Faith hunched forward uncomfortably on her favorite wingback chair in a sunny corner of her private receiving parlor.

She had spent countless hours curled against the soft pillows of this very chair, with a good book or a bit of embroidery or a cup of steaming chocolate or her daughter in her lap.

Today appeared to be a day like any other. Faith in this chair, her bosom friend Dahlia sprawled bonelessly on the chaise longue beneath the largest window.

How many other hours had been spent exactly like this? Might this actually be the last time she and Dahlia shared an afternoon in these familiar quarters?

The clock ticking on the mantel marched not toward the dinner hour, but toward the impending date in which she would cease to be Miss Faith Digby forevermore and become instead Lady Hawkridge, wife and property of the former paramour who now hated her.

“Well?” Dahlia’s head swiveled on the pile of satin cushions to face Faith. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or gaze pensively at your lovely Axminster carpet for the rest of the evening?”

Stare into oblivion was far more appealing to Faith than the current disaster of her own making, but there was no advantage to keeping Dahlia in suspense. “He asked me to marry him.”

Dahlia sat upright. “Hawkridge?”

Faith nodded.

“I guess… Second time is the charm?” Dahlia suggested hopefully.

“Technically, he didn’t ‘ask’ either time.” Faith lifted a sardonic brow. So much for girlhood dreams. “The first time, he skillfully implied an official betrothal was forthcoming. And this time…”

Dahlia’s eyes narrowed. “And this time?”

“This time he informed me of our impending nuptials.” Faith hugged a pillow to her chest. “It was either agree or risk him upending Christina’s life and ruining mine.”

“Gallant of him,” Dahlia muttered, then fixed a pointed gaze toward Faith. “Hawkridge would never purposefully ruin your life a second time.”

“You didn’t see his face when he found out about Christina,” Faith said quietly.

Dahlia did not respond. Likely she was recalling the conversations she had shared with her husband, the unwanted bastard sired by Hawkridge’s father. Her mouth twisted. “The difference is, Hawkridge is actually going to marry you.”

Probably.

This wasn’t the first time Faith had pulled Dahlia aside privately in order to confess that a wedding to Lord Hawkridge was imminent.

Faith rubbed her face. This was what she had always wanted. He was what she had always wanted. But not like this. Not as an afterthought, a punishment, his famous “responsibility” to yet another unwanted duty.

She had been so swept away by him in the old days.

The romantic walks, the unwavering intensity of his gaze, the way the world fell away every time they kissed.

That was what she had wanted with him for the rest of eternity. Not rancor and guilt and cold silences. She had never dreamed that one unguarded moment of love would lead them to ruin each other’s lives and destroy all hope for future happiness together.

Dahlia’s expression was sympathetic. “Don’t throw yourself from a cliff just yet. The banns will take three weeks to be read, which gives us plenty of time to figure out how to make the best of this.”

There would be no three-week reprieve for the calling of the banns. There would be no reprieve at all.

Bleakly, Faith lifted her head. “Special license.”

Dahlia gasped audibly. “How did he—”

“I don’t know.” Faith hadn’t thought he had the inclination or the spare coin, and yet he had procured the document faster than she believed possible.

Dahlia leaned forward. “Then when?”

“Sunday.” Faith briefly closed her eyes. “You and Simon are hereby dutifully invited to be our witnesses and join us after for an intimate wedding breakfast hosted by my parents. As much as they hated what Hawkridge did when we were younger, they agree it’s Chris’s right to be raised by her birth parents.”

Dahlia sighed. “They’re right. It’s not worth ruining Christina’s childhood by dragging everyone into the courts.”

Faith nodded and stared bleakly at the wall. After Sunday, this would not be her house anymore.

She would no longer have her private receiving parlor, her familiar bedchambers, quiet mornings in the family library. The bedtime ritual with Christina would be completely different, in some new and unfamiliar place where they were both strangers. They would be forced to live in someone else’s home, where neither of them truly belonged.

“Of course we will be there,” Dahlia said quickly. “And we are happy to sign the parish registry and return here for a…” Her voice faltered. “…party.”

“There will be cake,” Faith said sarcastically. “And possibly a tantrum.”

Dahlia winced. “Chris doesn’t want to go?”

“I meant from me,” Faith confessed. “Christina doesn’t know yet.”

Avoiding the issue helped nothing, but she had no idea how to tell her daughter the news.

“I’m so sorry.” Dahlia’s face contorted. “There must be a silver lining.”

“There is.” If a bittersweet one. Faith gave a crooked smile. “A few days ago, I thought my greatest victory was finally convincing my parents to donate my dowry money to the school. Now they won’t have to, and Mother can give it all to a lordling, just as she’d once dreamed.”

Dahlia bit her lip. “You’ll have to find a different silver lining. Your parents already began the transfer. I received a notice from the bank this morning.”

For a brief second, Faith was actually relieved. He didn’t deserve that money. Besides, her parents would never let her or Christina want for anything, dowry or not. The girls at the school were not so lucky. Orphans had no one to turn to. No one except people like Faith. They needed her and the dowry money. Her hands curled into fists.

She had worked so long and so hard to build up the school. Had collapsed into bed many an exhausted night after waking at dawn to perform administrative duties, teach classes, mend hems, devise fundraisers, give hugs, dry tears.

Without their school to give them shelter, every one of their girls would return to a short and often violent life in the streets. Faith shivered. The money would keep the school afloat for at least another year, which was plenty of time for her and Dahlia to raise more funds and improve conditions even more.

Except it wasn’t, Faith realized suddenly.

Although her parents had sent the dowry money to the school instead of to Lord Hawkridge, he would control the purse strings. As soon as Faith married, everything that was hers would immediately become his—including her half of the school.

Rather than spend her dowry on four-and-twenty unwanted dependents, Hawkridge could evict them all overnight and sell every teacup and stick of furniture as profit for his estate.

It would be a heartless thing to do. But also, a pragmatic one. He would be obliged to give the Hawkridge finances priority in any and all decision-making. His first duty was not to see to Faith’s “pet project” but to his precious title.

A cold sweat sent chills across her skin. Having her own life in upheaval was one thing. She could not possibly risk jeopardizing the futures and the very lives of the students who counted on her.

“I need to arrange a meeting with Bryony’s barrister,” she blurted. “This evening.”

“Done.” Dahlia stood up. “I’ll have her arrange it this very moment and send a note by with the time and location.”

Faith threw her arms about the one person who had always given her unfailing support and unconditional love, no questions asked. There was little in this world more precious than a true friend. Faith could not have asked for a better one than Dahlia. “Thank you.”

Dahlia’s eyes softened. “Now promise me you won’t spend the time between now and then seated in that chair, drowning in your own misery.”

“I promise to spread the misery around,” Faith replied with false earnestness. She rolled back her shoulders. “It is past time to inform Christina.”

“Good luck.” Dahlia squeezed her hand and disappeared from the room to find her sister.

Faith took a deep breath and forced herself to march directly to her daughter’s play chamber.

Her heart twisted at the familiar sight of the sunny room Christina would no longer have, beside the nursery she would no longer have, inside the home she would no longer have. Faith’s legs felt too stiff to walk upon, but she forced herself into the room. Postponing the conversation would not postpone the inevitable.

Christina was seated in the center of the plush carpet, her beloved collection of dolls encircling her on the floor as they all partook from a miniature porcelain tea set.

Faith took an empty place amongst the pillows. “Are any of your dolls married?”

“Of course.” Christina laughed. She pointed at the two to her left. “Grandmother Doll and Grandfather Doll have been married their entire lives.”

Faith took a deep breath. “And do you remember Lord Hawkridge?”

“Of course,” Christina repeated, but this time she frowned rather than laughed. “What does he have to do with marriage?”

An excellent question. Faith forced a smile. “As it happens, he is going to marry me. He will become your guardian just like I am, and I will become his wife.”

Christina’s brow furrowed. “Will he live in the guest chamber?”

Faith swallowed a lump in her throat. “No, darling. We will live in his house. The wife must always move in with her husband.”

“The wife.” Relief crossed Christina’s rosy cheeks. “But not the niece. I could stay with Grandmother and Grandfather if I wanted.”

Christina was the only thing Lord Hawkridge wanted.

Faith hesitated. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy.”

“Because if I stay here, I couldn’t be with you,” Christina said slowly. Her bright gaze shone with determination as she reached forward to rub Faith’s knee. “Don’t worry, Aunt Faith. I won’t leave you. When he marries you, we will go together.”

Faith’s eyes stung with heat and her whispered reply was barely audible. “That is very kindhearted, darling. Hawkridge will be pleased.”

Christina stared down at her dolls’ interrupted teatime. “Will my dolls have to play with a Hawkridge doll, too?”

Faith pulled her daughter into her arms and buried her face in Christina’s sweet-smelling curls. “Let’s see how things go with the real Hawkridge first.”