, “Come along, Abbie. After I’ve taken care of this, I’ll take you to the tearoom for refreshments.”
    A look passed between Abbie and Olivia.
I told you so
, Olivia was saying. She had tried to convince Abbie that Hugh was too much of an intellectual to understand Abbie’s mother’s hints.
    “What were you and Olivia talking about?” asked Abbie as they left the ballroom.
    “The Trojan War.”
    There was something dry about his tone, and she looked at him quickly. His expression gave nothing away. Deciding she must have been mistaken, she tried again. “What did Major Danvers give you?”
    “A bill for candles,” he replied. “If we continue to use up candles at this rate, we may have to raise subscriptions.”
    Hugh was treasurer of the committee that had oversight of the Assembly Rooms, and he took his responsibilities very seriously. Abbie was in the habit of teasing him about it, but on this occasion she felt shy and said nothing.
    The office was just off the main entrance. Hugh took a candelabra from one of the hall tables, unlocked the door, and ushered Abbie inside. While he went to the desk and riffled through some papers, she wandered around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall, but she wasn’t as casual as she pretended to be. She still sensed an awkwardness between them and wasn’t sure whether it originated with herself or with Hugh.
    “Hugh,” she said, turning suddenly, “I—”
    “Who was the young man you were dancing with?”
    “What?”
    He looked up from the folder of papers he’d been reading. “The young man you were dancing with. I don’t think I know him.”
    “Oh, he’s George’s friend. Harry Morton or Horton. I can’t remember which.”
    “George?”
    “My brother.”
    “Your brother’s friend.” The set of Hugh’s mouth softened a little. “And you don’t know his name?”
    “George has many friends, and you know how hopeless I