Perhaps she should have.

Instead, she removed the silver brooch.

Changed back into her brown work dress.

Tied the apron around her waist.

And went downstairs.

Now she moved around the engagement table filling glasses while everyone else enjoyed the food she had prepared.

Most guests seemed embarrassed.

A few pretended not to notice.

Grace barely looked at her.

Victor did.

Several times.

His gaze lingered in a way Evelyn disliked.

But another man watched her too.

James Mercer.

He sat halfway down the table.

Thirty-two years old, broad-shouldered, sun-browned, and considerably taller than nearly everyone around him, James owned the largest independent cattle ranch north of Willow Creek.

People said he could ride through a January blizzard without losing direction.

They said he had once broken a wild stallion no other rancher could approach.

They said banks offered him credit before he asked for it.

And unmarried women throughout three counties knew exactly how much land he owned.

Tonight, however, James seemed uninterested in every carefully dressed woman attempting to attract his attention.

His eyes kept returning to Evelyn.

Not hungrily.

Not mockingly.

He was watching.

Observing.

When Evelyn filled his water glass, he said quietly, “Thank you.”

It was the first time all evening anyone had thanked her.

She gave a small nod.

Then continued.

Several minutes later, James turned toward Beatrice.

“Mrs. Harrow?”

Beatrice brightened immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Mercer?”

He gestured toward Evelyn.

“Is she your servant?”

The conversation around the table faltered.

Beatrice laughed lightly.

“Oh, goodness, no.”

“Then who is she?”

“My oldest daughter.”

James looked at Evelyn.

Then back at Beatrice.

“Your daughter.”

“Yes.”

“And why isn’t she eating?”

Color touched Beatrice’s face.

“Evelyn prefers being useful.”

Evelyn froze.

James’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.

“Does she?”

Beatrice’s smile tightened.

“She has always been happier helping behind the scenes.”

James looked at Evelyn again.

This time he asked her directly.

“Miss Harrow, are you happier standing?”

Every head turned.

Evelyn felt twenty-two pairs of eyes settle upon her.

Her mother’s warning burned in her memory.

Grace deserves one evening.

Don’t make this about you.

Evelyn lowered her gaze.

“I’m comfortable, Mr. Mercer.”

James studied her for another second.

Then he reached for the empty chair beside him.

The chair had been pushed against the wall after one guest failed to arrive.

James stood.

He pulled it out.

Placed it beside his own.

Then looked directly at Evelyn.

“Miss Harrow, would you please sit here?”

The room became so quiet Evelyn could hear the kitchen clock ticking.

Beatrice’s face hardened.

“Mr. Mercer, there really isn’t—”

“There is a chair.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.”

No one breathed.

Victor Bell leaned back, apparently amused.

Grace stared at her plate.

Evelyn remained standing.

“Please,” James repeated.

Something inside her trembled.

Not fear.

Something far more dangerous.

The sudden memory of what dignity felt like.

She slowly placed the gravy boat on the sideboard.

Untied the apron.

Folded it once.

Then laid it beside the gravy.

Beatrice whispered, “Evelyn.”

Evelyn heard the warning.

And for the first time in years, she ignored it.

She walked toward the empty chair.

James held it while she sat.

Then he returned to his own seat.

No one spoke for several seconds.

Finally Victor chuckled.

“Well. That was dramatic.”

James lifted his glass.

“Only because it needed to be.”