Reverend Grove dispatched Giles to impart the news to St. Martin’s sexton, then steepled his hands and intoned a prayer for Mary’s soul.

Sarah felt like her head was stuffed with wet wool. Assailed by too many conflicting emotions, she was grateful for Munro’s strong grip.

She’d agreed to marry the son of an earl. Was she mad? Nothing would come of it. However, her parents had been well aware there was no future for their passion, yet Mary had sacrificed everything to spend her last years with the man she loved.

Sarah had always considered her mother a dimwit, a woman of little education who’d allowed herself to bear three illegitimate children to a man she could never marry. Mary’s wisdom, forbearance and sense of humor shone through on every page of her replies to Henry’s letters. He had kept and treasured them throughout his incarceration in various prisons. When Henry teased her, she gave back as good as she got. Sarah closed her eyes, tears welling when she conjured a vision of her father chuckling as he read Mary’s witty replies. His lover had sustained him despite facing hardships herself.

Allowing Munro to read the letters—an inevitability Sarah had dreaded—was now something to look forward to. He would appreciate and enjoy the humor. It was important, too, that he learn more about her parents, as she had. The irony made her smile. She itched to share information she’d striven to hide all her life.

Munro’s presence beside her was at once calming and exhilarating. The warmth of his hand, the strength in his arm pressed against hers, the sheer size of him in the cramped surroundings, filled her with overwhelming feelings of need. Reginald’s bulk had given rise to dread and eventually loathing. Now, she felt safe, treasured, and loved for the first time in her life. It was enough to make a girl dizzy. Indeed, she had to hold on to the table when Sexton Neville arrived with a shroud and Munro let go of her hand so he could assist with wrapping the body. Looking upon her mother’s face for the last time, she promised to be as loving, loyal and faithful a wife to Munro as Mary had been to Henry Marten.

Munro sensed Sarah’s turmoil by the way she gripped his hand and chewed her bottom lip. He worried the emotional toll of recent events might prompt her to renege on her promise to marry him, but so far she’d remained silent.

Giles sniffled back tears. It was a sad truth the lad had seen too much death for one so young.

Munro longed to take Sarah into his arms and kiss away the hurts, present and past. He acknowledged it might take a long time to free Sarah completely from her painful history, but felt confident he was the man for the job.

He had to remember she’d spent years married to a drunken bully. He’d have to be patient with his lovemaking, prove to her that sexual congress could be pleasurable for both partners. He doubted she’d known anything but brutality with North.

It was reassuring she didn’t rebuff him when the gravediggers arrived. She clung to him as they followed the two burly men who carried her mother’s body downstairs and loaded it on a waiting wagon.

“Will there be need of a coffin?” Neville Sexton asked as the wagon pulled away. “Or…”

“Aye, a wooden coffin,” Munro retorted before Sarah had time to consider if she could afford it. “And a marker. ’Tis the least I can do.”

“Shall we say the morrow?” Grove asked. “Eleven of the clock.”

Sarah nodded as Giles put his arms around her waist and leaned his head against her ribcage. Munro gathered them both in his embrace. The trio stood on the busy street watching the funeral wagon make its way slowly to St. Martin’s, Grove and Neville walking behind.

Men doffed their hats, mothers turned children’s faces away, a few made the Catholic sign of the cross.

“She’d be livid if she saw that Popish gesture,” Sarah whispered.

When the wagon disappeared round the side of the church, Sarah fished in her pocket for the remains of Battersby’s sixpence. “Go to the market, Giles,” she said. “See what you can procure for supper. You and Mr. Pendray must be hungry.”

Munro tightened his grip around her shoulders when she shivered. “I could have given him coin.”

“I know,” she replied, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for the coffin.”

“Again, ’tis my honor. Let’s go indoors.”

She took a last look at Giles running towards the market. “He’s a remarkable boy. I never told him how glad I was you’d proven him innocent.”

“He kens ye’ve just lost yer mother. ’Tis a loss he’s familiar with.”

Force of habit caused her to inhale the aromas in the shop, and she was touched when Munro stood behind her, put his arms around her waist and filled his lungs. “Smells good,” he whispered.

“I’ll miss this,” she confessed.

“Nay need to discuss that now,” he replied. “Are ye ready to go back up?”

She realized how lucky she was to have found a patient and understanding man. They were few and far between. In truth, she wanted to stay exactly as they were, his breath warm on her ear, his strong arms keeping her upright though she felt like collapsing in a heap on the planked floor. However, sooner or later, she’d have to face the apartment. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “As long as you’re with me.”

“Forever,” he promised.