The muddle surrounding the Owsley twins was as tearful as ever when Lady Victoria’s parents made their hasty adieus to Mrs. Stedman and Sir Arnold. They guided Victoria to their carriage and bundled her inside, heaving deep sighs of relief.

“Poor Mrs. Stedman,” Lady Longmoor said, settling against the squabs and taking one last look at Sir Arnold’s townhouse as the carriage jerked forward and rattled away. “I hope they do not prosecute those poor girls. They will be ruined—their first Season, too.”

“Sir Arnold was very good about it,” Victoria offered in a hesitant voice, her mind racing. Ice filled her veins and hardened. “He proved to be very kind and thoughtful. Did he not?”

Her mother leaned forward to pat Victoria’s clasped hands. “He was, indeed, my dear. He would make an exceedingly agreeable husband.” She cast a coquettish smile at her husband. “Though perhaps not quite as agreeable as your father.”

“My thoughts, precisely.” Victoria’s lips felt numb. She rubbed her gloved fingers against the side of her mouth, wishing some sensation would return. It was not that cold—not cold at all, really—so why did she feel as if all the warmth had drained out of the world, leaving everything icy, dull, and gray? Forcing her hand down to her lap, she caught her father’s gaze. “I—I have been considering matters very carefully. I believe I would like to accept Sir Arnold’s offer.”

Her father stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. He exchanged glances with his wife before they both turned their startled gazes on her. “Of course—er, excellent. I must say I am surprised you are being so sensible—er…” He broke off and flicked another uncertain glance at his wife. “We had not expected—er—em, he is a fine man…”

“He certainly behaved very well this evening,” Lady Longmoor said. She smiled at Victoria and laughed lightly. “He alone refused to believe you were involved, rather like the true knight that he is.”

“Not quite alone,” Victoria murmured, staring down at her lap as she swayed and clutched one of the leather straps when the carriage slewed around a corner. A bit of the ice inside her crackled, fault lines running through her, the coldness brittle under building pressure. Salty tears stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly and gazed out of the window.

They were almost home.

In a few hours, her father would send for Sir Arnold and their respective lawyers. They would begin hammering out the details of the marriage contract.

She clamped her mouth shut to keep from wailing as hopelessly as Miss Maud had sobbed less than an hour before.

So much had happened so quickly, and the changes would only increase in pace. In a few weeks, she would be married. Her future settled.

The pressure inside her increased.

John… Her back ached with tension. He had been a mistake, a terrible, humiliating mistake.

But he had believed—had known—that she was innocent. Her parents were incorrect. Sir Arnold hadn’t believed Victoria was not a thief, he simply didn’t want to accuse her, or anyone, for that matter. Not wanting to make an accusation was a far cry from believing someone was innocent.

But his beliefs—John’s beliefs—no longer mattered. She was going to do the sensible thing and marry Sir Arnold. A man who smelled of boiled chicken instead of the clean, ocean breeze.

“Home at last!” her father announced, glancing out the window.

They jerked forward and back, the carriage creaking and moaning as it came to a halt. She gripped the leather strap so tightly her fingers protested.

“I shall send for Sir Arnold first thing in the morning,” he continued. “No doubt he will be pleased to receive such happy news.”

“Oh, we must arrange for a supper—and perhaps a dance—to celebrate. Would Tuesday be too soon?” her mother asked as one of the footmen opened the carriage door and lowered the steps.

Her father chuckled as he climbed out, the carriage leaning and bouncing as he stepped onto the walkway. “Not soon enough, eh?”

“Nothing is ever soon enough for these young people. You know how impatient they are.” Her mother laughed as Lord Longmoor elbowed the footman aside to hand her out of the coach.

The two of them were laughing excitedly, making plans as they moved through the front door ahead of Victoria.

Feeling more than ever like a minor detail, easily forgotten, she stood on the stoop, watching them enter the hallway and hand their wraps to the butler. At least the two of them were pleased. Her mother’s eyes were shining, her cheeks aglow with soft rose as she tossed ideas for Tuesday’s supper dance to her chuckling husband.

“I believe I will retire,” Victoria announced, handing her cloak to the waiting butler.

“Of course, dear.” Lady Longmoor waltzed over in a swish of silken skirts to press a kiss to Victoria’s cheek. “Sleep well, my dear. We have a great many plans to make tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.” She nodded to her father, repeated her good nights, and fled to the empty darkness of her bedroom.

After a long night spent mostly sitting in front of the window, staring at the moon passing between dark clouds, Victoria stood stiffly and yawned. A timid knock at the door sounded before it opened.

“Oh, Miss!” a young girl, certainly no more than fourteen, exclaimed. Her cap was askew over lank, pale brown hair, and her apron was a worn, dingy gray. Her pale blue eyes were round as she stared at Victoria, water sloshing out of a water pitcher onto her limp apron as it wobbled in her thin hands. “I didn’t mean to disturb you—I thought you were fast asleep.” She lifted the jug and more water sloshed over her wrists. “I’m so sorry—I brung your morning water.”

“Thank you.” Victoria stood aside as the maid hurried over to place the pitcher on the washstand. “What is your name?”

“Mary, Miss—er—Lady Victoria.” The girl sketched a hasty curtsey.

“Where is Rose?”

Mary’s eyes cut first left and then right. “Er, gone, Miss—er, Lady Victoria.”

“Gone?”

“Went to live with her lover, I heard,” Mary confided, before pressing grubby fingers to her mouth. “Sorry, Miss, em, Lady Victoria.”

“Are you replacing her?” Victoria asked with a smile, trying to set the girl at ease.

Mary nodded, one hand going up to keep her cap on her head. “Yes, Miss Lady Victoria. Cook says as how I’ll do for now.” Her blue eyes went wide again as if she were listening to the echo of her words for fear she’d said something wrong.

“And Rose is gone?”

“Yes. I heard as she came late last night, packed her things, and left. Didn’t say a word to anyone ‘cept Cook. Not even Mrs. Eadle, and she were that mad, too!” Mary’s eyes widened at the thought of Rose’s defiance in not notifying the fearsome housekeeper, Mrs. Eadle, of her departure. “Mrs. Eadle said as how she hoped Rose’ud known what she were about, as she’d find precious few places for her now, what with her burning her bridges and such.”

Victoria laughed. “I believe Rose has left to get married, so we should all wish her the best.”

“She’s a lucky one, then, ‘cause Cook says as how Rose weren’t no better than she ought to be,” Mary said in a matter-of-fact way that made her seem years older. Then she glanced up at Victoria with a bright sparkle in her blue eyes. “We heard as how you might be getting married, too!” She curtseyed, smiling. “So, you’re a lucky one, too!”

The pale morning light, spilling in through the window, grayed. Victoria glanced away, focusing on the glass panes. “Yes.” The word grated in her throat. She took a deep breath and pushed the trapped, desperate sensation aside. “Thank you for the water, Mary. That will be all.”

“All?” Mary’s freckled nose wrinkled. “Don’t you need my help? Dressing and such?”

“Not this morning, Mary. I’ll send for you, if I need you.”

“Yes, Miss Lady Victoria.” The maid curtseyed and left, closing the door softly behind her.

After dressing in a dove gray morning gown, she finally wandered downstairs. As she expected, she was soon caught up in the whirls of plans, and dragged to the library by her father before being hauled away by her mother to the white and yellow drawing room she favored in the morning. In some ways, their excitement and the necessity to create guest lists, dress patterns, and plans kept Victoria from brooding over her dismal future.

By noon, her sleepless night was beginning to tell. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head drooped over the gown illustrations in the latest issue of Ackermann’s Repository.

“A Mr. Archer and Mr. Wickson are here, Lady Victoria. Are you at home?” Mr. Kingston intoned from the doorway.

Her head jerked up as her heart fluttered. Then she caught her mother’s warning glance. “No. I am not at home to Mr. Archer. Or Mr. Wickson. In fact, I don’t believe I am at home to anyone today.”

“Except Sir Arnold, of course,” her mother amended. “That will be all, Kingston.”

“Very good, Lady Longmoor.” The butler bowed and closed the door gently.

“I am so pleased you have finally come to your senses, my dear,” Lady Longmoor said as she gently slid the fashion magazine out of Victoria’s hands. “I was worried about whom you might select.” She paused before murmuring, “He was not a very nice man, my dear.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Never mind. We have all sorts of exciting plans ahead of us, and I assure you, you will be quite happy with Sir Arnold. He is a very kind man.”

“Yes, Mother,” Victoria replied dutifully, staring at the gleaming top of the walnut table next to her. “At least we shall dine well.”

Her mother laughed. “Indeed. Sir Arnold is noted for the table he sets. And he is reputed to be very generous. I am sure you shall want for nothing.”

Nothing except love. Her mouth tightened, and she pressed a hand against her hollow stomach. She’d been unable to eat more than the corner of a piece of dry toast, and yet she felt no hunger—nothing but a sensation of yawning emptiness that sapped her energy and will.

“We shall make a trip to Bond Street,” her mother announced after a moment. “I would like to see you in a new gown Tuesday night. Perhaps something in a pale rose would be nice.”

“Of course,” Victoria agreed. The thought of a new dress failed to lighten her mood, but she did her best to be agreeable.

Practice made perfect, after all. And she’d soon grow used to presenting the placid, contented demeanor expected of married women. She could only hope that time would lessen the deadness inside, the darkness that welled up, threatening to hold her under in a shoreless lake of tears.

An hour later, Victoria slipped her feet into a pair of stout walking boots and shrugged into a new blue pelisse. She tied a bonnet with dark blue ribbons over her hair before linking arms with her mother and setting out for Bond Street.

They had gone less than a block when Mr. Archer and Mr. Wickson appeared suddenly. The two men blocked the walkway and doffed their hats, bowing in greeting to Victoria and Lady Longmoor.

“What a delightful surprise!” John exclaimed, his brown eyes firmly fixed on Victoria’s face. “How are you, Lady Longmoor? Lady Victoria?”

She glanced down at the pavement beneath her feet, flushing and shifting from one foot to the other. She chewed her lower lip, unable to speak. Her heart beat against the prison of her ribs, making it difficult to catch her breath, despite the brisk, spring breeze.

“We are quite well, sir, though we are in a hurry and beg you to step aside,” Lady Longmoor said in a cold voice.

“Of course, of course,” Wickson babbled, stepping out into the street. Unfortunately, he sank ankle-deep into something that looked like mud, but definitely didn’t smell like it. He bounded back onto the walkway with an exclamation. Gripping John’s shoulder, he shook his foot, apologizing incoherently.

“Naturally, we do not wish to detain you.” John’s gaze burned Victoria’s face. “However, we had hoped to speak with Lady Victoria. Perhaps we could walk with you to your destination?”

Her glance bounced around, searching for a safe place to land. She wanted to wail that she was sorry, that everything had been a mistake, and that she never intended to agree to marry Sir Arnold, but she couldn’t. Why couldn’t John see how much he’d hurt her? How much she loved him, despite his betrayal?

Her grip on her mother’s arm tightened.

“We are going to Bond Street. I doubt either of you will find our errands to your taste,” Lady Longmoor stated firmly.

“May we escort you partway, then?” John asked, a hard edge honing his voice.

“Mr. Archer, we have no need of your company, and let me be frank, there is no need for you to converse on any topic with my daughter now or in the future. I am sorry to be so blunt, but this, well, pursuit of my daughter will not do. Not at all. While it is none of your concern, Lady Victoria has agreed to marry Sir Arnold, so even you must see why your behavior regarding her is wildly inappropriate. Now I hope I have made matters clear to you.” Lady Longmoor drew Victoria forward a step, forcing John and Mr. Wickson to give way. “Good day to you, gentlemen.”

Victoria was aware of his gaze on her as her mother dragged her along.

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat.

Although his expression was unreadable, his eyes were black with pain.

She stumbled and clung to her mother’s arm, pulled relentlessly onward.

Her last glimpse was of his white face and dark, hopeless eyes, watching her walk away.