Chapter 1

January 2, 1814
Outside the town of Birdwell, England
“Sally! He’s coming here today, you know. You should go inside and wash up.”

“Jonah, whatever are you talking about? Who’s coming here today?”

“Daniel Bird, of course!”

Sally Henson shook her head at her youngest brother, smoothed back her rough wool skirts and heavy warm shawl, and picked up one of the wooden buckets of chicken mash from the back steps of the small stone house. “I thought you had outgrown telling such outrageous fibs. Aren’t you eight years old now?”

“Of course I am!” said Jonah. His dark brown hair stuck up at the sky in tufts, his eyes wide with his usual excitement. Ever since he could talk, he’d been a bubble of energy that Sally couldn’t keep up with at times. “But this isn’t a fib. It’s true!”

Carrying the heavy bucket, Sally went striding across the small open yard to the enormous chicken coops out back. “Oh, hush, Jonah, and stop teasing me. Your brothers have been teaching you to do that, haven’t they? I’ll have a word with them before the day is over.”

“I’m not teasing,” insisted Jonah, his piercing voice cutting straight through the morning air. “I thought he liked you, but then he left. Why?”

“He went to a different farm to become an apprentice. To learn new things about raising animals,” Sally told him with an exasperated sigh. “Just as I told you before.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why he left?”

She nearly sighed again. Daniel’s leaving was the very last thing she wanted to explain to her brother. Especially since she’d only just gotten over it. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Maybe he was tired of having you ignore him all the time.”

“Jonah! That is terribly rude and I should tell Mother about it! Now, stop with your nonsense and hold that gate open so I can get in, and then shut it again – fast.”

Jonah pushed open the solid gate with a shrug, twisting his lips around in thought. The gate was set into a fence that was made of flexible interwoven hazel sticks and looked just like the sides of a very heavy basket. The small gaps in it would let the breezes blow through but keep the chickens inside.

Sally stepped into the first coop’s yard. “Out of the way, girls, out of the way,” she said, as she always did. The dozens of specially bred Dorking hens – most of them white and some black and white, all with long ruffled feathers –scattered this way and that over the bare ground as Sally tossed her mother’s special mash out to them. It was made from a mixture of grains, bread crumbs, leftover vegetables, some ground oyster shell brought in from the seaside, and whatever bugs and earthworms that Isaac, Gideon, and Jonah had been able to collect that morning.

“Eat it all, eat it all,” Sally cooed as the hens gathered round, flapping and squawking. “We want lots of nice tasty eggs to trade, and lots of pretty feathers to sell for ladies’ hats.” Her father was especially keen on the Dorking breed because of their long and beautiful feathers. The shining black ones were prized and the white ones could be dyed any color.

But as she continued to scatter the mash around the yard, making sure that even the timid birds could get their share and not be pushed out by the more aggressive ones, she only had one thought on her mind.

Today is my birthday. I’m eighteen now. Eighteen years old and I’ve never had a proposal. Not one. And Daniel has been gone for so long.

She could not remember a time when Daniel Bird had not been part of her life…until he had suddenly left several months ago, saying only that he had gone to serve an apprenticeship on a distant farm. There had not been so much as a single letter from him since.

Still tossing the mash all around the yard, Sally looked curiously up at her youngest brother. “Jonah, why would you be so mean as to say Daniel is coming here today? He is gone. He may even be gone for good. Why would you say such a thing to me?”

“Because he’s not gone,” Jonah said, searching the ground at the base of the fence on his never-ending quest for bugs to feed to the chickens. “He’s back at Bird Farm. Been there a few days now.”

“How on earth do you know?”

Jonah shrugged, and then looked up at her and grinned. “We three know. Isaac and Gideon and me. We go into town all the time to get things for Mama, or to take feathers to the dress shop or eggs to the inn. Sometimes Papa sends us to Bird Farm or Applewood Farm to trade chicken meat for a piece of ham or a jar of apple jelly. And we–”

“Yes, yes, of course, I know all that,” Sally cut in impatiently. “But who told you Daniel was coming here today?”

“He told us,” said Isaac, walking up to the basket-woven fence.

“We saw him just this morning when we took those stewing hens down to his farm,” added Gideon, right behind him. “Look at these nice pork sausages we got in trade!”

Sally dropped the bucket of mash. “Finish feeding them,” she said frantically. “And get all the eggs. I’ll clean the coops and pick up the feathers later on. I’ve already been working for hours out here and I’m so – I’ve got to – I’ve got to go change!”

* * *

Bird Farm was only a mile down the road to the south of Henson Farm. If Daniel was really coming here today, it would not be long before he arrived. Sally’s heart thudded in her chest, her insides warming up at the thought of Daniel. She hurried into the house, went into her room, tossed her heavy black shawl onto the narrow bed, and closed the door.

Being the only daughter, she had a small sleeping room all to herself. There was just enough space for the bed, a miniscule dressing table and bench, and a little trunk in which to store her clothes.

Most of the time, she did not care too much about her rough skirts and blouses. Nor about her old, worn, thick leather boots with a couple of holes in them. Everyone had to work very hard on the farm and must dress accordingly.

Daniel had hardly ever seen her in any other sort of clothes and would probably not even notice now. But she did take off the heavy, stained apron and tried to brush the pinfeathers and chicken mash from her skirts as best she could.

The clothes were one thing, but Sally had long wished she could do something about her looks. Picking up the little hand mirror on the table, she again saw her round face covered with dark freckles. Her brown eyes and plain dark hair stared back at her. Sally had always fervently wished she were taller and slimmer, more like her friend Merope Robbins who lived in town, but there was nothing she could do about that.

As she unpinned her hair and took the worn boar-bristle brush to it, Sally wondered if Daniel had changed at all in the months since he’d left. He was twenty years old and she had watched him grow up from a very small boy into a strong, capable, and well-to-do young farmer. How much has he changed in the time we’ve been apart?

She well remembered how he stood much taller than she was, with a chest and shoulders so wide it seemed there was no limit to his strength. Tremors of ticklish excitement rushed through her body at the very thought.

Does he wonder if I have changed? Does he think of me at all, now that he is back?

There was a small knock and then the door opened. Mrs. Henson stuck her head in, her gentle brown eyes sweeping the room before landing on her daughter. “The boys said he is on his way here now,” she said. “I’ve brought you a little water for washing up.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sally said fervently, grabbing the rag and the little bowl of water from her mother. She began scrubbing her face and her hands with the wet rag. “Yes, Jonah told me Daniel was coming here today, but I thought he was just teasing. I haven’t seen him in so long and I look such a mess–”

“You will do just fine, Sally,” her mother said. She took the rag and the bowl and placed them on the floor. She then picked up the brush from the table. “Daniel certainly knows that you work very hard, as every young woman does who lives on a farm. He is not expecting to see you in silk dresses and satin slippers.”

Oh, but I wish I could have him see me in such things! I am so tired of–

Her mother took the long, plain wooden pins from the dressing table and began twisting Sally’s hair into a smooth knot at the back of her neck. “Tell me again, Sally,” she said. “Do you know the real reason why he left last summer?”

Sally caught her breath. “He said he was going away to be an apprentice on a farm. He does not want to raise hogs, as his family did. He prefers goats.”

“Goats.”

“Yes, goats! He feels they will be quite important to England and might be of greater help to small farmers, instead of cattle. He loved to talk at length about how much less it takes to keep goats, and how much they give in return.”

With her hair securely pinned, Sally turned to her mother. “I know that Father is indifferent to Daniel, and his father is much the same towards me. That does not make it easy. But even so – do you think he will finally ask me to marry him today?”

Mrs. Henson cocked her head. She’d always been one to take her time when answering Sally’s question, which used to bother Sally to no end. She wanted answers instantly but her mother had to think long and hard before she gave one. “Your father tends to be indifferent towards many,” she said finally, her voice soft.

“Yes, but even more so towards Daniel. And his father will barely glance my way and seems to actively dislike me. Maybe that is why Daniel has never–” she broke off, looking away. “–has never asked me to marry him.”

Her mother merely shrugged. “Men are often just preoccupied. And sometimes, they do not like to be reminded that their youth is long past, as when they see young couples.”

“Oh,” whispered Sally, nodding. It didn’t make sense to her but she wasn’t going to question it any further. Sally only wished things could be much simpler when it came on to her and Daniel – that their father’s were friends, that Daniel hadn’t left for the apprenticeship, that he would finally give her the proposal everyone expected him to give.

“But it is your birthday, after all,” Mrs. Henson continued, cutting into Sally’s thoughts. “If Daniel remembers that, perhaps that is why he is coming here. But it may only be to give you a little bouquet of dandelions and wish you well.”

With her frustration rising, Sally sat down hard on the edge of her bed. “I have been told my entire life that Daniel Bird and I were intended for each other from birth. Everyone says we are an ideal match. We have certainly been playmates and friends since our earliest years. I have been led to believe that he would propose to me as a matter of course, and I never considered that he might not!”

“Now, Sally,” her mother said softly, in her steady voice. “There is still time. You are eighteen just today.”

Sally stood up and paced across the room. “Yes, eighteen,” she said, her teeth clenched. “No longer a child, for certain. And not unaware of what it costs to feed and shelter six people, with three of them being fast-growing boys who can eat their weight in bread and meat each day. And all six living on a small farm that has income from naught but chickens. I should be doing something to help!”

“Oh, my dear, you work as hard as any man to keep us going here. Everyone knows that. You are no burden, if that is what you think.”

“But I should have a husband by now. A husband who could help all of us, if and when it’s needed. The boys will not be earning any serious amount for some years yet. I am the one who should be finding a way to help all of us but I’ve done nothing but clean chicken coops all these years while Daniel–”

“While Daniel seeks his fortune elsewhere,” her mother finished.

Her eyes filling with tears of frustration, Sally could only nod. “There are other girls elsewhere,” she whispered. “He has been gone for months. What else could be keeping him, except that he has found another?”

“It is true that the two of you seem to be the perfect match,” Mrs. Henson mused aloud. “But I have seen the reality of it, as well.”

Sally looked up with a sudden frown. “What do you mean?”

Her mother sighed. “Do you think, Sally, that the two of you get on as well as you should, for two people who say they are considering marriage?”

Sally just stared at her mother. “We get on very well! He is always as calm and as steady as one of Mr. Hawkins’s old work horses. Nothing upsets him. I hardly need worry about him at all.”

Her mother nodded very slowly, looking closely at Sally. “I suppose that is what I mean,” she said. “I have seen you take him very much for granted. I believe you when you say you hardly worry about him at all. But maybe–”

“Of course I don’t worry about him! Isn’t that what love is all about? When you don’t have to work to earn someone’s love and affection and attention? When it is simply there, like air and sunlight?”

“I wonder what Daniel might say about that. Perhaps…”

Sally frowned. Her mother was gazing wistfully at her, her eyes clouding with sentimentality. “Mother?”

Mrs. Henson blinked, shaking her head slightly as a gentle smile came over her face. “It is nothing. I was only thinking about what could have been, is all. But I must confess that I find it hard to see Daniel thinking the same as you do.”

Sally was again stunned into silence, so much so that she instantly forgot her mother’s small lapse. “He works just as little for my attention, Mother. He works so little for it that he has been gone these many months without even a single letter!”

Mrs. Henson sighed again. “I have to ask you, for you are my daughter and I love you: Do you still wish to see him at all? If you do not, I will have your father inform Mr. Bird of that and send him away.”

“Why – I – of course I still want to see him,” Sally stammered. “I have always been certain that our differences will somehow work out. I am still certain of it.”

“Very well, then,” her mother said, nodding. “He is a fine young man and if you wish to be married to him then I want you to be happy. There are many good practical reasons for such a match. But we also wish for you to be content, and you must make certain that you will at least have contentment, if not happiness.”

“Mother, I am quite sure that nothing would make me more content – or happier – than marrying Daniel Bird.”

“Well, then. If that is true, then I would urge you to be a little more mindful of how you treat him. So often, he has seemed like only a toy to you, Sally. Perhaps you simply spent too much time together as children and it is difficult for you to see him as anything other than the young friend and playmate you have always known.”

“A toy?” She was truly baffled. Yes, she and Daniel had always been a part of each other’s lives. He might have been only a simple country boy, but he was quite handsome in his own way…and his steadiness and calmness were things that she always found reassuring. “I would not toy with Daniel, or with any other man.”

Her mother gave her one of those sideways looks again, this time with a wry smile. “I think every woman toys with a man at least once in her life. Just make certain it is not with a man you really want.”

“But I do – I do want him!”

“If you truly do, Sally, then you must learn to work with him and not against him. As I said, the two of you are quite different, you know.”

“Why, yes, of course we are. He is quiet as a dray horse while I am like – like–”

“Like one of those bullying hens out in the yard,” her mother said flatly, and then smiled at Sally’s shocked face. “It is all right for a couple to be different from one another, but think of it this way: You will see in nature that water cannot hold water, but a bank of earth will hold water very nicely. Fire met with fire will only burn and destroy, while fire tempered with water will remain controlled and useful. Can the two of you learn to guide and temper each other in the same way? Can each complement the other, instead of letting your natures clash and become destructive?”

Again, Sally was stunned by what her mother was saying. When put like that, it only bolstered her belief that she and Daniel were meant to be. Perhaps, if she could remember those words verbatim, she could say the very same thing to him? Perhaps that would push him in the right direction and finally let him propose.

Sally shook the idea away as soon as it came. “Mother — as I said – I have never worried about our differences or about our occasional clashes,” she reiterated, and then laughed a little. “I’ve always thought the clashes happened because we are so very passionate about each other! Such passion means he loves me and I love him – doesn’t it?”

Her mother only shook her head. “Only you can answer that. Perhaps you should think on it a while longer.”

“Oh, there is nothing to think about! Daniel will always be here. It’s just a matter of getting him to propose. Nothing more.” It seemed she was trying to convince herself of this as much as her mother.

“I suppose you could be right. But I would point out that he has not been here for some six months. And though I do not want to be cruel, Sally, you are right when you say there are other girls elsewhere. You must be aware that if he does not marry you, he is still going to marry someone. Someone other than you.”

Someone other than you.

Those words were like a knife in Sally’s heart. She had, in the very back of her mind, often wondered if Daniel had left in hopes of finding a girl to marry who had not grown up on a chicken farm…someone from a better family, who lived in a town – someone who had more to offer him than little Sally Henson.

Bitter jealousy rose up in her chest at the mere thought of Daniel with another girl. Sally realized that she would do almost anything to prevent that from happening.

“Of course I am aware that Daniel will marry someone, Mother, even if that someone is not me. But I would like for it to be me.”

Mrs. Henson shrugged one shoulder. “When two people are as different as the two of you, you must find ways to complement each other or else those differences will tear you apart.”

Sally nodded. “I will find a way,” she whispered. She truly did not want to lose him and was well aware that there were many, many other young women out there who would be glad to marry a man like Daniel Bird. “I will do what I can to keep him. I do not want to lose him to another.”

But her mother only frowned. “I am not certain you understand what I mean. You will not lose him to another. You will lose him all on your own if you are not kinder and more attentive to him.”

“Oh, I promise you, Mother, I will change all that. I will find a way.”

“Sally–”

There was a loud knocking at the door to the room. “Sally! Come outside!” called Gideon from the other side. “He’s here!”

Quickly Sally hugged her mother, caught up the old black shawl, and then opened the door. “I do not want to lose him,” Sally said. “I could not bear to see him with another. I could not! And I won’t!” Smoothing her neatly pinned hair with both hands, Sally hurried to the front door and ran outside to greet Daniel.

 

Chapter 2

It was true! Jonah, Gideon and Isaac had not just been teasing her. Daniel really was here, and he was here right now, across the road, stepping down from his small wagon and tying the horse to a tree.

Sally stood on the front steps of the stone house, watching as he approached the house along with her father. She had thought she would need her shawl against the cool January morning, but seeing his ruffled hair and those boyish eyes of his that she so adored, heat flooded her, coloring her cheeks and neck. She quickly shrugged the shawl off her shoulders and let it fall to the porch, for she suddenly felt too warm to wear it.

All she could do was take a deep breath and try to hide the surge of excitement she felt at seeing him again.

He was not quite so tall as many of the men, but he was far taller than she was. His shoulders were so wide, it seemed that there was no burden he could not carry, no innocent he could not protect. She had always felt protected just at the sight of those strong arms that she so craved to wrap around her. She wished they would fold her in his embrace and keep her close. She knew that though he was very kind, he was also quite brave and not afraid to step up and take charge if he felt he must.

He was kind, but he was not weak.

And now he was here, and tonight he would return to his family’s hog farm just one mile south of her own home.

Oh, he is back! He really is back! And why else would he come here but to see me – and propose at last? If he were only making a delivery, he could have given it to my father or to one of the boys – but he has tied the horse and now he is coming to the house. To see me!

Daniel paused in front of the porch and made her a small bow, his eyes quickly averting from her face as if to hide something.

“Miss Henson. I am glad to see you again.”

Sally, in turn, made him a very nice curtsy, just as Merope had taught her to do. “Mr. Bird. I am glad to see you again as well.”

Mr. Henson’s face was as stoic as ever. He’d never been outright rude towards Daniel, but considering the tense relationship between him and the elder Mr. Bird, Sally couldn’t help feeling a little tense.

“Mr. Bird tells me that he has finished with the first part of his apprenticeship on the goat farm up in the north of England,” her father said, coming to stand on the lower step of the porch. “He is back here in Birdwell for a time to help his father with their own farm.”

Sally couldn’t hold back her bright smile, first at her father and then at Daniel. “So, you have come home! I am sure everyone in Birdwell will be very glad to hear that. I know that I–”

“Let me leave you young ones alone,” her father cut in. “I must make sure that your brothers finish collecting the eggs. I will speak with you later.” With a nod to the two of them, he walked past the house towards the chicken coops and was gone.

Sally didn’t watch him leave. For a moment, Sally looked into Daniel’s eyes, and the two of them stood silent in the tension building between them.

“So,” she finally said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I take it your apprenticeship was a success?”

He smiled faintly. “I believe it was, though it is not finished yet. For two generations, my family has done very well with hogs, but there’s no denying that it’s a rough business. I have thought for a time that I would like to try my hand at goats.”

“Yes, I remember you talking about that. You would not stop going on and on about it, in fact.”

His smile grew larger and there was a flicker of interest in his brown eyes. Her heart always fluttered when faced with that cheeky smile, her stomach upset with butterflies. “Indeed, I couldn’t,” he said. “I am so pleased that you remembered.”

“But of course,” she said with a small frown. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His expression became quiet once again and his glance flew away. “I came by to drop off an order of ham hocks for your mother. They are still in the wagon. I’ll go and get them, and then be on my way.”

A small rush of something like fear surged through her chest. “Oh, no – please don’t go yet.” She cast about for something – anything – that would delay his leaving. “Is that Pipit who is put to your wagon? I should like very much to see Pipit again!”

“It is Pipit, for certain,” Daniel said. “He is getting along in years, but is so dependable and willing that I always prefer him to any other.”

“May I go and see him?!”

Another faint smile. “Of course. He is over there, beneath the trees. I’ll take you to him.”

* * *

Daniel never thought he would think this, but being back with Sally Henson was…unusual. The last six months of his apprenticeship had been filled with hard work, so much so that he hadn’t thought much about the dark-haired girl and everyone back home. Except for the loneliest of nights, when Sally had kept him company behind his closed eyelids, keeping his body warm under the chill of the darkness. Τhen, her presence had eased his exhaustion, but now he’d barely been in her presence for two minutes, and he already felt as if his orderly life would be thrown into chaos.

In a few moments, Sally had walked beside Daniel across the road to his wagon. Exclaiming happily, she hurried over to the horse and began patting him and scratching his neck. Daniel watched her bright smile, the way she eagerly stroked Pipit’s mane. He could admit one thing, at least. He was happy to be back so he could see her beautiful, cheerful self. Even if it was the last time.

Pipit’s old hazel eyes had a look of strength and patience that was quite opposite to the restless girl petting him.

“I think he always did like you,” said Daniel. “I used to think you liked him more than you liked me.”

Sally just laughed, the sound strong and full, dancing in the air around them and making his stomach feel familiarly unsettled. “How silly, Daniel!” she exclaimed, waving her hand dismissively. “He’s just a very sweet pony, that’s all. I had always hoped we could have a pony or two, but they are just so costly to feed and care for. It’s always been the handcart for us, when we must go to market or deliver eggs.”

He was silent for a moment, suppressing the nostalgic feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. It had been such an innocent time, their life growing up. He turned to her and smiled.

“I do remember that handcart,” he said. “It is one of my earliest memories. You would have been perhaps five or six years old, while I was eight or nine. Your father would perch you atop the handcart on the way to the marketplace, since it was still a long walk for such a small girl.”

“Oh, Daniel,” she said, laughing at him. “My father did not do that to save my legs. He did it because I would complain so much if he did not!”

He didn’t doubt that for a second. There weren’t many people who could say no to a girl like Sally, simply because she would not stand by idly if she didn’t get her way – that was one of the things that had always intrigued him about her. He wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d developed that trait at such a young age.

“Now it makes sense,” he said, also laughing. “I should have known that a pretty little girl can get her father to do anything she likes.”

“Well, not just anything,” Sally giggled, color reddening the soft skin of her cheeks. “Now it is my turn to push the handcart to market, and my father says that soon he will be the one riding on it.”

Both of them laughed at that. Whatever awkwardness he’d felt before dissipated instantly. Now he felt foolish for having been anxious at the thought of visiting her. Sally was Sally. She would not change. That steadfastness, as bothersome as it could be sometimes, was what always made him so comfortable with her. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Sally took his hand boldly. Daniel’s anxiousness tripled. His breath caught in his throat and he kept himself as still as he could be.

“I have missed you. Truly, I have,” she told him, smiling up at him with genuine warmth.

Daniel didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I – I also missed you,” he answered finally, his eyes shifting away.

Sally lowered her hand and tightened it into a fist. “Did you miss me?” she asked. In a single second, her warm tone transformed into a brittle one. “If you did, then why didn’t you write to me, even once? I walked the mile into town and back every day to check the post for all these months, even when I had so much work to do here. There was nothing…never one thing from you.”

Daniel took a step back from her. Distance, he’d learned in the past, was a tool best used when facing off against Sally, despite how much he wished things were different. “I did miss you, but I was working so hard all day, every day, to learn all I could. I could hardly find much time to myself.” Then Daniel stood a little taller and looked down at her. “I had hoped you might write to me…but you did not.”

Sally raised her chin. “How could I write to you? I did not know where you were! Only that you were gone somewhere to the north for an apprenticeship.”

“You had only to ask my family where I was,” he challenged, his tone utterly calm. He could tell that only made her angrier. “They would have told you. You have traveled the one mile between here and my home since you were old enough to walk. You surely know how to find it by now.”

“Your father barely tolerates me. You certainly know that.”

“And your father hardly looks at me. But you could have asked my stepmother, for she has always been kind to you. She would have told you how to write me, had you asked.”

Daniel watched as Sally visibly tried to temper her anger. It was a valiant effort, considering she’d never been very good at controlling her emotions. Daniel couldn’t say the same. He knew very well how to hold his tongue in check, how to smile and push on ahead for the sake of peace. Sally, however, knew just what to say and do to get under his usually unruffled skin.

“Perhaps I did not wish to disturb you while you were working hard to learn a new trade,” she said after a moment, her hands still fisted at her side. “Besides, I had no doubt that you would return to Birdwell – to your home – and to me – when you felt ready.”

Disappointment lanced him. He didn’t think he could keep it from showing. “Indeed, you were right. As you can see, I have returned. But ‘having no doubt’ and ‘taking a man for granted’ are two different things, though you do not seem to know that.”

“Taking a man for–” Sally gasped, eyes wide. “Surely you know how I feel about you, Daniel. How I have always felt about you!”

Daniel slowly tilted his head to the side, looking straight into her eyes. He had made up his mind – not with ease or a light heart, but he had indeed. He wouldn’t let her change his decision. This thing between them would never work.

“No. I don’t know how you feel, nor how you have always felt. You say you care for me, but your actions say quite the opposite.”

“Oh, Daniel – truly, I am sorry that I did not write to you. When you left so suddenly, I did not know what to think and I–”

Daniel shook his head and Sally clammed up. A wall was slowly growing between them. He’d been foolish to think this would be easy, but Sally, being herself, worsened the situation. In all the time they’d known each other, they’d lived with the expectation that they would one day be married. Daniel hadn’t allowed himself to indulge too much in the idea, but he could see that Sally had already considered it fact.

He didn’t dare to think what might happen to him if he were to let himself believe such a thing should truly be done.

“I am not talking about only the last six months, Sally,” he told her slowly, calmly. “I have always cared for you as well, and you have been a part of my life for as long as I remember. I very much like and admire your outgoing nature and lively spirit. But you and I are not meant to be.”

Something flashed in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was hurt or challenge. “But Daniel – some things are complement – complementary, you know,” she said quickly. “They’re like water – and fire – and a bank of earth–” She broke off, shaking her head frustratingly. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say except that – that today is my eighteenth birthday and I thought you were coming here to propose to me!”

“You thought what?” Daniel’s heart constricted. “Sally, what are you saying?”

Sally covered her face with her hands, but he didn’t miss the glimpse of red cheeks and blurry eyes. “But – don’t you know that everyone has expected us to marry ever since we were very young?”

“Of course I know.” I have not been able to forget. “And I have even considered it myself. As I said, I find much to admire about you and always have. But if my feelings of admiration are not equally returned, then I can only conclude that we are not truly compatible.”

His father’s words echoed in the back of his head. Daniel realized he’d been repeating them all along. Guilt sliced through him, but it was what had to be done.

Very slowly, Sally peered up at him again. “Not compatible?”

“Or perhaps not complementary, as you said. Surely, you see how different we are, Sally?”

Sally nodded slowly. Though her eyes no longer held tears, they were filled with wariness as she said, “Yes, of course I do.”

“And we do not work together, Sally. I feel that you have taken me for granted for so long that you see no reason to make any effort to keep us together…and indeed, you have not for all these past six months, and even longer before that.”

“B-but isn’t that what love means? When you need not put in hard work, but can simply be comfortable with the other person?”

Daniel could only shake his head at her with a sad smile. She would never understand, it seemed. “I am very sorry. I have no wish to hurt you. But I came here today only to bring your mother the ham hocks she ordered for soup, and I thought to say hello to an old friend while I was here.”

“An old friend?” Within a second, her shocked anger was back. “You are talking about me? I am nothing but ‘an old friend’ to you?”

He turned away and slowly walked a few steps over to Pipit, pretending to check the pony’s bridle. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we are better off remaining as friends, nothing more.”

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Chapter 1

 “Mother, what are you doing here?”  

 Simon Burfield, the third Earl of Reading, put down his book and looked up as his butler, Hughes, assisted the Dowager Countess of Reading into the leather–backed chair beside the fire opposite his own.  

 “I am here to see my son, of course,” Lady Reading huffed, removing her fur stole and passing it off to Hughes as she looked distastefully at the small table at Simon’s elbow. “Coffee? In the afternoon? What has the world come to? Hughes, bring tea, please, and scones, as is only appropriate after four.”  

 Simon smiled as his mother bossed and tutted, nodding gently to Hughes to bring what she desired. She was a fussy woman, set in her ways since her husband, the second Earl of Reading, died. She ran her own household like a navy ship. Simon preferred a freer, more relaxed household, which his mother found infinitely irritating.  

 “What can I do for you, Mother?” Simon set a leather bookmark on his page and set down his book.  

 “Goodness, Simon, you are turning into an old man, locked away in here on a lovely afternoon. And reading, of all things!”  

 She eyed the book distastefully. Simon sighed impatiently. His mother did not prize such introverted pastimes. She viewed every hour spent in the company of a good book a wasted hour when a man could have been riding or shooting or socializing with important associates. It had been humourous when he was a child, but now that he was her sole heir with no heir of his own, her distaste had grown.  

 Unlike other ladies of the Ton, the Countess was renowned by all the household servants in the county as a woman with a formidable temper and a free-speaking mind behind closed doors, especially when it came to her family. Simon didn’t find it unusual, and his father had found it charming, secretly disclosing to Simon that, “It is always best to have a wife who will agree with you in public and berate you in private! You always know where you stand!” Simon thought it sounded exhausting.  

 “I don’t know if you noticed, Mother, but it is raining.” He sipped his coffee, watching her roll her eyes. “Seemed the perfect afternoon for expanding the mind.”  

 “Oh tosh!” she grumbled. “You are dragging your feet!”  

 “In what manner, Mother?” Simon tried to keep his voice light, though he had a sense of where this discussion was going. He was not looking forward to it.  

 “Oh, you know what I mean!” she snapped. “Get married!”  

 At that moment, the door opened and Hughes entered, giving Simon the blessed relief of his mother’s silence since she did not believe in ‘airing family laundry’ in front of the help. She sat, tapping her foot furiously, clearly desperate to continue her tirade against him as Hughes slowly served the tea and placed scones on plates. Hughes had finally prepared everything and winked at Simon as he straightened up, letting his master know he had given him as much time as he could to quietly prepare for whatever verbal onslaught his mother had prepared. It was only when Hughes had closed the door behind him that his mother leaned forward, eager to continue. As always, her quick tongue was only reserved for her family.  

 “Jam, Mother?” Simon asked, quickly cutting her off and offering up the jam jar to her infuriated face.  

 “Put that down!” she snapped, stirring a lump of sugar into her tea. “We must discuss this, Simon—”  

 “I have heard everything you want to say,” Simon interrupted and sipped carefully, trying to hold onto his patience. “I have no desire to marry. Again.”  

 “You are being nonsensical!” she tutted, tapping a silver spoon against her teacup and glaring at him over the rim.  

 “I am in my perfect right mind, thank you, Mother.” Simon pushed the sweet scones towards his mother, wishing he could have stuck with the dark, bitter coffee that he much preferred.  

 “You must be out of your wits if you are truly dedicated to this notion of being a bachelor.” She shook her head, her grey curls bobbling under her severe black hat.  

 “Mother, the topic is not open for discussion. I thought you understood this.” Simon’s voice was growing sharper. He was losing his patience with his mother. “I have been perfectly clear.”  

 “And I have been perfectly clear!” His mother’s eyes flashed angrily. “It is not your decision that the Earldom of Reading should perish because of how you feel about remarrying!” 

 “It is not your decision how I live my life!” Simon snapped, his own temper flaring. His mother could always find exactly the right words to inflame his anger.  

 “Oh, yes it is!” His mother sipped primly but her eyes were flickering furiously. “You are the last heir of the Reading estate, and your one duty. Your only duty is to produce another heir. You need a wife!”  

 “I have one.” Simon slammed his teacup down, making the tea tray rattle. “But the only issue there is that my wife is dead. I will not dishonour her memory in the way you suggest! Not for you, for me, or for the future of the Reading estate. Never!”  

 His mother didn’t jump or seem distressed by his outburst. Rather, she set her cup down neatly and folded her hands gently in front of her.  

 “Look at me, Simon.”  

 Simon hesitantly met his mother’s eye, expecting a deluge of comments about propriety and duty. Instead, when his eyes rested on her old grey ones—which were a mirror of his own—he saw they were shiny with emotion.  

 “You miss Stella,” she said softly. “She is sorely missed.”  

 Her words were gentle and kind, and struck him right to the core. Used as he was to his mother’s strident opinions, her tenderness was striking. Simon stiffened, clenching his fists.  

 “I miss her every day.”  

 He blinked, looking around the library his dear wife had loved so much. How often they had sat together on afternoons like this one, reading quietly and sharing the simple pleasure of one another’s company. It would be sacrilegious to allow another woman to enter this intimate space of memories, to push aside Stella’s legacy. He would never allow it.  

 “It is only natural,” she spoke so quietly, unnaturally for a woman of her usual confidence. He recognized that she truly must mean every word she said if she was pushing aside all the fuss and bustle of her usual cadence.  

 “Is it?” Simon sighed heavily, gazing into the fire. “It has been five years and I still feel it as intensely—” Simon broke off, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t go on. He shook his head painfully and watched the flames flicker, his thoughts lost in his memories.  

 “It is natural,” his mother insisted. Simon noticed a tremor of emotion in her voice and looked up. “When you lost Stella you did not only lose a wife, you also lost …”  

 She didn’t need to finish. Simon nodded, unable to speak. It was something never spoken of in the household, and a fact not known beyond the family, but when Stella had been thrown from her horse on that fateful day five years ago, she had been a few months pregnant with their first child. Simon could still recall their shared excitement, their talk about the little heir of Reading that was growing inside her—the one that had then sadly perished along with her. Simon’s grief had been all-consuming and he had sworn never to marry again. He could still taste the depth of that grief now as he sat by the fire and swallowed hard.  

 “Then surely you understand why I would be reluctant to replace her.”  

 “Of course I understand.” The dowager countess leaned closer, instinctively reaching across to grasp her son’s hand. “I understand the pain of losing your love. Do you not think I long for your father every day of my life?”  

 Simon nodded. His mother was as sharp as steel, appearing hard and cold to others, but in the ten years since Simon’s father had died and the title of Earl of Reading had passed to him, his mother had suffered quietly.  

 “But I put that longing aside,” his mother continued, “for duty. Duty to your father’s wishes. He would be distraught if the name that had been passed down through generations of his family died out with his son. All I am trying to do is honour his memory.”  

 “That is all well and good, Mother, but all I am trying to do is honour my wife’s memory,” Simon said, gruffly pulling his hand away from his mother. She sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring at him appraisingly.  

 “What would Stella want?” she demanded. “Have you asked yourself if she would be happy to see you like this? Alone, without a wife to comfort you or a child to bear your name?”  

 “Mother, please.”  

 Simon looked out of the window. The truth was that his mother was right; Stella would almost certainly be disappointed if she could see him now. She had been a lively, family-oriented woman who derided the idea of old bachelors sitting on lonely titles. She would dislike how he had wrapped himself up in his grief, but Simon couldn’t unwrap it. The thought of inviting another woman into his heart was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear it.  

 “Let us talk of it no more, Mother.” He reached for his teacup again, sipping it and tasting nothing.  

 His mother shook her head again but seemed to be accepting defeat. She might be opinionated and free-speaking, but even she could see when her son’s grief was close to overwhelming him.  

 “Well, let us talk of other things,” she said, reaching for a bite of scone. “I hear the Earl of Brixton is having a ball in honour of their expanding family.”  

 “Yes,” Simon smiled, thinking of his best friend Nathan’s happiness. “Dear Eleanor must have her hands full with the twins.”  

 Simon felt a small twinge thinking of how happy and vibrant their household must be now—the hallways and corridors filled with the laughter of happy parents and the merry gurgles of infants. His own house was filled with sadness and quiet.  

 “Well, she kept her friend on, did you hear? The daughter of the governess.” She waved her hand dismissively as she always did when talking about those in serving positions. “I think she has stayed on to help as a nursemaid.”  

 “Miss Laurie,” Simon said automatically. “Her name was Miss Laurie.”  

 Marion. Simon had met Marion Laurie previously, and she had left a firm impression on his mind. She was a tall, incredibly likable woman with an open and friendly disposition that had immediately relaxed him. Not to mention she was a beautiful lady.  

 She and Eleanor could be mistaken for sisters from far away, both dark-haired and beautiful, but Marion had stood out for Simon straight away. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s wings, and unlike Eleanor’s curly mass, hers fell in heavy luscious waves. Her skin was darker than Eleanor’s too, evidence of her French heritage, and her lips broad and dark, sensuous to look at. Simon hadn’t been unable to stop himself from imagining kissing those lips, or making her gasp with pleasure. Even now, in the company of his mother, he felt a twinge of desire at the thought of an aloof woman like Marion laid bare and panting beneath him.  

 He coughed and drank some tea, averting his eyes from his mother as he tried to dispel the vision. You honour no one with your carnality, he chided himself sternly.  

 “Well, I am sure she will be very helpful to them.” His mother raised her eyebrows at her son. “And I think the ball will be very helpful for us too.” 

 “Oh? How is that?” Simon asked, trying to put Marion’s quick, hazel eyes out of his mind.  

 “I believe that Lady Terrell shall be there.”  

 “Oh good Lord, Mother, really?” Simon groaned, rubbing his hand over his forehead.  

 “She is a good match for you, Simon.” His mother licked crumbs from her lips. “She is a widower, she understands the pain of lost love, but she is still young with a good reputation—”  

 “You mean a good title,” Simon interjected. His mother had made no bones about the fact that she would only support Simon making a match with a woman with an equal fortune to his.  

 “Of course, but she is also well connected and has many important friends in the Ton,” she sipped her tea. “Not to mention she is beautiful.”  

 Simon snorted. His mother was right; Lady Henrietta Terrell was indeed beautiful. She was classically lovely in a way that men fawned over, with flaxen–blonde hair and doe–blue eyes, but it was nothing that appealed to Simon. He had always been drawn to more striking women than simpering ones, and Lady Henrietta’s attempts to flirt with him had always seemed girlish and endlessly boring.  

 “Beauty is not everything,” Simon said. “You know she is a hideous gossip.” 

 “Oh, that!” His mother dismissed his words with a flap of her hands. “It is the foible of a younger woman. She will grow out of it when she has her own children to worry over and something important to talk about. Like raising a young earl, for instance.”  

 Simon couldn’t deny his mother’s endless insistence. She was persistent to a fault, and he could see how she truly believed that she was honouring his father’s memory by trying to get him married at whatever cost, but it was unsettling that his mother could not see the faults of Lady Henrietta.  

 His mother didn’t realise that men talked too. Simon had known the Lady Henrietta’s late husband, Lord Terrell, and he had often complained that his wife was uninterested in domestic life, preferring balls and city gatherings over time at home with him, and free-spending with his money. These were not the qualities that Simon would ever want in a wife, but it was hardly prudent to tell his mother this. The best thing to do was to let her think what she wanted, and then quietly let Lady Henrietta down on his own time.  

 “Well, the ball sounds like it will be lovely,” he said, “I am looking forward to it.”  

 Simon was slightly ashamed to see how his mother’s eyes lit up with the possibility that he would consider Lady Henrietta but was grateful for the fact that she settled back in her chair, clearly comforted and pleased with herself. Simon sighed inwardly, knowing deep down that Stella was the only woman for him. It would take a rare lady to divert his affections, and he doubted such a woman would be found at his friend’s ball.  

Chapter 2

“Marion, where is Edward’s stocking?”  

 “It’s here, Ellie!”  

 Marion Laurie held up the infant’s small bluestocking as her best friend, Eleanor Reynolds, Countess of Brixton looked around at her with a harassed expression.  

 “How did it get over there?” Eleanor snatched it up, trying to wrestle the stocking back onto the foot of the next Earl of Brixton whilst his brother, Jason, squalled and wriggled beside him.  

 “God save me, why did I marry a man with twins in the family?” Eleanor muttered, quickly handing baby Edward over to Marion who took him, clucking gently and bouncing the baby softly.  

 “Because you loved him.” Marion laughed, smiling at her friend’s grumpiness. Though Eleanor grumbled about the twins, Marion knew that she was besotted with her boys and already hoping for more.  

 “Still, what possessed me to hold a ball for them?” Eleanor exclaimed. “They shall be asleep!”  

 “Because Nathan desired to do it for you,” Marion reminded her friend gently. “And he loves you and wants to give you a lovely treat.”  

 “But it is so much to organise,” Eleanor groaned. “And you know I’ve never had the head for such things!”  

 “Which is why it is all in hand,” Marion laughed, stepping forward and kissing Eleanor’s cheek. Marion had a list four pages long in her diary concerning the ball tomorrow evening, and she had been working with Nathan on making it special and superb for their Eleanor.  

 “All you have to do is take care of your boys and make a grand entrance,” Marion assured her. Eleanor squeezed her hand tightly.  

 “Yes, well, I couldn’t do even that without you.”  

 Eleanor flashed her best friend a quick smile, and then lowered her freshly dressed son into the bassinet. The truth was that although Eleanor and her husband Nathan could easily have afforded the best nursemaids and governesses, Eleanor would only trust Marion with her children. Marion was proud to be so highly thought of.  

 “You do that so well,” Eleanor sighed, watching as the determined, grumpy baby Edward, named for his imitable grandfather, began to blink sleepily in Marion’s arms.  

 “Well, Maman taught me everything she knew about babies,” Marion winked at Eleanor. “So you’re in luck!”  

 “I wish she were here now!” Eleanor looked wistfully at her sons. “What would she think?”  

 Marion’s mother had been Eleanor’s own governess and as good as a second mother to Eleanor. The two girls had been raised together, even if Eleanor had been raised for a good marriage and high society while Marion had been prepared for a future of companionship and servitude. When her mother had died, Marion had grieved and so had Eleanor, since she had loved Marion’s mother like she was her own.  

 It had been a blessing for Marion to have someone else to share that pain with, and now she could smile bravely, and say to her best friend, mistress and heart-sister, “She would think you were doing a very fine job, Ellie. She would be very proud, and a little jealous.”  

 “Jealous?” Eleanor laughed, shaken out of her wistful thoughts as she smiled at Marion.  

 “Oh yes,” Marion smiled as she rocked Edward. “Maman would have loved to see these raucous little boys! How much fun she would have had!”  

 “Oh, she would have kept them on their toes.” Eleanor laughed. “Do you remember how she used to surprise us in lessons, bringing in grasshoppers and adder snakes to teach us about nature, and we would climb on our chairs and squeal!”  

 “Oh yes!” Marion giggled, remembering her mother’s French lilt as she intimated her voice. “Only foolish girls are scared of little creepy crawlies!”  

 “My, my, how these boys will like lessons like those.” Eleanor pressed a finger to Jason’s sleeping nose. “She shall be missed.”  

 “Yes.” Marion pressed her lips to Edward’s sleeping forehead. “And she will have been sad to miss her only chance at being a grandmère.”  

 Eleanor frowned at Marion as she set Jason down to nestle beside his brother.  

 “I wish you would not speak like that, Mari,” Eleanor said, running her hand over the woven basket edge of the cradle. “You may have children someday.”  

 “Shall I?” Marion tried to keep her tone light but inside her chest was tightening with her own sense of grief.  

 “Of course!” Eleanor’s blue eyes were wide and earnest. “Why on earth not? You are beautiful, eligible –”  

 “What can I offer a gentleman, Ellie?” Marion asked lightly, not wanting to snap at her friend but also wishing she would not speak of it. “I have no dowry, no title—”  

 “None of those things matter in love!” Eleanor insisted.  

 Marion sighed inwardly. Eleanor was such an intelligent, political, insightful woman but she was also blinded by her own good fortune in love. She had shunned unconventional ideas growing up and had always wanted to pursue life outside of the privileged life to which she was entitled. Seeing her father’s drunkenness had made her jaded to the idea that good society was something to aspire to, but she still lived in a world where she had never had to fight for her survival in the way Marion’s mother had. She could sometimes exhibit such naiveté about the real world.  

 “Perhaps not,” Marion conceded patiently, “but they do matter in society. I am the daughter of a French governess and my father is unknown, a man who left when I was just a child. No sensible man would marry a woman of such questionable providence.”  

 “That is not true. Convention dictates one thing, but the truth is that those who serve are often formed of stronger moral character than those who don’t,” Eleanor argued, beginning to sound like the bluestocking women she listened to at debates. “You are of true heart, Marion, what matter is it whether or not you have noble blood?”  

 Marion thought it was probably of very great matter, but moved the conversation along.  

 “Besides that, Ellie, I am nearly thirty–years–old.” Marion began tidying up around the children’s nursery. “Even if I did marry, who’s to say that I even …?”  

 Marion let her words trail off. It was too painful to voice, this idea that she might be the very last of her family. That the name Laurie would die out with her and her mother’s legacy would be lost. She had been imagining what her children might be like all her life; if they would have her and her mother’s black hair and unique eyes, if they would take to the piano as she had done as child. But with every passing year these visions of the future became more and more threadbare, as if the reality of life was wearing them thin.  

 “Oh, Mari.” Eleanor impulsively hugged Marion from behind. “It shall be alright. I really believe that.”  

 She was a head smaller than her, and Marion felt her warm face pressed into the space between her shoulders. Marion was transported back to when they were little girls and their mothers had allowed them to sleep in the same bed. Eleanor would always roll over in her sleep to cuddle Marion from behind. Even as a young, unmarried woman, Eleanor had liked sharing a bed with Marion. Marion had treasured those moments of companionship, where they whispered softly together until they nodded off to sleep. It saddened her to think that now, with the closest woman she had to a sister married, those days of comfort were behind her. Marion took a shaky breath, blinking back tears, and then shook her head, laughing softly.  

 “Oh, let’s not talk of these dreary things when there are revels to be spoken of!” She turned to Eleanor and squeezed her hands. “Tell me who has responded to the invitations for tomorrow.”  

 “Most of society has replied, but Nathan only cares that Simon is coming. He cannot wait to introduce him to the babies.”  

 Eleanor tapped baby Jason’s chest with a soft finger. The baby puffed out his chest and sighed contentedly. 

 “That shall be pleasant.”  

 Marion thought highly of the Earl of Reading. He had already been named a godfather to both of the twins, along with Marion as godmother, and she approved.  

 “Yes. He shall bring his mother, the Dowager Countess, I believe.” Eleanor shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. “It is a shame he has not remarried.” 

 Marion didn’t know if she agreed. Simon Burfield, the Earl of Reading and Nathan’s best friend, was a widower and completely dedicated to his first wife. Eleanor and Nathan often bemoaned his widower status, wishing he would remarry so that they could build their families side by side, but Marion wasn’t completely convinced. She actually found his dedication a little romantic, and certainly honourable.  

 “He misses his wife,” Marion said, shrugging. “It is natural.”  

 “Nothing natural about it,” Eleanor snorted. “That man is too handsome to be unwed!”  

Marion couldn’t deny his attractiveness. He was over six feet tall—quality that she, as a tall woman herself, appreciated—and had a kind, friendly face. She must admit that when she had been briefly in his presence, she had felt a certain blush when he looked in her direction, but it was only natural when a man of such high status looked at a woman like her.  

 “Hmm,” Marion said, non-committal. She didn’t want to give Eleanor any reason to think she harboured affection for the Earl of Reading. She was always so ready to jump at the idea that Marion might have a suitor in mind.  

 “Oh, and Lady Henrietta is coming.” Eleanor pulled a face, not noticing Marion’s lack of comment. “Apparently she’s been on and on about me in Town, how I’ve lost my looks with children.”  

 “How vile.” Marion frowned with displeasure. She couldn’t imagine how unhelpful it must be to be a woman of society and know that there were gossipy ladies like Lady Henrietta out there, discussing and criticizing your every step.  

 “Yes, it is rather,” Eleanor spoke lightly, but Marion could see that there was a little redness in her friend’s face. She had taken the words to heart, and even though she was as beautiful as the day she had met Nathan, Marion knew she was a little self-conscious about this first outing into society after her confinement. Marion racked her brain for something that might help, and then she thought of it.  

 “Say, didn’t you order a new gown for the ball that arrived today?” She took her friend’s hand playfully. “Let us go and try it on and dress you up a little!”  

 “Oh, do you really think so?” Eleanor pulled back, hesitant, looking towards her sleeping children. “Shall they really be alright?”  

 “They will be perfectly fine.” Marion laughed, “We shall hear them if they cry. Come along, you need some time for yourself too, Ellie.”  

 “Alright.” Eleanor smiled suddenly, “I should like to see it.”  

 The two women rushed out of the nursery and down the hall to Eleanor’s dressing room, Marion nodding to one of the maids to keep a watch over the babies. She was always thinking of them, caring for them, just as she did for Eleanor, and just as her mother had done before her. She knew no sweeter joy in this life than seeing her best friend happy and settled in life.  

 “Here it is.” Eleanor shook out a parcel, lifting the gown out of the light tissue paper in a fluff of peach muslin. “Shall I try it on?”  

 “Yes, do!” Marion grinned, quickly undoing the buttons at the back of Eleanor’s simple day dress. “I can’t wait to see it on you.”  

 With Marion’s help, Eleanor quickly slipped out of her day dress and Marion helped slip the perfect new gown over her forehead, smelling sweetly of lavender and paper. The peach muslin settled perfectly on her body as Marion helped her do up the buttons. The colour set off Eleanor’s pale, creamy skin and dark hair. Together, the two women looked at Eleanor’s reflection reverently. The muslin was embroidered with gold leaf patterns, and each flinging thread caught the light flatteringly. Marion smiled, pressing tenderly on her friend’s shoulders.  

 “There you go,” she whispered. “Lady Henrietta shall have to eat her words, I think.”  

 “Are you sure?”  

 Eleanor pulled at the ribbon around her bust critically. Her bosom was delicately shielded by wisps of muslin, as was appropriate for a married lady, but she still looked as eligible as the day she had been introduced to society on her seventeenth birthday.  

 “Absolutely,” Marion assured her. “Would you like to borrow Maman’s pearls to wear with it?”  

 “Actually, I thought you might wear them.”  

 “Oh, I am not sure I shall attend.” Marion sighed. The idea of being the poor spinster at the grand ball, standing plainly in the corner in a governess’s dress, invisible to everyone, was more than she could bear.  

 “I should really like you to,” Eleanor said quietly. “You’ve done so much already for the ball. You should enjoy the fruits of it.”  

 Marion didn’t want to disappoint her friend, but she also hated anticipating how lonely she would feel if she didn’t go. She tried one more excuse.  

 “I – I don’t have the right sort of dress,” she said.  

 Eleanor smiled at her knowingly. “Actually…”  

 She nodded towards the packet that her own dress had come in and Marion reopened it again curiously. She gasped. “What’s this?”  

 “I had it made for you, Marion, as a thank you for everything you have done to prepare for the ball.” Eleanor smiled softly. “Will you at least try it on?”  

 Marion nodded dumbly. She stood in shock as Eleanor unbuttoned her plain grey dress and then slipped the new gown over her head.  

 It won’t look right, it will look foolish, I’m sure, Marion thought to herself. What kind of woman tries on a gown like this when—  

 “Look,” Eleanor said softly, turning Marion’s shoulders towards the mirror. Marion took a sharp intake of breath.  

 “Mon Dieu,” she whispered.  

 The scarlet silk gown fit her perfectly. Whereas other English girls may be washed out by such a vibrant colour, Marion knew that her French blood that gave her such lustrous black hair and olive skin was exactly suited for such a colour. She placed her hand on her stomach, turning at an angle to admire how the neckline of the dress flattered the slope of her breasts, how the scooped neckline made her collarbones alluringly prominent, and how the long sleeves made her arms seem slim and delicate.  

 “Do you think you shall wear it?” Eleanor asked gently.  

 Marion turned back, swallowing heavily and tilting her head a little higher. She didn’t look like a governess in this dress. She looked like a woman ready to dance the night away with the most handsome man in the room.  

 “Yes,” she said. “I think I shall.”  

 

 

 

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