One Touch of Magic by Amanda Mccabe Page A

must be so happy to be home in England now, here in this lovely house.”
    Miles turned to her. She was a pretty woman, if a bit silly and empty-headed, and she seemed kind. It appeared her husband did not appreciate that kindness, though; Mr. Hamilton sat at the table next to theirs, and whenever his wife laughed, he cringed. It was obvious that the Hamilton marriage was a mismatch, and they were only just starting out.
    Miles could not help but feel a bit sorry for Mrs. Hamilton, even if it was rather disconcerting when she fluttered her lashes at him, or reached out to touch his sleeve with her lace-gloved hand.
    “I am very grateful to be here, Mrs. Hamilton,” he answered. “There are many who were not so fortunate.”
    Lady Iverson watched him steadily with serious eyes. “You mean—the ones who did not come back at all?”
    He looked at her. He had the sudden, irrational urge to tell her of the friends he had lost, the guilt that gripped his heart when he thought of them, left behind in foreign graves. He wanted to tell her of Jack, who had died in his arms on the battlefield, of Will, who had lost his leg, and died in an agony of blood poisoning in a field hospital.
    But, of course, he could tell her none of this. They were in a polite social setting, and even if they were not, she was a lady. He could not be such a boor as to tell her of these horrors.
    He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to. Those were in the past; they were locked up in his memory, and there they would stay.
    “The ones who did not return, yes,” he said slowly. “And also those who did return, only to find misfortune. But I hope to be able to help some of them, now that I am so fortunate as to be settled here.”
    Lady Iverson nodded faintly; the wariness crept back into her face, closing her expression. It was as if she knew what his words meant.
    “That is very good of you, Lord Ransome, to want to use your position to help others!” Mrs. Hamilton cried. She glanced over at her husband. “Some people only care about themselves and their own situations. They do not even care about their own families, let alone strangers.”
    Mr. Hamilton appeared not to hear her.
    “Indeed,” Lady Iverson said. “I am sure we will be hearing more about your plans later, Lord Ransome.”
    There was no escaping that, no matter how much Miles wished there could be. He never wanted to hurt Lady Iverson, not with these new, strange feelings he had toward her, but he knew that his plans were far too important to abandon. He owed it to all his lost friends.
    “I hope that I may tell you more about them very soon, Lady Iverson,” he said.
    Lady Iverson turned away. “Of course, Lord Ransome. I will be very—interested to hear of any of your plans. Right now, however, I must find Mary Ann. It grows late. If you will excuse me?” Still averting her gaze, she left her cards in a neat pile on the table, and rose in a rustle of fluid black velvet.
    Miles and Lord Dunston stood and bowed to her as she left. Only when she had melted into the crowd did Miles sit back down.
    As he did so, his gaze caught Mrs. Hamilton’s. For one instant, there was a shrewdness, a watchfulness in those pale blue eyes. Then her lashes swept down, and she gave one of her trilling laughs.
    “I suppose I ought to go after her,” she said. “After all, we came in the same carriage. It would not do for me to be left here overnight!”

    Sarah saw that Mary Ann was still sitting with Miss Milton, the two of them deep in some earnest conversation. She decided not to pull her away just yet, and instead turned and went down the marble steps of the terrace into the garden.
    As she moved farther away from the noisy affability of the party, the cool quiet of the night wrapped around her. Her spinning thoughts stilled, and she breathed deeply of the peace.
    Eventually, the only sounds she heard were the crunch of her own shoes on the gravel pathways, the swish of her skirts as they swept