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rebellion would mean—that does not make him a rebel. At Yale I was forced to debate both sides of many issues, occasionally evenconvincing myself of a false ideal for a time—am I to be ostracized for that? Judged for what I once said, whether or not I still believe it? I say nay. And so I will not judge the Knights for what they may have thought or said before the war, but only by what they do now. And they have done nothing deserving of your censure. If they had, I assure you I would not be in association with them. More, I would see that their actions met justice.”
    Winter felt as though she ought to applaud his eloquence, especially as it had been directed at ladies rather than gentlemen, which she had never heard him manage before. Certainly, his defense of his friend was worthy of praise.
    But beneath her appreciation for his passion, her heart sank. Perhaps he saw more of her than anyone else in the city seemed to, but he must never see the truth. If his version of justice bore any resemblance to that of most other men she knew, it would land her at the end of a rope—or wishing for the mercy of one.
    Mrs. Shirley gave him a tight smile. “Your loyalty is to your credit, sir. And certainly you are right. I have never heard of the Knights putting action to what they once voiced.”
    Whatever string had held him so tight seemed suddenly to fray. Mr. Lane relaxed again, all the way into awkwardness. “I…yes. Quite.”
    They plodded in silence for a few feet, and then the girls clustered together and resumed their usual chatter about sack-back gowns and brocade shoes, Spanish lace and British beaux.
    Mr. Lane held Winter back half a beat, long enough for the others to get a few steps ahead. Then he turned his face toward her, his mouth in an uncertain line. “My apologies, Miss Reeves.”
    She did not have to feign the question in her blink this time. “Whatever for?”
    â€œWell.” Brows drawn, he pursed his lips. “Something, surely. Lapsing into argument with your friend’s mother, perhaps.”
    â€œIt cannot always be helped.” She smiled, perhaps with more cheek than required. “Just this morning I had to argue with her myself when she dared to say that her daughter’s hat had too many feathers—as if such a thing were possible!”
    He glanced at Winter’s hat, with its single plume, and his lips twitched up. As if he somehow realized she didn’t favor the frivolousas much as she might claim. “I defer to you in such matters, to be sure. And I see thanks are in order. You have obviously taken pity on me and have begun your campaign to make powder a thing of the past.”
    Her hand flew to her hair. She hadn’t considered that Mr. Lane would see her before she whitened it this evening. Had she anticipated this encounter, she would have given into Grandmother’s prods in a heartbeat to keep from encouraging him. “Oh, how terribly out of ton I must look. Perhaps if I had Dosia’s flaxen locks—but I ought not to have ventured out of doors with hair so dreadfully brown.”
    The twitching of his lips increased. “Are you fishing for a compliment, Miss Reeves? I daresay gentlemen enough have told you that your loveliness far outshines any other’s in this city.”
    She dropped her hand, as fast as if her hair had burned her. “I most certainly was not.”
    â€œAh, there we have a bit of genuineness.”
    â€™Twas obviously time for a deflection. And how better to achieve it than with a smile of blinding brightness? “Your genuineness was striking as well as you defended your friend. I do hope Mr. Knight realizes how blessed he is to have such an advocate.”
    â€œI daresay he would prefer not to be judged, so he would need no advocate.” He studied her for a long moment. “He thinks you have a low opinion of him as well, Miss Reeves.”
    It took all her