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good.” Mister Johnson got to his feet and trotted over to greet his relations.
    Corwin stood and extended his hand to Dimity. Not that she needed his assistance to rise, but likely he’d noted his uncle doing the same for Miss Johnson and it was only polite. She enjoyed the excuse it gave Corwin to take her hand. She wished he could pull her into his arms and, quivering at the image, envisioned them twirling around the room.
    He fired another smile at her, or through her, the way she warmed at his every glance. Flustered again, she waited by his side as the newcomers approached.
    The lean gentleman, referred to earlier as a lawyer, was attired in charcoal gray. The earnestness in his brown eyes suited a man of somber nature and his face seemed somewhat gaunt, as though he were too absorbed in his legal cases to trouble to eat. The cloth of his coat and breeches was of good quality though nothing extravagant. He wore no wig; his brown hair was neatly tied back and his unadorned cravat spotless.
    Miss Owen appeared the opposite of her brother. Her indulgently lacy cap and floral gown suited the well-endowed figure that jiggled with the laughter escaping her reddened lips. Surely, no woman’s lips were naturally that red. From the near wincing in Corwin’s expression, Dimity assumed Miss Owen’s incessant laugh grated on his nerves. It was on such occasions that she didn’t mind so much not hearing.
    Rather than being in any way gaunt, Miss Owen’s pink face was plump, her chin creased in a double fold. She was all animation. Her brother must have inherited the seriousness in the family, or they had different fathers.
    What a wicked thought , Dimity chided herself, just because Miss Owen seemed an insipid creature. Her brother on the other hand…my, how rapt his eyes were and they bent toward her. Dimity wasn’t certain whether to be flattered or alarmed by the fixity of his regard.

Chapter Three
    Corwin offered a stiff bow to each newcomer. He skimmed over silly Miss Owen, wishing he could gag her into silence, but his attention lingered a moment on her brother. Mister Owen had the lean look of a hardened wolf. A spark lit his intent gaze when he spotted Dimity, like a predator sighting its prey. Here was no dandy, and no fool. Geoffrey Owen was dangerous. If this were the frontier and not a polite drawing room, Corwin would remedy the gentleman’s absorption in Dimity with his fist.
    The rules of engagement were different in this “civil” world, but Corwin remembered hearing of duels. Wasn’t that how his uncle had suffered the injury to his eye? Corwin wasn’t acquainted with swords, but he could hurl a tomahawk in calculated revolutions to strike his target at the precise location he desired, and he was deadly with a musket. But it seemed easier simply to spring at Mister Owen here and now.
    No doubt Uncle Randolph would disapprove, and Dimity, of course. Corwin didn’t much care about anyone else’s sensibilities.
    Mister Owen stopped before Dimity. “Your servant, Miss Scott.” He bent low, offering her a practiced bow, and raised his head, his eyes on hers.
    “Sir.” Dimity curtsied and looked up. “Welcome to Whitfield, Mister Owen. Miss Owen,” she added with a curtsy in the giggling young woman’s direction.
    “I’m charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Scott,” the female gushed. “We must meet often while my brother and I lodge with Uncle Johnson.”
    Dimity murmured, “I shall look forward to it.”
    She turned back to Mister Owen’s relentless regard as Miss Owen burbled on, “Such a lovely home. I much admire Whitfield. I understand you are Mister Whitfield’s ward? Tragic about your parents. Killed in the border wars, were they not?”
    Uncle Randolph replied for Dimity. “Miss Scott is my ward, but I believe you are confusing her parentage with that of my nephew, Miss Owen. His parents fell in the frontier and he is only recently returned to us from captivity. Pray remember