Soon after I fell asleep, I had a nightmare. While I was dreaming about walking down one of Bath’s most beautiful side streets, I realized that I was dreaming. And part of me knew that I could make anything that I wished happen in the dream.

And so I manufactured a handsome man with a handsome home. That was all I really knew of him, for in the dream his biography remained hazy. I could not have said whether he was truly rich or the butler of the household, whether he was naturally lustful or only seized by some sort of strange fit.

But what I did know was that he was just taller than I was, with broad shoulders and a perfectly naked body. And that we were in some sort of small room in the home, one with very fine golden wallpaper and many artifacts on display. None of that mattered, of course, because he was concentrating only on my body, and on using it as a sheath for his enlarged weapon.

When I woke up, I was breathless. Surely my mind had been poisoned by the man I met the night before, and I was now to be tortured by lustful demons. In a hurry, I dressed and left the small inn, refusing offers of breakfast. If I were to meet someone who might stand a chance of getting me out of my predicament, I would have to do it in a far more public place. Perhaps then I could leave the wanton pleasures of Bath and go home.

For I did wish to be at home. A tear came into my eye when I thought of my mother, my daughter, and all of the money that we must have been losing by not having me at my post in our shop. I needed to remedy that as soon as possible, and then surely the emptiness that had crept into my bosom would be resolved. After all, I reasoned, Luke Barlow had only recently come back to throw everything off-kilter. If it took me a week or two to get my life back in its regular orbit, I could not be faulted for that.

Of course, I would not leave off attempting to build Rome in a day. After all, I did not really need to build Rome, just to obtain something salacious from an idiot man. And I knew from experience that this enterprise should not take very long.

In fact, the first opportunity presented itself to me almost immediately. I was able to gain admittance to a tearoom, where I spotted a man sitting alone, fiddling with his jacket while looking out the window.

“Excuse me,” I said, taking the seat next to his. “Were we not introduced last year? I’m Mrs. Allen, and I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

The gentleman was corpulent and bald, but he was young, and the way he leered at my morning dress convinced me that he was not the type to stand on ceremony. “Very pleased to see you, Mrs. Allen. I’m Jack Donaldson.”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Donaldson,” I said neatly, preparing for the kill. Should I tell him where he was staying, or fall back on the line about needing help with securing an inn? I might look suspicious, as I had only a small bag with me. True, I had used that excuse the night before, but only with a man who must have had few doubts about my aims.

“You as well,” he said. “I don’t much like breakfast in the rooms I have taken. The tea is too strong, and the jam not sweet enough. When you’re used to country cooking, it doesn’t sit well with a man, let me tell you.”

I couldn’t quite see how sweet jam was supposed to be a manly preference. If anything, I would have assumed that this was a rather feminine choice. Still, I nodded as if I knew very well what it was to live in the country, even though my one experience of country life was those short weeks at Woodshire. Indeed, those weeks had been much too full of activity for me to remember just how the jam had tasted. Every morning I was attempting to recover either from a night of escaping a lecherous old man or a night of contemplating my newfound adoration for a very young, and ultimately faithless, Mr. Barlow.

“Well,” I said brightly, “When I am in the country I always love a long walk in the morning.”

Some moments passed before the young man surmised my meaning. “Oh,” he said, “It can be dangerous in the city, Mrs. Allen. Perhaps you might want some company on your walk? For a lady like you, I imagine an escort could prevent all sorts of troubles.”

And he gave me a smile that very plainly said he would like nothing more than to be the cause of many troubles. But before either of us were able to elaborate, Mr. Donaldson began to stutter. “Why, you remember my wife! Here is — here she is now,” he said, his eyes growing wide and alarmed as a woman in a hat that was nearly as lovely as mine approached our table.

The woman who came over was both young and beautiful, which surprised me. I surmised that she must have been from a relatively poor family, and was therefore unlikely to be taken in by my antics. One of the tragedies of being a woman without a fortune of her own was that one had to spend countless hours pretending to enjoy the company of dull men. When another woman did so, I saw through it at once, and I suspected that the red-haired beauty who had just approached had similarly clear vision.

“Your husband was just advising me on the amusements of Bath,” I told her. “My husband and I have come to visit friends, but he does not wish to stay long because he fears that the city shall be dull.”

“Perhaps you might advise him to purchase a cup of tea for you, then,” said the young woman, not entirely taken in by my attitude.

However, it was far too late for me to alter my manner. “Certainly,” I told her. “It is the best thing in the world to enjoy a cup of tea with one’s spouse. I am sure there is no pleasure more enviable, and yet it is the most comfortable amusement in the world.”

When I left, she looked only confused, which was more or less my aim. I tried to remind myself that having a stupid, philandering husband like that slobbering on one of my pillows night after night would be its own punishment. Surely, it was much worse than having to make one’s own way in the world. And I believed it, at least to some degree. And yet I recognized that my own situation was by far the worst. I did not have a constant husband, and yet I still had to spend my days trying to find a lover in Bath. Moreover, I had to find someone stupid enough to write revealing letters to me. That man would have been an excellent choice, and yet his wife was sure to keep him on a shorter leash.