Faith gripped her daughter’s hand as they followed Hawkridge and her parents into Vauxhall Gardens for a balloon launch.

Christina’s eyes were full of anticipation and excitement. Faith wondered what shone in her own: pleasure or trepidation?

Not only was this the first outing they would share with both Hawkridge and her parents, this was by far the most public place Faith, Christina and Hawkridge could possibly be seen together.

The Bagnigge Wells tea-garden had been a lovely afternoon, but also a very quiet one. The venue had been falling out of favor as much with the smart set as the common folk for the better part of the past decade.

The Vauxhall pleasure gardens, on the other hand, were overflowing with life. By the look of this afternoon, not a single soul in London dared miss a daredevil pilot fly away in a hot air balloon.

Hawkridge grinned over his shoulder, pausing to link arms for reinforcement before forging ahead through the dense crowd in search of the best vantage point. He appeared just as excited as Christina.

Faith and her daughter had visited the pleasure gardens many times, but never on a day as crowded as this. They were but tiny droplets in a vast sea of shouting children, shrieking pie vendors, fine ladies with bonnets taller than Christina. Many heads boasted Lunardi hats made of wicker with fabric atop like a slightly deflated hot air balloon.

Christina had begged for one, but Faith had thought the hats ridiculous. Now she felt as though she and her daughter were the only ones gauche enough to sport plain, ordinary bonnets that could have sprung whole cloth from Ackerman’s.

Faith clenched her jaw at the irony. No matter how hard she tried to ape the aristocracy, to commission gowns and accessories that matched every stitch and color from the latest fashion plates, she could not uphold the mirage. One did not study to be a member of the beau monde. One was born to it or one was not.

And Faith and Christina were not.

At least they had worn sensible shoes. Despite the crush of people with their clashing odors and perfumes, the area still smelled of fresh rain and the ground was soft and muddy in spots.

Christina did not mind the mud or the jabbing elbows or the deafening ruckus of voices clamoring to be heard over the noise of a band practicing in the orchestra pit and a flock of goldfinches squawking overhead.

Chris was having the time of her life. Thrilled to be in such a lively venue on such an exciting day. She had her grandparents, her Aunt Faith, her Uncle Hawkridge. The balloon launch was no more than a dollop of cream atop an already rich puff pastry.

Faith was silly to fear such an idyllic day. Nothing could happen to them here. Nothing could happen to her and Christina at all.

This was her chance to prove to herself she could absolutely share a normal life with Hawkridge. That she and her daughter could enjoy any public place or activity as someone of his class might, with their heads held high.

Of course she could. Faith was a marchioness now and therefore untouchable. She was a “better.” No one would dare make her or her daughter feel as worthless as they had done when Faith was a child. There was no longer any need to be timid or fearful amongst Society. She could finally just live her life.

She hoped.

So many people had flocked to the pleasure gardens in the hopes of witnessing the balloon launch that it was impossible for Faith to feel like she and her family were the center of anyone’s attention. The relative anonymity of a sprawling crowd was pure bliss. Instead of darting nervous glances over her shoulders, she could feast her eyes on the view right in front of her.

Here, amongst all walks of life from every corner of London, Hawkridge was by far the most handsome. He did not need to drape himself in the first stare of fashion to be head and shoulders above every other young buck or lordling or rake who considered himself the catch of the ton.

Faith stood with her mother and daughter, and frowned as her father drew Hawkridge a few feet away. What on earth could Father want with her husband?

There was not quite enough space amongst the jostling crowd for them to truly move out of earshot. Faith hoped her shameless eavesdropping was not easily betrayed in her face.

“By now you’ve realized the extent to which my family’s fortunes have blossomed in the years since you first met my daughter,” Father was saying to Hawkridge.

Hawkridge’s brow furrowed. “I am pleased by your good fortune, although your finances are no business of mine.”

“Nonsense,” Father said briskly. “You are my son-in-law now, and I cannot treat you more shabbily than I would treat my own daughter. Let us be frank. Tell me how much you need. I may have the bank draft some portion to your account.”

Hawkridge’s neck flushed scarlet above the ivory of his cravat. “I do not want your charity.”

“It is not charity,” Father insisted. “Surely you are not so churlish as to deny an old man the opportunity to bestow a simple gift?”

Hawkridge clenched his jaw. “Apparently, I am just that churlish, when the ‘gift’ means my father-in-law does not trust my ability to support my family.”

“For once,” Father said dryly, “I am in no doubt of your intentions. Be practical. Does ‘accepting charity’ make one a lesser man, if one does so to support his family?”

Hawkridge’s chin lifted. “I am not too proud to recognize when aid would be a boon, but I am too proud to passively allow a third-party to solve my problems for me. This is my family, and I am my own man.”

Father assumed an identically stubborn stance. “And I am not willing to take no for an answer. Not where my daughter and granddaughter are concerned. So how do we resolve this?”

A muscle flexed at Hawkridge’s temple as he considered his reply. “The most I would be willing to concede is a short-term loan in the precise amount of money I know my port will earn in its first three months of operation.”

Father frowned. “If what you need is within my power to give, there is no limit to what I am willing to negotiate—”

“There is a limit to mine,” Hawkridge interrupted quietly. “If such terms are not agreeable to you, then I’m afraid we cannot resolve this matter in your favor.”

Father beamed at Hawkridge and relaxed his stance. “My wife was right about you. I’m pleased to say your character is much stronger than I gave you credit for. You have acquitted yourself surprisingly well. It is only because of your loyalty, sincerity, and commitment to your family, that I arranged this morning for both dowries to be deposited into your accounts forthwith.”

Hawkridge blinked in obvious bafflement. “What dowries?”

“Mrs. Digby and I settled on terms after the wedding breakfast,” Father explained, as if nothing about this extraordinary conversation was out of the ordinary. “Through no fault of your own, we had given the sum designated for Faith’s original dowry as a donation to her school. It is only fair for that same amount to be matched in a dowry to you.”

Hawkridge’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he said, “You put me in a position where I am unable to say no. We have signed no contract requiring such a concession, but if you are determined to make it, I will not need to break the lease on my townhouse. Faith and I will be able to live in London close to Christina even after the Season ends.”

Joy flooded through Faith’s body with enough force to make her feel weightless. They would stay in London. Near Christina. Near her parents. Faith need not fear a miserable existence in a country cottage far from everything she knew and everyone she loved. Christina would have both her parents within half a day’s journey anytime she might need them.

“Since you have graciously agreed that it would be ungentlemanly to refuse a lady’s dowry,” Father continued with a crafty smile, “I now inform you that Christina’s is equal to the size of Faith’s.”

Hawkridge frowned. “It is my duty to provide an appropriate dowry for Christina’s future husband.”

“And you shall,” Father said heartily. “You are accepting not one, but two women into your home. Therefore both ‘dowries’ belong to you. Christina’s ward gift is not for her future husband, but rather her new guardian. It should be spent on items relating to her personal growth and comfort. When that dreaded day comes in which Christina must throw herself onto the mercies of the Marriage Mart, I trust the dowry you will have amassed for her by that time will be her equal in every way.”

“More than her equal.” Hawkridge drew himself even taller. “She will not need the trappings of an attractive dowry to attract the man of her dreams, but I will ensure that hers is the envy of the ton all the same.”

“Then we are in agreement.” Father shook Hawkridge’s hand. “Take good care of my girls.”

“I will protect them with my life,” Hawkridge said simply. He watched in bemusement as his father-in-law turned away to rejoin their family.

Faith’s own head was swimming as Hawkridge shook his head in wonder before making his way back to her side. “You will never believe the conversation I just had with your father. His surprise doesn’t solve all my problems, but pushes my timeline forward enough for me to secure our financial future myself. The port will open earlier than hoped. I am at sixes and sevens.”

Christina spun around to face him, eyes wide. “Why sixes and sevens?”

“It means my mind is spinning.” Hawkridge dropped to one knee and took her hands in his. “But my heart is not confused at all. You are not some ‘duty’ or ‘responsibility’ to me.”

Christina nodded. “I’m your ward.”

“More than that,” he said, his gaze intense. “So much more. The difference in our surnames is nothing more than a legal distinction. My heart knows the truth and I want you to know, too. Never doubt your place.”

Faith’s breath caught. She had never thought… Never dared to hope—

“Where is my place?” Christina asked with wide eyes.

“With me,” he answered simply. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled. “For all intents and purposes, you are my child. My daughter.” His gaze met with Faith’s and he reached for her to join them. “Our child.”

Faith’s heart swelled as she wrapped her arms about them both. She had always told Christina she thought of her like a daughter. She had never expected Hawkridge to one day feel the same.

“I love you, darling.” She pressed her cheek to her daughter’s hair. “You can think of me like a mother if you like.”

“I always have,” Christina admitted with a dimpled grin. She lifted her eyes to Hawkridge. “Does this mean I can think of you like a father?”

“I insist upon it,” he said gruffly. “I shall be mortally offended if you do not.”

“Then I will,” Christina promised him and patted his knee. “I am quite pleased that you married us.”

A choking laugh rumbled from his throat in surprise. He cast a twinkling eyed gaze up at Faith. “As am I.”

All she could do was nod in response, her throat suddenly too tight to release the emotion in her heart.

“Christina.” Hawkridge cleared his throat. “If our family were to someday have more children…”

“Could I be their sister?” Christina whispered in excitement, bouncing in place. “Even if I’m not a Hawkridge?”

“You are a Hawkridge,” he corrected fiercely. “No matter what your surname is. Now and forever.”

“That’s a ‘yes’, darling.” Faith finally found her voice as she stroked her daughter’s cheek. “You would absolutely be their sister. They will be quite lucky to have you.”

“Then I cannot wait.” Christina clasped her hands together and wiggled in place. “I will be the best big sister England has ever seen. I can read their bedtime books!”

The sides of Hawkridge’s mouth twitched. “May we join you from time to time?”

“From time to time,” Christina agreed, then suddenly squealed and pointed between the crowd. “Look! Is that the balloon?”

“This way,” Hawkridge shouted to Faith’s parents. He linked arms with her and Christina in order to lead them to a slender clearing just up ahead.

Faith gasped aloud with her daughter when they reached the little hill and could finally see the cordoned-off area where the great balloon was preparing for launch.

The balloon’s endless yards of fabric bore the bright colors of the Union flag. Brilliant red, deep blue, blinding white. It appeared to have been made in long, triangular patchwork pieces. The cage beneath the balloon was bedecked with ribbons and feathers, and a smart pair of steering oars.

The music from the orchestra suddenly swelled as the band ceased practicing and launched into a rousing number designed to heighten the emotions of the crowd. Faith highly doubted the delirious crowd required any aid in this regard. The palpable excitement was already a hair’s breadth from complete hysteria.

When the pilot ducked under the cordon and strode toward his enormous bobbing balloon, the crowd’s deafening roar shook the very ground beneath them. The pilot locked himself inside the balloon’s thick carrying basket and turned to adjust the flames that would take him airborne.

“I can’t see,” cried Christina. “Why is there smoke? Is the balloon on fire?”

Hawkridge swung her up and onto his shoulders as if she were weightless.

“It’s hydrogen,” he explained, pointing between the straining balloon and its cage. “Look, it’s already lifting him, despite his extra weight in the basket.”

Even as Hawkridge spoke, a quartet of impeccably dressed footmen ducked under the cordon to run forward and yank free the ropes anchoring the balloon to the ground.

Before their very eyes, the huge colorful balloon rose higher and higher. Every soul in Vauxhall craned their necks so as not to miss a single moment.

Faith presumed the orchestra was still playing, but the music was far too difficult to detect over the delighted screams of the crowd.

They watched and watched until they could no longer discern the wave of the pilot’s flag from inside the cage, and the balloon was nothing more than a red and blue dot disappearing toward the horizon.

“What did you think?” Faith’s mother asked her granddaughter.

“It was wonderful.” Christina gaped down at them from Hawkridge’s shoulders in openmouthed delight. “When can we see another one?”

Hawkridge laughed and lifted her back down to the ground. “We can return for as many as you like.”

“Hawkridge, is that you?” A grating laugh accompanied the disbelieving voice. “What the deuce are you about?”

Faith spun around in horror. Her heart sank.

If she had spent the past ten years dreaming of being reunited with Hawkridge, she had spent an equal amount of time praying never again to have the misfortune of running into Phineas Mapleton.

He had been the worst of the bullies when she was younger, capable of turning even the few friendly faces against her.

Her hopes that Mapleton had moved elsewhere had clearly proved fruitless. All she could hope now was that enough time had passed that he no longer recognized her.

“Spending an afternoon with my family,” Hawkridge replied evenly. “Don’t you have more important people to rub shoulders with?”

“Don’t you?” Mapleton’s laugh was ugly. “Not one, but two dukes are eagerly awaiting my company, and here you are with…” His eyes widened and he chortled with glee. “Dear Lord, never say you’re still dallying with that Digby chit, after all this time.”

Faith’s hand tightened around her daughter.

“We were wed this past fortnight,” Hawkridge said coldly. He took a menacing step forward. “And I shall thank you not to speak ill of my marchioness and her family, because you will not like my reaction.”

“I would never speak ill,” Mapleton protested, then frowned in Christina’s direction. “Whose moppet is this?” His jaw dropped open. “Never say the Digby chit allowed you to sire a bastard back when we were children!”

The blood drained from Faith’s countenance and she swayed, light-headed with fear. Hawkridge’s horror-struck, wide-eyed countenance could only mirror her own.

Their first true public outing, and already their greatest secret had been exposed within minutes.

“Oh, posh,” Mapleton slapped Hawkridge on the shoulder and let out another braying laugh. “I am only bamming you. Back then, you weren’t desperate enough to risk being forced to wed the daughter of a textile monger. Come to think of it, I heard about some charity school she and Dahlia Grenville had put together.” Mapleton turned his sardonic gaze toward Faith. “Is this creature one of the unfortunates you girls rescued from the streets?”

“That’s my Aunt Faith,” Christina shouted hotly. “She’s not a girl. She’s a lady!”

“And that’s quite enough from you, Mapleton” Hawkridge said icily, stepping forward with his hands clenched into tight fists. “Leave while you still can. I am perilously close to meeting you at dawn.”

“Over a pipsqueak of a poor relation?” Mapleton spluttered in disbelief. “I never thought you’d be so sensitive in your old age. Very well then, esteemed Hawkridge family and dubious distant relations. I bid you farewell.”

Hawkridge’s cold gaze did not waver. “May our paths never cross again. Your life now depends upon it.”