The September wind blew from the north with the first hint of winter, and Tessa wished for her wool pelisse. Inconveniently, her winter cloaks were all made of bright fabric, sunny yellow and dusty purple and pearly ivory. She hadn’t wanted to spend money to replace them when her wardrobe turned drab. The pregnancy had kept her confined most of the previous winter, but this year she would have to sort out some alternative. Today, she would shiver.

It hadn’t occurred to her that Joseph would collect her in a phaeton, open to the cool air, nimble and quick. In truth, she hadn’t thought much about how they would travel or even where they would go—she simply wanted to see him.

She’d heard nothing from him for a full day after Vauxhall, and the hours of silence had been agonizing. Despite the trauma of the night, Tessa had enjoyed the outing and felt closer to Joseph than she had since Berymede, and she missed him. She’d missed him when he was in Barbadoes, but this was a far more urgent, specific longing. She missed the smell of him, the sound of his voice, she missed telling him about Christian’s antics of the day.

She’d passed the long day of missing him by scripting the perfect introduction to a conversation about leaving Belgravia, how and where and when. It pained her to address this, in theory and in earnest, but the longer she put off this discussion, the more it felt like the confession of her pregnancy all over again, this great secret she’d known all along but concealed.

Before Joseph had returned from Barbadoes, she’d worried the request would sound demanding and greedy. Now that he was back, she worried that her request would come off like a ploy to escape him.

Escaping him was the last thing she wished to do, but she could hardly invite herself and her baby to join his life in earnest. She wasn’t even sure what he intended next for the guano venture. Here, too, she’d been too afraid to ask.

But no more. Tessa Chance did not enjoy the luxury of an uncertain future. She was a mother with an infant son, and they could not live with the Boyds forever. The topic must be raised. Today. On this very outing.

“Perry was thorough in teaching you how to put Christian down for his nap, I presume?” she asked Joseph as he steered the horses down Lower Belgrave Street.

“Thorough?” he repeated. The two horses were lively, probably more accustomed to open country roads than the crush of city streets. Reining them in took considerable concentration.

“Come now,” she said. “Christian’s naptime routine boasts no fewer than ten steps. And Perry is nothing if not precise. Surely you learned something.”

He chuckled but did not smile. His eyes remained on the road. They rounded Hyde Park and took James Street in the direction of Westminster Bridge. They clipped along in an exhilarating mix of plodding slowness and bolting speed.

When a runaway horse darted into their path, Joseph reined in. Tessa saw it too late to steady herself, and she spilled against him. It was like colliding with a warm, muscled pillar in soft, wool clothing. His hands were occupied with the reigns and she splayed out, grabbing for any handhold—his thigh, the lapel of his jacket.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes on the road.

She nodded, picking her way back to her seat with the slowest, most lingering progress. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard him clear his throat. Had he shifted in his seat? Did the proximity thrill him as it did her? Tessa considered this and was careful not to break her fall again. Each lurch bumped her against his shoulder and bicep, his muscled thigh. Her body pinged and sparked on impact, like a blacksmith’s hammer connecting with the anvil.

Vauxhall had reunited her with the contained power of his body, although her desire to touch him had lingered since their time at Berymede. She’d washed nappies, knitted baby caps, and pushed the pram for miles, fantasizing about the feel of his strong hands kneading the knots from her shoulders, grazing her knuckles against her neck, tracing her chin, pulling her face to his.

And then he came back.

And it seemed they would never touch again.

But Vauxhall had disproved this in a way, and now she struggled to remember her prepared remarks about moving away. She watched the road instead, anticipating the sharp turn or erratic traffic that would spill her up against him.

“Tessa . . .” he began. Something about the way he said her name made her feel like she was on the swing at Berymede.

“Yes?”

“Are you aware how much I admire you for the life you have made for yourself and the baby? Everything you have achieved astounds me. The baby, the dockyard. Admiration is an insufficient word for what I feel.”

“Admiration . . .” she repeated. Perhaps she had been the only one thinking about touching.

Traffic opened up, and they careened around the turn onto York Street. She held to his leg with both hands.

“That said,” he went on, but his voice broke.

He feels it, she thought, and she couldn’t resist giving the coiled muscle of his thigh a slight squeeze.

He cleared his throat and started again. “That said, I hate the thought of you living in the Boyds’ cellar. Soon the mornings will bring the frost, after that comes the snow of winter. I lay awake last night, wondering if you were warm. If you had proper light. I . . . don’t—”

He paused and lifted her gloved hand from his thigh and pressed it to his chest. Tessa stared at his hand over hers. She felt the beat of his heart, stronger and more rapid than the horse’s hooves.

He began again. “I don’t like you and the baby living in any cellar.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes intent. “If I’m being honest, I don’t like it at all.”

Tessa’s eyes sank closed. Thank God. She forced her brain to recall the details of her proposed move.

Joseph pressed on. “I am aware that I was selfishly ignorant of the arrangement while I was away, but now that I’ve seen it, I should like to discuss some . . . alternative.”

Tessa paused, gathering her thoughts. What she said next was so very crucial. She curled her fingers around his hand and squeezed.

“Thank you, for your compliment,” she began, but immediately regretted the formality. She bit her lip and continued, “I am gratified to hear it, because I have given the matter some thought. The Belgravia townhome has been a godsend, truly, and I will be forever grateful to Willow’s aunt and uncle. But as you noticed, a mother and child . . . and a maid and our, er, goat . . . cannot impose on the Boyds’ generosity indefinitely. Without being certain of your plans, I have taken it upon myself to conceive of some, er, solution. If you are amenable. Just to consider.”

“Tessa,” he sighed, “I am shocked that you have not fled the Boyds’ cellar as fast as Christian’s pram could carry him.”

Before she could stop herself, she laughed. It was a sharp laugh, edged in bitterness. She slid her hand from beneath his.

“Yes,” she said, “this would assume we had somewhere else to go, wouldn’t it? I can hardly indulge in flight if I must provide for my infant first. And his maid and his goat.”

“Of course,” Joseph said. He sounded chastened, and Tessa swore in her head. The very last sentiment she wished to evoke was resentment. Or desperation. She wasn’t resentful, and she wasn’t desperate, not really. Not the way many lone mothers were desperate, not the way she would have been if Joseph had divorced her after her confession.

Still, the little jab was out before she could stop it, evidence of the occasional white-knuckled fear that seized her in the middle of the night. It was so very stressful, existing on the balance of his absent good graces and the kindness of Mary and Arthur Boyd. Daylight had a way of easing the anxiety, but managing a baby alone had left her with a truncated view of life. There was little room for fancifulness or hyperbole or the satisfying drama of stuffing Christian’s pram with their possessions and fleeing the Boyds’ cellar simply because it was small and windowless and had been originally designed for two servants.

She cleared her throat. “That is, the reality of our circumstances has forced me to be more pragmatic. And what I was trying to say is . . .”

They’d been idling at a slow amble, trapped behind a swaying coach overloaded with trunks. Joseph, impatient for progress, steered into the path of oncoming carriages to swerve around.

Tessa held on, refusing to allow the rough ride to silence her. “What I meant to say is, I feel the arrangements I made in the dockyard, however isolated, have given me some insight into a future sort of . . . occupation for myself, if you will. That is, a way to provide some small living for myself and Christian.”

A cart swerved from their path and the horses surged again. Tessa spoke more loudly. “Obviously there is no real place for a woman working on the docks in London. The managers at St. Katharine have been very generous, especially because I made it very clear I came on behalf of my husband’s business. But once the novelty has worn of, and if I were to do this kind of work on behalf of shippers who were not you, I’m doubtful they would be as welcoming. I’m doubtful that they would allow my presence at all.

“That said, I had the idea—and please understand, it is merely a thought—to seek out some other port, elsewhere in England . . . some smaller, less trafficked dockyard that receives fewer ships . . . that might be willing to employee me in some capacity—”

Joseph reined in the carriage so abruptly and steered from the road so sharply, she pitched forward. His arm shot out and caught her around the waist. Inertia slammed them back into the seat. Tessa let out a little yelp.

“Are you saying,” Joseph began, “that you wish to join the staff in some port as a worker on the docks, Tessa?”

She smiled patiently, accommodatingly, the smile she gave Perry when she styled Sabine’s hair. “No, actually. Although I can see how this could be misconstrued. I’m telling you that I wish to have some role in a dockyard. Not as a laborer, obviously, but possibly in the dock master’s office, doing much the same work that I did for you at the St. Katharine Docks, merely in the capacity of clerk or other staff? Eventually possibly as manager or . . . something?”

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but Tessa held up her hand. “Please, Joseph, allow me to finish.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. This had spilled out all wrong. Her tone was meant to be thoughtful and aspirational, not frantic and naive. And she had not rehearsed how she might insert some possibility that he might wish to join them . . . to be a part of their lives when he was in the country . . . but she wanted very much to include it.

She licked her lips and looked around. They were parked on Bridge Road, not far from Westminster Bridge. Workers hammered scaffolding to railing. A farmer herded five plodding cows onto the ramp. To his credit, Joseph remained silent. He waited.

Tessa took a deep breath. “I’ve conducted some research around the notion of a small, local dockyard and discovered a village in the north of England that just might work. It’s called Hartlepool. In County Durham.”

There. She’d said it. She waited. Joseph blinked at her.

She added, “Do you know it?”

“No,” he said. He had the voice of a man waiting for the doctor to read a terrible prognosis.

“Well, it’s small—a village, as I’ve said. Very small compared to London. Only three hundred townspeople. However, the citizens of the town voted some years ago to create a working dock and a rail line that would connect the coal mines in Yorkshire to their small but workable stretch of North Sea coast. They’ve apparently worked very hard toward this goal, and their little dock opened this summer, just in July, and . . . and now they are making a go of exporting coal. Coal is quite different from importing or exporting goods, I am aware, but who knows what else they might eventually bring in? Even if it is only coal, they will require a staff to manage traffic to the docks.

“And I merely thought . . . I thought . . . perhaps if Christian and I were to relocate there, I could discover some way to earn a small living, as I’ve said, and we would be less of a burden to you. Unless of course you wished to . . . that is . . .”

She studied his face and lost heart. He looked confused and unnerved. He looked like a man who opened his front door to a raging storm.

Tessa abandoned any mention of his involvement and rushed to finish. “I haven’t the money to purchase a house, of course.” Now she looked away. The hardest bit was to baldly ask him to buy her a piece of property. And to ask it with no ploys or flirtations, as the Old Tessa might have done. She must simply state what she wished and ask him.

“For this,” she continued, staring out at the bridge, “I am forced to rely on your generosity. We would not require much—just a small cottage. No more than two rooms. Eventually, Perry will want to return to Willow’s service. Willow is a countess now and lives in a castle, as you know. Perry loves the baby, but I don’t believe it was ever her goal to be a nursemaid. Her passions lie more to fashion, and she’s quite talented.” She shook her head. She was rambling.

“I know it is a very ambitious plan, not to mention wildly unorthodox. But I conceived it with no idea of what you intended for us. That is, after the guano, you’ve not said if you intend to settle in London or even in England. I was forced to think of some plan that would allow me to build on my new success at the dockyard, provide for the baby, and live a life that would give you freedom to . . . to do as you wished. To not worry with us. I had even thought, if you are willing to purchase some small cottage for me, eventually I might earn enough money in the dockyard to repay—”

“Stop,” said Joseph. He held a hand like a conductor.

Tessa closed her mouth. Her stomach unspooled like the chain of an anchor as it plunged into the sea.

He said, “Forgive me. You have given me quite a—that is, I could not expect this. But that is the one constant with you, to be caught off guard.” He glanced at her and then back at the horses. “That said, I can address the very last bit immediately. You will never, not ever, owe money to me, Tessa. You have already given me £15,000 in dowry. My partners and I have parlayed the dowries of the three brides into a windfall of nearly £1,000,000. And that is only with the first shipment. In fact, my bankers are preparing a withdrawal to return the dowry money into your safekeeping. Cassin and Stoker will do the same. We decided it was reasonable to view the dowries more like a loan than money we took outright. An investment, just like your original advertisement said.”

“You earned that money, Joseph,” she said softly.

He dropped his head back and stared at the sky. “I’ve done nothing but abandon you, Tessa.”

“You married me,” she said, but her stomach flipped and flipped and flipped. It wasn’t even a declaration. There was no affection or feeling or intent. It was merely . . . an acknowledgment.

She hadn’t allowed herself to feel abandoned, but it was true. She had been very much alone.

“And I will buy you a house,” he went on, “if that’s what you wish. I simply need . . .” He leveled his head and rolled his shoulders, looking at the bridge. “I need a moment. Please. You’ve just proposed the very last thing I had in mind.”

“I am perfectly happy to negotiate or compromise—it is merely a place to start.”

“I want to give you what you want,” he sighed. He sounded . . . if not angry, more like frustrated. He was struggling to make himself clear.

I’m not challenging you, Tessa thought, but she said nothing. She sat very still and upright, staring patiently at his profile. Energy ricocheted through every limb of her body. She wanted to flap her hands and jump up and down like Perry.

“This is not what I had in mind,” he repeated. He looked down at the reins in his hands.

“I am not surprised,” she said.

“Do you mind if we ride on?”

She shook her head. “I never asked where you were taking us. To the office of your buyer, was it?”

“Eventually. I had another destination in mind but I’ve . . . changed my mind.”

“Not on my account, I hope.”

“I’m long overdue to call on old friends,” he said.

The flipping in Tessa’s stomach ceased. “We’re making a social call?”

She’d not expected the world to stop when she finally spit out her request, but it seemed to warrant more consideration than a social call.

Furthermore, how would he portray their marriage to “old friends”? Or the baby? Would they blithely mention that while Joseph was in Barbadoes he became a father? They hadn’t been able to stomach this discussion with the strange woman at Vauxhall Gardens, and now they would parade their odd circumstances in front of “old friends”?

Joseph made a clicking noise and reined the horses away from the bridge, turning back toward Mayfair. “Not a social call so much as . . . going home. To my family. Or, the closest thing I have to a family. The Earl and Countess Falcondale. In Henrietta Place.”

Must we? thought Tessa, but she said, “Do they know about the baby? The earl and countess?”

“Probably.”

“What will we say?”

“One of the many good things about calling upon the earl and his wife,” he said, “is that we do not have to plan out what we will say.”

Tessa considered this, an answer that was not really an answer. The earl had been Joseph’s sponsor and mentor and his wife, Lady Piety, was held in the same esteem. Tessa had met them only once, at the wedding, and they had seemed lovely. Their affection for Joseph had been so very clear.

But to call upon them now? Is this what Tessa’s request had driven Joseph to do?

But he does not seem outraged, she thought.

And he had not said no.

And it was no small thing to be taken, finally, to the home of the people he considered to be his family.

It was confusing, perhaps; but unless he intended for her to remain hidden in the phaeton while he went inside, it could mean . . . something positive?

She settled back in the seat. “Of course. An earl and his countess. ‘Old friends.’ Alright.”

They drove along in silence for a moment, and Joseph said, “I’m not disregarding what you’ve asked, Tessa. Please. Just give me time.”