Saturday arrived with the first breath of winter. Waking, Mary felt the chill sweep through her the moment she stepped out of bed. Dressing quickly, she hurried downstairs and opened the kitchen door, almost colliding with Mr. Crawford, who stood poised to enter.

“Good morning,” she muttered, her breath swirling toward him like mist on the moors.

“Miss Clemens,” he said and dipped his head by way of greeting. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Is it?” she asked, unable to hide the pain stealing through her. Setting her mouth, she pushed her way past him and marched toward the pile of firewood kept in a small covered enclosure.

“Of course,” he said, sounding surprised. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

She grabbed three pieces of wood and hefted them into her arms. “You have been ignoring me.” Plain words that could not be misunderstood.

“Have I?”

She blew out a breath, muttered an oath, and started back toward the house, not caring at all if he followed. Entering the kitchen, she set the wood down, filled the kettle with water and proceeded to ready the fire, ignoring the presence she sensed looming somewhere nearby. She absolutely refused to look at him.

“I have clearly upset you,” he said, following her into the dining room. When she crouched in front of the fireplace and reached for a log, he stalled her by placing his hand over hers. “That was not my intention, Miss Clemens.”

In spite of the hot little embers now sneaking their way up her arm, Mary knew she had to be strong for her own sake. She could not give in just because he filled her with longing. “Then what was it?” she asked.

The edge of his mouth lifted, affording him with a roguish smile. Mary swallowed, refusing to let it affect her, even though it was far too late for that. Her traitorous body already hummed in response to his nearness, calling for him to…to do something besides simply touch her hand.

“It was the only way I could think to resist you after you kissed me.” His eyes glittered somehow while his thumb began drawing lazy circles on her skin.

“It was just on the cheek,” she whispered.

A gruff sound rose from his throat. “Nevertheless. You should know how I feel since I’ve told you as plainly as I know how.”

I want you too. But ruining you would be a crime, Miss Clemens, so I fear I must refrain.

The words he’d spoken two weeks earlier echoed in her head. She hadn’t forgotten, but she’d thought he might have lost interest.

“But that kiss…” he continued. “It tore at every restraint with incredible force. So if I’ve added distance between us, that is why. Not because I do not want you, but because I want you too damn much.”

He stood, gave a curt nod, and strode from the room as if somehow unable to stay and face her for one more second. Trembling, Mary placed the log in the fireplace and watched it ignite as she lit the kindling. Staring into the flames, she allowed a new question to press on her mind: what if you simply surrender?

For the rest of the day, Mary listened to Mr. Crawford banging away in the attic as he removed rotted planks of wood and carried them from the house. He’d completed his work on the roof, so all that remained was for him to fix the attic floor, his presence never forgotten because of all the loud noises he made while he worked.

It was oddly soothing, Mary decided, and strangely unsettling once it ceased. Glancing at the clock she saw it was almost five. They would eat dinner soon, then the Durhams would arrive. Mr. Crawford had probably stopped work for the day so he could freshen up and prepare himself for their evening out. Cassandra and Emily were both in the process of doing so, and she really ought to follow suit if she was to be ready on time.

“You should wear your white muslin gown,” Cassandra said. She’d entered her bedchamber while Mary stood by her wardrobe, considering her limited selection of clothes.

“It is too cold for that,” she said, eying one of the few things she’d taken with her when she’d left London. It was exquisite, too fine for a mere village dance, but also tempting because of the man who would see her wear it.

“You have a cloak,” Cassandra said. Mary toyed with the fabric, torn between practicality and looking her best. “If he sees you like that, he’ll never forget you, Mary.”

There was no point in asking whom she was talking about. They both knew. “I want him so much it hurts,” she confessed.

“Then conquer your fear.”

Mary sighed. “It is not that simple. He doesn’t want to give in to temptation. I…I do not know why, but he is determined to avoid an attachment with me at all cost, Cass.” She glanced at her friend, completely unsure of how to proceed. “He doesn’t want marriage. That much is certain.”

“Is that what you want?” When Mary didn’t answer, Cassandra moved closer to her and quietly asked, “Do you love him, Mary?”

Mary blinked. “I do not know. Maybe.”

“And you don’t think he feels the same?”

She shook her head. “I am certain he does not.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Cassandra said. “The way he looks at you suggests he cares for you deeply.”

“Then why not tell me?” Mary asked.

Cassandra chuckled and reached past Mary to retrieve the white muslin gown. “As you have told him?” Mary bit her lip in response to that pointed remark. “Perhaps he is just as afraid of doing so as you are.”

“But he’s leaving,” Mary said. She accepted the gown Cassandra offered and held it limply between her hands.

“Have you given him a reason to stay?” Mary shook her head slowly. “Get dressed and I’ll do your hair. I want Mr. Crawford to be rendered speechless the moment he sets eyes on you.”

She was stunning. So stunning it took Caleb a moment to find his tongue when she entered the dining room. Dressed in layers of sheer white muslin with tiny puff sleeves and a décolletage so low it showed off more skin than it hid, Miss Clemens looked divine. Even the children took notice with Daphne likening her to a princess and the boys staring at her with the kind of wonder one felt when coming face to face with a goddess.

Stepping closer to her, Caleb offered his arm and guided her to her spot at the table. “You are a feast for the eyes, Miss Clemens,” he whispered close to her ear while helping her into her seat.

She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention to the swell of her breasts which rose like delectable treats placed on daring display. Unable to resist, he brushed his knuckles across her back before removing himself to his own seat. There were children present, for Christ sake! He had to stay on his best behavior, or he’d be damned to hell for all of eternity. Which was probably what he deserved by now, all things considered.

“Will you dance with Mr. Crawford tonight?” Penelope asked Miss Clemens after taking a bite of her food.

“If he asks,” was Miss Clemens’s reply. She smiled prettily at the girl before taking a sip of her wine.

“I have every intention of doing so,” he said, meeting Miss Clemens’s gaze. “The waltz perhaps, if at all possible.”

Her cheeks colored and she lowered her lashes, giving her attention to the food on her plate. She didn’t look at him for the rest of the meal, but Caleb knew with instinctual certainty that the dance they would share was at the front of her mind. It was as if every interaction they’d had with each other since his arrival, each glance, each touch, each intimate conversation, had been leading to this, pushing them forward until they collided. And they were destined to collide, no matter how hard they tried to fight it; the pull between them was simply too great.

For the past week he’d been struggling with what he’d learned during dinner with the Townsends. Discovering George had kissed Miss Clemens had been difficult to accept. But then he’d reminded himself that George hadn’t cared about her. And as angry as that had made him, it had also put everything into perspective, because it meant that the kiss George had shared with Miss Clemens would never be as meaningful as the one he would share with her. And he would kiss her. He’d decided that much this morning when his resolve had crumbled in response to her accusation. In spite of what he’d said before, she’d somehow managed to convince herself that he didn’t want her.

Well, he would prove her wrong on that score and see where that led. To a whole heap of trouble, no doubt, but he cared for her enough to be willing to take that chance now. Even if she ended up hating him for it.

They set out an hour later, walking the mile to the village with a couple of lanterns to light the way. When they arrived, it was to the sound of music and chatter spilling through the entrance to the assembly hall.

Stepping into a narrow foyer, Caleb helped Miss Clemens, Miss Howard, and Lady Cassandra remove their cloaks. He handed them over to the man in charge of the cloakroom before leading all three ladies into the large open area where a country dance was already underway. Along the periphery of the room stood clusters of people, some watching the dancing and others in deep conversation.

The tune picked up and clapping ensued, carrying the dancers along in a jaunty rhythm. Caleb grinned, liking the spirited atmosphere. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward an area that wasn’t too crowded yet.

With Miss Clemens on his arm, he led the way forward while Lady Cassandra and Miss Howard trailed behind. Several heads turned in their direction as they moved through the room, the interest keen and rightfully so, considering Miss Clemens’s stunning appearance. She shone like a diamond tonight. Just the honor of having her on his arm was enough to make him stand taller and smile.

“Lady Cassandra, Miss Howard, and Miss Clemens,” a young woman said by way of greeting after making her approach. She’d brought a friend with her and both were now staring at him expectantly. “Will you introduce us to your friend?”

“This is Mr. Crawford,” Lady Cassandra said when Miss Clemens and Miss Howard both remained silent. She introduced the young women as Miss Richards and Miss Nutley.

Caleb bowed his head politely. “A pleasure,” he said, causing both women to giggle in the most annoying way imaginable.

“He’s so handsome,” Miss Richards told Miss Clemens in a way meant to imitate a whisper without being even a little bit discreet in the process. “Wherever did you find him?”

“Oh, we didn’t,” Miss Clemens said without batting an eyelash. “Mr. Crawford found us.”

This resulted in another round of giggles. “How delightful,” Miss Nutley remarked, as if he were some oddity at a fair. Remaining civil was turning into a chore.

“Tell me, does he dance?” Miss Richards asked.

Caleb opened his mouth, prepared to remind the woman that he was right there and perfectly capable of answering her questions himself. But Miss Clemens beat him to it, her entire body leaning forward as if poised for battle, like the figurehead on the prow of a ship steering into a storm.

“I know you’re both a little short sighted, ladies, and since you’ve obviously left your spectacles at home, I feel it my duty to inform you that Mr. Crawford is still standing right here beside me.” She smiled sweetly. “You may pose your questions directly to him.”

“Well,” Miss Richards exclaimed.

Caleb reckoned that smoke might start rising from the top of her head any moment. Her friend didn’t look much happier, but he was vastly amused by the set-down. He raised an eyebrow at the two women who stammered a little before turning away and removing themselves to the other side of the room.

“A little protective of me, Miss Clemens?” he couldn’t resist asking.

She gave him a cutting look. “Hardly.”

Chuckling, he gave his attention to the dance floor. The country dance had ended and a reel was beginning, so he turned to Miss Howard and bowed. “I believe this is our set.” He held out his arm, and she readily took it. As he steered her away, he turned and winked toward Miss Clemens and was wonderfully pleased when he saw she was laughing.

“That was rather harsh,” Cassandra said. “But very effective.”

“They deserved it,” Mary said, “and Mr. Crawford didn't seem to mind.”

“On the contrary, he enjoyed every moment of it. And why shouldn't he when you staked your claim so vocally?”

“I did no such thing.” Mary crossed her arms and groaned when she saw Mr. Townsend. He was walking toward her with purpose. She decided to be polite. “Good evening, sir.”

He stopped in front of her. “Miss Clemens. Lady Cassandra. How fortuitous it is to find you here.”

“Oh?” In spite of his easy tone and warm expression, she would not forget how poorly he'd treated her and Mr. Crawford.

“I've been meaning to call but feared you would turn me away.” When neither she nor Cassandra denied such a possibility, he said, “I wish to apologize and ask for your forgiveness. The things my sister and I said to you were wrong. Our conduct was both embarrassing and inexcusable.”

“It really wasn't your best moment,” Mary agreed. “I confess I was rather surprised to discover such a distasteful side to your character.”

Mr. Townsend winced. “Yes...well...” He scratched his head and glanced about, eyes narrowing and brow furrowing as he looked toward the dance floor. “That man has a very unpleasant effect on me.”

Following his line of vision, Mary saw Mr. Crawford guide Emily while executing perfect steps. “That man is my friend, Mr. Townsend.” She frowned and wondered where he might have learned to dance so well. Perhaps he'd taken lessons with Viscount Aldridge as a child?

“Again, my apologies.” He took a step closer. “I meant no disrespect.”

“If that were true, you would choose your words with better care.”

Cassandra snorted and Mr. Townsend gave her a disapproving look. “Of course,” he said, attempting a smile that looked far from genuine. “I quite agree. Perhaps we can make a fresh start?”

Mary's mouth dropped open. “A fresh start?” As if either of them could forget what had happened or that he'd proposed and she had refused.

“Give me the chance to prove myself, and I can assure you you'll marry me eventually.”

“You're very optimistic,” Cassandra said.

“It is the best way to be,” Mr. Townsend told her.

“As long as it doesn't turn into delusion,” Cassandra shot back.

Mr. Townsend glared at her and apparently decided not to counter. Instead, he returned his attention to Mary. “So what do you say, Miss Clemens?”

“I don't like your assurance, sir,” Mary said.

He stared at her while Cassandra snickered. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“That I will eventually marry you,” Mary explained. “It’s a little distressing since I have no desire to do such a thing and never have.”

“But surely…” Mr. Townsend shook his head and looked suddenly helpless. “Marriage is what all young women wish for. It is unnatural not to do so, and considering your age, I would have expected a bit more enthusiasm and gratitude on your part.”

“Mr. Townsend.” Mary honestly wasn’t sure what to say to him anymore. Except, “Why do you wish to marry me? Your determination to do so at this point has me at a complete loss.”

In the background, the music faded, and she could see the dancers bowing and curtseying to each other behind Mr. Townsend. He pressed his lips together, and his gaze, which had been so steady until now, filled with sudden uncertainty.

A pause followed until Mary thought he might never answer. She saw Mr. Crawford and Emily begin to leave the crowded dance floor, when Mr. Townsend decided to say, “During her time in London, my sister learned that you are more suited to be my wife than I ever would have imagined.”

Mary blinked. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Mr. Townsend pressed his lips together. “Perhaps we ought to discuss this in private, Miss Clemens?”

Absolutely not. She had no intention of being alone with this man.

Calculating the time it would take Mr. Crawford and Emily to reach the spot where she stood, she told Mr. Townsend. “There is no need for that. You may speak openly in front of Lady Cassandra.”

Mr. Townsend gave Cassandra a fleeting glance and cleared his throat. He paused for a moment before bluntly saying, “I am naturally referring to your dowry, Miss Clemens. Apparently, it still exists and will follow you into marriage in the event that—”

“I think I would like you to leave now,” Mary clipped. Of course her dowry of ten thousand pounds was to blame for Mr. Townsend’s increased attentions recently. The only problem being she had not wanted Mr. Crawford to know, because if he ever did offer for her, she wanted his decision to be made without money as the incentive. But it was too late for that now. He’d reached them faster than she’d expected and had heard every word.

“Just think of all the good we can do together with those funds,” Mr. Townsend prattled on. “The farm could get a new stable, and I could even purchase that parcel of land I’ve—”

“Enough,” Mr. Crawford cut in. “Miss Clemens has made her position clear. Please respect the lady’s wishes and walk away.”

Mr. Townsend turned to Mr. Crawford and looked him up and down as if assessing his opponent. “I…” he tried, but the strength had left his voice, and his dogged expression had waned.

“Go,” Mr. Crawford told him. He jutted his chin in the direction of the door.

Casting one final look in Mary’s direction, Mr. Townsend turned on a sigh and removed himself from their vicinity. Whether or not he left the assembly hall itself, Mary did not know, but she was glad her interaction with him was over.

“Would you like some wine?” Mr. Crawford asked.

Cassandra and Emily nodded, as did Mary. “Yes, please,” Mary said.

Leaving them, Mr. Crawford went to purchase four glasses. He was barely out of sight before Miss Amanda Partridge, the youngest daughter of a landed gentleman who lived nearby, came to greet them. She was accompanied by a handsome man with tawny hair and bright blue eyes.

“I hope we're not intruding,” Miss Partridge said. When Cassandra assured her they weren't, Miss Partridge gestured toward the man to her left. “This is my brother, Mr. David Partridge. I don't believe you've been introduced.”

Mr. Partridge took a small step forward and bowed. “It is an honor,” he said. Straightening, his eyes sought Mary and a welcoming smile immediately followed. “When my sister told me of your kindness and dedication toward the children you've taken in,” he said, slowly sliding his gaze toward Emily and Cassandra, “I was thoroughly impressed.”

“My brother donates to a couple of orphanages in London,” Miss Partridge said. “He's very invested.”

“I'm sure the children are grateful,” Mary said. Being the cynical sort, she could not stop from adding, “But in my opinion, giving money is easier than doing the actual work.”

To her surprise, Mr. Partridge's smile broadened. “A woman who speaks her own mind. If you ask me, there are too few of your kind in the world. Will you do me the honor of partnering with me for the next set?”

“I...” Mary was too confounded for words.

“I think I'm going to start being more blunt,” Emily said. “The men apparently love it.”

“Come, Miss Clemens.” Mr. Partridge offered his arm. “It looks as if the cotillion is about to begin.”

Accepting his invitation for the sake of politeness, Mary allowed Mr. Partridge to lead her onto the dance floor. She'd spoken with his sister a few times over the years when their paths had crossed in the village. Miss Partridge had always been pleasant, which had made it impossible for Mary not to like her.

Mr. Townsend was pleasant, too, until you got to know him better.

Recalling the reason for his interest in her, Mary considered Mr. Partridge more assessingly.

He guided her forward in time to the music. “Whatever are you thinking, Miss Clemens? Your scowl suggests you'd rather be elsewhere.”

“I'm sorry,” she said and skipped to one side. “May I ask an indelicate question?”

“They are my favorite kind.”

She smiled at him, liking his sense of humor. “Do you know who I was before I came to live with Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra?”

“I'm afraid not, Miss Clemens. Should I?”

She shook her head. So he wasn't after her dowry then. At least that was something. “It doesn't really matter. I am far more interested in knowing why you and I have never met before.”

“I spend most of my time in Dorset where I manage a property on behalf of my grandfather. He lost most of his vision a few years ago and life has been a challenge for him ever since.”

They continued chatting while they danced, and Mary decided she liked Mr. Partridge at least as much as his sister.

When they eventually rejoined the others, Mr. Crawford was waiting with a stony expression. He handed her her glass of wine and extended his hand to Mr. Partridge.

“Good to meet you,” he said. “I'm Mr. Crawford, the man hired by Lady Cassandra's brother to fix the roof on the house where she, Miss Howard, and Miss Clemens live.”

“Ah, so you are a craftsman,” Mr. Partridge said. “I have always admired people who can make things with their hands, whether it's mending a fence or building a house. Plus, there is something to be said for being able to work outside, not to mention the sense of accomplishment I'm sure you must feel.”

“There certainly is,” Mr. Crawford agreed.

“David always complains about being stuck in his study,” Miss Partridge said.

“I hate every second of it, but responsibility demands it.” He scrunched his face to suggest dissatisfaction. “Except when I'm checking up on the orphanages. They have become a welcome escape from the tedium of ledgers and property management.”

“I imagine coming here and spending time with your sister is also a reprieve,” Emily said.

“Of course,” Mr. Partridge said. “Here I am free to relax, to go for a ride or a pleasant walk, to enjoy an evening out with friends.” Leaning forward, he added gravely, “Except when Mama is pressuring me to get married.”

Mr. Crawford sighed heavily and with what seemed to be sympathetic understanding. “A mother intent on seeing her son wed will likely drive every man to madness at some point in their life.”

Mary stared at him with a sudden need to know more. Because although she knew it was probably pointless, she wanted to understand this man who'd become the focus of all her thoughts. She wanted to know who his mother meant for him to marry, and she, God help her, wanted to be that woman.

“Since all of you come from well-respected families, I thought it prudent that my brother get to know you better during his stay,” Miss Partridge said, in response to which all heads swiveled in her direction. “Perhaps an attachment will be made, and if not, then at least David will be able to tell our mother he has tried.”

“But,” Cassandra put in, “while our families may have respectable reputations, we do not. Indeed, knowing us in any capacity could result in scandal.”

Mr. Partridge and his sister shared a look and then laughed. “I believe you're worth the effort,” Mr. Partridge said, his eyes meeting Mary's. She held his gaze for a second before shifting it to Mr. Crawford, who was watching her with a pensive frown.

It was as if she'd just materialized in front of him, and he was trying to figure out how she'd done it. “You're absolutely right,” he said.

She noted the look of surprise in Mr. Partridge's eyes. He took a step back, and Mr. Crawford stepped forward, his handsome face filling her vision and prompting her heart to beat a bit faster.

“I believe it is time for our waltz, Miss Clemens.” Mr. Crawford’s voice was low and intimate. It pulled Mary toward him and banished all else from her mind. She placed her hand on his forearm and met his gaze, connecting with him in a way she’d never connected with anyone before, as if both existed beyond the realm of reality, their souls embracing even as their bodies walked toward the dance floor.

They took their places while the musicians played the opening notes. And then Mr. Crawford was pulling her to him, his hand settling neatly against her back as he drew her into the dance. A moment of startled surprise made her gasp in response to having him so wonderfully close. And the way he moved…it was as if he’d been born to dance, his elegant steps so smooth she felt like she was gliding.

“I like Mr. Partridge and his sister,” he said while leading her in a wide turn. “They’re unpretentiousness gives them credit.”

“It is unusual for people of their class to be without airs,” Mary agreed. “Perhaps it is a result of growing up in the country and with no other gentry nearby. Most of their interactions will have been with ordinary people.”

“Do you believe such an upbringing to be a prerequisite for humbleness?”

“Possibly, though I do think life-altering experiences can have a similar effect.”

His hold on her tightened as he spun her about. “As was the case for you and your friends?” Before she could answer, he said, “That would imply you were high in the instep before you came here. Having gotten to know you, I very much doubt that could have been the case.”

“Granted, there are exceptions,” she admitted. A warm shiver erupted at the base of her spine as he curled his fingertips into her back.

“Even for earls, marquesses, and dukes?”

“I don’t believe so,” she said, recalling the peers she’d once socialized with. Each and every one had believed the world was at his feet. “Being raised amid wealth and with servants to tend to your every need creates certain expectations. It spoils you.”

“Would you say that there was a time when you were spoiled as well?” His eyes sought hers, holding her captive and demanding the truth.

Mary thought back on her family home in Mayfair, to the shopping expeditions she’d enjoyed with her mother and sisters, the expensive gowns filling her wardrobe, and the diamond earbobs she’d been gifted on her fourteenth birthday.

“Absolutely. But leaving all of that behind in favor of a simpler and sparser life has given me more freedom than I ever had before,” she tried to explain. “It is as if material things and the desire for more held me hostage.”

“Losing it made you realize what truly matters,” Mr. Crawford murmured.

His insightfulness went straight to Mary’s heart. “It brought everything into perspective,” she said. “As hard as it has been, I cannot imagine ever going back to an idle life. What Mr. Partridge said earlier about how your work must give you a sense of deep accomplishment resonates with me. I have never felt more useful or necessary than I have these last five years.”

The music started to fade, causing Mr. Crawford to slow his pace. “You are an extraordinary woman, Miss Clemens. Don’t ever let anyone else tell you otherwise.” They came to a halt, and he slowly released her, stepping back so he could bow while she curtseyed.

“Thank you,” she said, “not only for the dance but for the conversation. You’re pretty extraordinary yourself.”

“Words I’ll hold close to my heart,” he said, smiling at her in a way that weakened her knees and left her slightly breathless. He offered his arm and escorted her back to the rest of their group while she began wondering if Emily and Cassandra had a point. Perhaps giving in to desire would be worth it if Mr. Crawford would be hers, if only for a brief moment in time.