When I went to Mr. Wharton, at first he did not seem eager for conversation. And though I was not exactly transported on the wings of passion, at least a few of the demons inside me were quieted by Mr. Wharton’s sharp kisses, as well as the way he pushed up my dress and shift with a mixture of familiarity and anticipation. I undid his fall without thinking and prepared myself to be thrown on the bed immediately.

Then the silence was shattered by Mr. Wharton himself, who pulled away and dragged me over to the fire.

“Let’s sit here, Mrs. A., I forgot about something,” he said, his weapon already hanging out of the spot where he had eagerly torn open his fall. Since the veil had covered my face, I had allowed myself to wear cosmetics, putting so much red and pink onto my lips that traces of it were left on the man’s neck.

And then he spoke the words that I thought I would never hear. “You were cruel to go away, Mrs. Allen,” he said. “I like no woman’s body the way that I like yours. You’re the only real Jezebel in these parts,” he leered, falling into a chair and pulling me onto his lap.

I stiffened. These sort of inelegant proclamations were the reason that I seldom tried to have long conversations with Mr. Wharton, even though we were sufficiently experienced in each other’s company to chat before, during, and after the act. Well, after the act we might say a few words, but I was usually eager to get back to my home right away.

“What say you come and live here?” he asked me, and this made me feel a little less stiff.

After all, I had to laugh. “No thank you, Mr. Wharton.”

“Now, now,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “As an honest woman, mind. You could be here as Mrs. Wharton, and then we wouldn’t ever have to stop our fun, see.”

For a moment, the sheer economics of such a decision stopped me in my tracks. After all, my family had begun to eat fairly well, but only because my mother was brilliant in the kitchen. And if I did indeed become Mrs. Wharton, every single element of money’s role in my life would change. Viviana might be able to marry well, as we could settle an amount on her that would be grand enough to more than make up for her humble origins, provided she did not marry someone from the royal family. My mother, at last, would be able to live in the leisure that I had always imagined and always failed to obtain for her. And I would be able to stop kissing the feet of men who came into my hat shop and ranted that giving women any power at all would humiliate the entire nation.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and I was left only with shock. Marry this man? I was married already, and I could not think of anyone less fit to be my life’s companion.

“I do not think that is wise, Mr. Wharton,” I said, hoping that he would accept my answer.

He did not, of course. “But it would be a fine thing, Mrs. A., can you not see that? Come now, your clothes are fine, but I know enough to see that you are not a grand lady. Here you could go about on my arm, and even if the ladies gossiped, and all the men too, we would know it was only out of envy.”

He resettled me in his lap so that I was not sitting directly on top of his prick, which was still naked and poking out eagerly. “See, my friend here also wishes to live with you,” he said, squeezing me.

In a rush, all of it flooded back to me. My heartfelt proposal to Luke Barlow, a man I did not know well but felt certain I could love. And Luke Barlow’s shocked acceptance, his inability to keep from embracing me as we froze in a fierce tempest. Even if the proposal had failed, even if the marriage had proved too much, that moment was filled with joy and heartfelt wonder.

It could not have been more different from what Mr. Wharton was answering, and my answer was as sour as my mood. “And you would be fine with my mother and daughter coming to live here, as well? After all, they live with me now.”

He looked puzzled. “Well, perhaps. You say you live with your mama? And a daughter, too?”

It was a horrid remonstrance. The man, though I had seen him many times, knew nothing of my life. And yet he had the gall to think that I might be willing to throw over everything that I had known for the sake of more conveniently romping about with him.

In a rage, I threw on my coat, not even bothering to button it, threw the hat on my hand, and pinned it at an angle. The veil covered the fury in my face as I went out of his home and into the gathering darkness.