The first thing Amelia became aware of when she woke was that her head felt like a Manchester power loom, clattering away. Then there was the smell of tea and she opened her eyes to see her mother sitting at the foot of her bed. She opened her mouth. No sound came out.

“Here.” Her mother held out a cup to her, her expression dark and her back straight. “You’ll need this.”

Sitting up, Amelia took the tea and sipped. Pieces of last night slotted into her mind between the throbbing ache. Playing Snapdragon. Robert lying with her on her bed. Him refusing to kiss her.

“When were you going to tell me about your engagement?” Her mother’s voice could have sliced glass.

“What?” Her fluff-filled mind struggled to understand.

“Your engagement to Mr. Danbury.”

“Engagement? No!” Her mother’s statement roiled through her. For a second the feeling of otherworldliness was so great, she thought her head might be detached from her body.

Her mother reached out and took the cup of tea from her, which was tipping at a perilous angle.

She relinquished it. What had happened last night? She wracked her memory, but it all went cloudy after Robert had refused to kiss her.

“Mrs. Wisbech found you and Mr. Danbury in bed.” Fury tinged her mother’s words. “He said you were engaged.”

“We’re not engaged.” A memory of Mrs. Wisbech at her bedroom door emerged from among the noise. “Mrs. Wisbech must think that because Robert accompanied me upstairs last night.” How to put this tactfully. “I was feeling a bit out of sorts. There’s no need for any of this.” She tried to smile reassuringly but suspected it came out as a grimace. Panic wrapped around her arms like a too tight sleeve. She got out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. This discussion might be about her whole future, so she probably ought to hold it somewhere more dignified than on her bed.

She sat on her sofa and the worn springs dipped beneath her. “Nothing happened.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sighing, her mother came over to Amelia, bringing the tea with her. She held out the cup again.

“Thank you.” Amelia accepted the cup and took a mouthful of the warm, milky sweetness before putting it onto the side table.

“It doesn’t matter because you were found together. He says you’re engaged, and doubtless he’ll follow that assertion with the actual proposal today.”

It was probably the wine that made her feel so wretched. But Amelia couldn’t help thinking it was the vague knowledge that last night Mrs. Wisbech had upended her life. After being so careful in London to ensure no-one, not even the servants, knew about her lovers, it was ironic to be caught and punished for an incident that was entirely innocent. It was a mess. What about Henrietta, who would lose her companion? How would she cope? Amelia put her head in her hands and stared at the swirling red patterns of the Aubusson carpet beneath her feet. This was a cursed fairy boon. She’d wished to marry Robert and now it was going to happen in the worst possible way.

“Nothing happened,” Amelia grumpily repeated as if that would help. As if the truth would change anything. Though she had requested a kiss and been rebuffed. And there was the kiss under the mistletoe. That wasn’t nothing. “Anyway, I’d have thought you’d be delighted. This is what you intended when you put Robert in the room opposite mine, isn’t it? That’s why you sent Mrs. Wisbech to check on me.”

“I didn’t send Mrs. Wisbech.” Her mother huffed impatiently. “I would never have put you through this embarrassment. Or me. Or the Danburys. Or your father.”

“But I’ve told you, nothing happened.” With Robert, anyway. She studied the carpet. It must have been expensive at some point, but it was flattened by feet near the sofa, the glossy colors dulled. Time changed everything. She’d thought she’d live as a companion to Henrietta for years, and clandestine lovers would be as close to marriage as she got. Two past lovers were at least two too many for a young woman of good family and wealth.

“I thought you’d be a little more subtle in anticipating your marriage vows.” Her mother’s tone was acerbic.

“Mother.” She looked up and the world, with all its depth and wideness returned. The harsh white of the winter morning was almost tangible after looking at the comforting warmth of the carpet. “We didn’t.” She wished her head would quieten. It was already difficult negotiating with her mother at the most pivotal epoch of her life, without feeling like her head was made of brittle ice.

“No, you invited him to your room.” Her mother threw up her hands and little lines appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Then allowed Mrs. Wisbech to walk in on you. If you were going to do something so wanton and addle-brained, why didn’t you lock the door?”

“Because we weren’t doing anything!” Well, she’d wanted to kiss him. But moreover, she’d not thought of the door. “Then I was asleep.” She risked meeting her mother’s gaze.

“What are you going to do now?” She was watching her, face impassive, but perhaps tired.

“What option do I have?” How could she know what to say or do?

“Marry him.” Her mother gave her a droll look. “Or don’t.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I didn’t marry him?” She hadn’t expected her to be so compromising. Maybe she could still return to her life in London and not let Henrietta down. But then, what if Henrietta wanted to spend more time with Caroline now that lady was widowed? Perhaps Amelia would be superfluous. If she didn’t marry, the scandal would seep out however much her mother might try to swear her friends to secrecy. The social consequences would be dire when it was heard. She’d been so careful to ensure no-one would ever know about her previous lovers precisely because it would place her beyond the pale. Her parents would probably be shunned too. But if she married Robert, she’d be giving over her life to a man who’d rejected her once before.

Her mother hummed. “I would prefer if you didn’t have the embarrassment of Mrs. Wisbech spreading rumors about your virtue. The existence of that virtue is entirely irrelevant to this issue.”

“Why did you invite the Wisbechs?” If it weren’t for that woman’s ill-timed intervention they could have avoided all of this. Besides, wasn’t this sort of behavior what house parties were designed for? Mrs. Wisbech should have kept her nose out of it.

Although, maybe bed-hopping wasn’t the thing at one’s parents' party.

“They’re my friends.” Her mother gave her a sharp look. “They aren’t perfect, but they’re my friends.”

There was no possible objection she could have to that. Though that didn’t mean she didn’t resent her right now. If Mrs. Wisbech hadn’t been so interested in her world, she might not be in this situation.

“You should know,” her mother continued, “when I discussed with my friends your scheme to charge ladies to pass-off your work as their own, I thought it was a horrid idea. I was inclined to think Great-Aunt Henrietta was inappropriate company for you, and force you home. Mrs. Wisbech persuaded me otherwise. She thought it was an enterprising scheme and she sent her daughter’s friend, Miss Gaskin, to you.”

The weight of her unfair judgment of Mrs. Wisbech settled into her stomach. Miss Gaskin had been amongst her earliest clients and one of the more lucrative and helpful. Mrs. Wisbech might have rigidly traditional views on women’s virtue and marriage, and a propensity to talk, but it seemed she owed her a debt of gratitude.

“But most of all, I’d suggest you marry him because I think that you would be happy together.”

It seemed doubtful they could get past the ugly reality that she’d loved him and he’d chosen another woman. A kiss and a cute child didn’t make a happy marriage. In particular, a marriage made in impropriety was not auspicious.

“But it’s not my choice. I’ll continue to support you either way.”

“Really?” Her stomach eased just a little. Maybe it would all work out well. Henrietta would see more of Caroline and not miss her. Amelia could be married to Robert. They could have a baby. The secret need for children and family seeped out from the place she’d carefully sealed inside herself.

“Of course.” Her mother reached over and took her hand.

She looked at their clasped hands on the pink floral pattern of the sofa. Her mother’s hand wasn’t as solid as it used to be. Her skin was becoming papery, and she’d be fifty next year. At some point she would be looking after her parents, not the other way around.

“What are you going to say when he asks you to marry him?”

What else could she say? There was only one answer that wouldn’t be a betrayal of her parents, her friends, and her eighteen-year-old self. “Yes.”

She sorted her silk threads while she waited for him, feeling less ill than when she woke, but more like she was dreaming. The threads, usually so reassuring, were straw under her fingers after her conversation with her mother.

He stood stiffly after he entered, hands behind his back and shoulders braced. If only he would make an excuse and leave. They could defy everyone and continue as they had before their kiss, before last night. Before everything.

Except that was impossible. His sense of honor would force him to marry her now he’d claimed as much. What her sense of honor thought was unknown, as it had fled years since.

“I hoped you might join me for a walk,” he asked with no enquiring inflection. It was a facade of a question, matching their indiscretion, his forthcoming proposal, and likely their entire marriage.

“Of course.” She rose and put aside the comforting silks with a pang. “I’ll change and return in a few minutes.” Upstairs, she put on an elegant navy wool walking dress and sturdy half-boots, a bonnet, fur lined gloves, and a warm pelisse.

Outside, the gardens were covered in a sparkling layer of thin snow.

“We need to talk about last night.” His hessian boots crunched the veneer of white and his great coat made her feel like he was a looming raven next to her.

“There’s nothing to say.” They were going to be married, against both of their wishes, because of her inability to not get drunk and her mother’s nosey friend.

“There’s quite a bit to say, actually.” His voice was dry. “I have a proposal to make.”

“We don’t have to marry. We could have a long engagement.” Maybe that would be enough for any scandal to blow over.

“No.” He clasped his hands behind him. “A long engagement will cause all sorts of speculation.”

He was so calm, just phlegmatically accepting a marriage as if it were of no more importance than a dinner which was not precisely what he’d ordered.

They left the formal gardens and started into the woods beyond where the field maples and elm trees had shaken off the snow. The beech trees stubbornly held onto some of their golden-brown leaves, topped with white. But most of the trees looked black, spindly and dead. Though they were just waiting for the warmth of spring to reawaken them.

“We should discuss what happened on Christmas Eve...” His voice was like a symphony, with layers of meaning and tone, as if one could listen to him say the same words a hundred times and hear a hundred interpretations.

Their kiss. Their heart-stopping kiss that had triggered this entire mess. The path was a bit overgrown as it went downhill towards the river, with brambles and ivy encroaching at the sides, threatening to catch at them.

“I think we’ll get along well enough.” He took a deep breath. “Given what you asked last night... I thought you might be happy.”

Of all the arrogant, idiotic things he could say. He was fortunate she didn’t push him into the freezing water. “You thought I’d enjoy being second choice.”

It was probably unwise to talk about the past. They’d known each other forever as their parents were friends. But he was older and had been continually away at school or university. The summer of her coming-out in 1812 she’d wanted to see a particular regard in his attention to her. But she hadn’t let herself be too hasty. He paid attention to other ladies too.

“That’s not what I meant.” His brows furrowed and he gave his head a little shake. “You asked yesterday evening why I married Isabella. And perhaps I’m inferring too much. But the truth is, it could easily have happened differently.”

Cold air bit at her nose. She couldn’t say anything. Through the bare trees, the pale winter sun lit the snowy plain on the other side of the river, making it bright white against the blue sky. She focused on the path beneath her feet.

“I asked you once whether you loved me.”

“No.” She glanced across at him. “You didn’t.”

“At the All Hallow’s Eve ball in October.”

They’d waltzed that night, just a few weeks before he’d announced his engagement to Isabella Garway. Amelia had been flush with the knowledge of his admiration. He’d fetched her a glass of punch and told her about his glasshouses. His serious expression when he’d talked about his passion for growing exotic plants always captivated her. He’d promised her a pineapple from his glasshouses.

A week afterward, a pineapple had arrived, nestled on wood shavings in a wooden box. With it had been a simple note, saying he hoped she enjoyed it. She still couldn’t like the taste of pineapple. When she’d eaten it again, only the once since it was so expensive, all the exotic, juicy sweetness seemed to have gone. In its place was just the imprint of its prickly skin on her palms and her mouth and the metallic tang.

Late in the evening at the All Hallows’ Eve ball, he’d taken her out onto the terrace for some air.

“No. You asked me what I thought about love,” she said. At the time she’d answered cautiously, not wanting to come across as silly and idealistic. She’d replied that love was a good thing in life when one could have it.

“Well, that was what I meant.” He huffed. “Any fool knows that’s what a man means when he says that.”

Amelia stopped abruptly and stared at him. He took one more pace then realized she wasn’t with him and turned. It was as if a pattern was being filled in, the colored silks tracing out a sharp design. He’d thought she’d said she didn’t love him? How could he have expected her to spontaneously declare herself? “You mean any fool woman?”

“Isabella knew what I meant.” He shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders skewed to the side, like he realized how childish that sounded. With the sun behind him in his buttoned-up great coat he looked like one of the trees, a dark pillar surrounded by gold light.

“She played the game.” Amelia continued towards the river and Robert fell in by her side. Miss Isabella Garway had danced with him twice that evening, only a month before they’d become engaged. What had he sent her afterward? Red roses perhaps.

“I didn’t want to be a fool who married a wife who only wanted a husband and didn’t love him.”

“Have you not read Pride and Prejudice?” He’d thought she hadn’t loved him and therefore chosen elsewhere, like a Mr. Bingley guided by an internal Darcy.

“No.” He looked confused by the change of topic. They reached the bottom of the hill and the path by the clear babbling water and paused by tacit agreement.

“There’s a copy in the library. I recommend it.” She didn’t add, ‘especially the bit where Jane is heartbroken because Mr. Bingley leaves her’.

“I just didn’t want to be a love-struck fool.” He seemed to find something compelling and frustrating about the water sliding past the tree roots on the other side of the river. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“But...” Hadn’t it been obvious? Did not wanting to be love-struck mean he’d loved her, or that he hadn’t wanted to love her? His profile was unashamedly fine-looking, with his Roman nose and full lips. She took a step towards him, as if seeing him better would help her understand him. “I don’t understand. That’s not how I remember it.”

“Naturally.” He gave a puff of laughter that the cold made into a billow of white. “Combined with your later refusal to kiss me under the mistletoe at the Nevin’s Christmas ball in November...” He shrugged as he turned towards her. “It didn’t seem sensible to retain any hope of your affection.”

The ice of the winter day suddenly penetrated through her pelisse, a claw that ripped her open to the heart. She’d loved him with a white-hot flame that she’d pretended was cool indifference, and so he’d had no hope of her affection. She turned away, almost slipping on the icy path. He was immediately there, his arm under hers, supporting her. They walked along in silence. A gap in the trees opened up and the pale sun streamed through.

She’d spent all this time thinking that she was the injured party when he withdrew his courtship and married Isabella. But from his perspective, she had left him with no choice. He’d been wrong and proud and stupid. But she’d been timorous, refusing to take any risk for him. Like Jane Bennet, she’d been so inward-looking and fearful of discomfiture, she’d not allowed him to see her feelings. Unease cooled the back of her neck. They were both partially at fault for his marrying Isabella rather than her. She glanced back towards the river, but the white sun obscured the view.

“There’s something else.” His expression was grim. “I wasn’t planning to marry Isabella. There was an incident. She–” He shook his head briskly. “There was only one honorable solution. It doesn’t feel right to discuss it fully, but I want you to know. It wasn’t my plan. My intentions were always honorable.”

Her head spun. There were so many strands of questions that she wanted to ask, but they formed only two relevant threads. He’d married Isabella out of a sense of duty because he’d been trapped in some way. And now he was going to marry her for the same reason. A poor start.

“What was your marriage like?” She’d been upset when he married. But she’d never given much thought to whether he’d been content. She knew now her nervousness might have been responsible for his happiness, or lack thereof, as well as her own.

“Companionable.” He took a deep breath. “Pleasant. I can’t pretend it was a terrible mistake and she made my life hell. It wasn’t. She was bubbly, and a bit flighty sometimes. She was sweet. We cared for each other.” His face shuttered. “I didn’t want her to die.”

It was a grim reminder that all this was happening because a little girl had lost her mother.

“Did you love her?” Why couldn’t she ask the question she really wanted the answer to? Had he loved her, Amelia?

“Yes.” A myriad of emotions played across his face. “Yes. I loved her. Not as I should have done, not passionately, not like...” He paused and his jaw clenched. “But I did love her.”

“Do you regret marrying her?” She wasn’t sure whether this was comfort or torture.

“No.” He looked like he didn’t want to have this conversation anymore.

Well, that was hard luck. She didn’t want to be in this situation either. He’d been the one who wanted to talk. If they were going to be married, they had to clear away some of the debris of their past history. The footpath skirted inwards, away from the weedy ash and sycamore trees and into a section of older oaks, allowing dappled light through their protective umbrella-like branches.

“I... I regret not marrying you.” His mouth twisted. “But I love my daughter, and there were good times before the bad. I can’t honestly bring myself to wish it hadn’t happened.”

“Is that the sort of marriage we’ll have?” She stopped under the trees, pushing the snow-covered oak leaves with her foot. “One that the compliment you pay it afterward will be that you don’t wish it had never happened.” Another marriage started to avoid scandal.

“No.” He grabbed her upper arms firmly, as if he meant to shake the possibility out of her, eyes intent on her face. “Our marriage won’t be like that.”

“No?” That wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was... Something. His gloved hands were warm on her arms and she looked up at him. The outline of the sun through the trees gave him a sort of halo.

“I won’t let you go. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His fingers tightened for a second before he released her. “I’m sorry about my rash claim last night, but it was well-meant.”

His protective certainty sent a flush of heat through her. She’d convinced herself his regard had been imaginary. This didn’t sound like a waking dream. He was real and the set of his mouth was clear and determined.

“You’re sure you want to marry again?” She searched his face for any uncertainty.

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.

She could kiss him right here and now to seal their agreement. It would be right. He stepped towards her, so he was mere inches away, and a thrill shot up her spine.

“Will you marry me?” His expression was a tangle of anticipation and hope.

Heat suffused her under his gaze. Awareness of her body flowed from his look, slipping down to her lips, breasts, and between her legs. “Yes.”

He closed the short distance left between them and cupped her cheek with one big hand, holding her in place as his head came down to hers. She could feel the heat of his hand on her skin, even through his glove. His breath was warm against her lips. He moved with infinitesimal slowness, allowing her to move away if she wanted. Her stomach bounced at his nearness and the knowledge he was going to kiss her. A genuine kiss, not a mistletoe trick. She parted her lips and closed her eyes, hiding from the onslaught of his gaze even as she leaned into him.

Her dress thwacked against her legs. She jumped as a beating flutter sounded. Looking around, she saw a stray pheasant. It launched out of the undergrowth and flapped clumsily away, red and blue feathers stark against the snow.

She turned back to Robert.

He was watching her steadily, a funny half-smile in his face. “We’d better return and break the good news.” His voice sounded a bit strangled. “And get our story straight for Mrs. Wisbech while we walk.”

“Do you think we could have become engaged on Christmas Eve?” He offered her his hand. When she grasped it with her own, he knitted their fingers together tightly.

“Possibly.” She and Robert were going to marry after all this time. She was going to have her husband as a lover. Their kiss could wait until they were married. Compared to this convoluted path to their being together, after the ceremony it would be easy. They wouldn’t have to worry about pulling away or using a French letter. He would come deep inside her, and she’d know what it was to really be with a man, to be joined with him completely, as close as two people could be.

And it would be with Robert. When her heart bounced with joy, she didn’t suppress it. Maybe this disaster was the best Christmas present.

The sight of Amelia in her red dress felt like a blow to his chest, a physical ache. She hesitated at the door to the church, her hand resting on her father’s arm. Edith walked before them, a small posy of white camellia flowers clutched in both hands.

This was all happening so fast. They hadn’t had to wait for the banns to be read since they were both from the parish, they’d signed declarations saying they were both free to marry and Robert had paid the exorbitant amount of a guinea to his father’s friend the bishop, for a common license. Not as dear as a special license, but still a considerable amount to avoid the fortnight delay of calling the banns, during which Mrs. Wisbech might find herself unequal to keeping the tittle-tattle to herself.

He smiled reassuringly at his daughter before his gaze was pulled back up to Amelia. Her hair was swept back from her face, a blonde curl was laid across her cheekbone and her blue eyes sparkled. The scarlet fabric of the dress clung across her breasts, but the modest neckline was entirely modest. The top of her dress was embroidered in a swirling pattern of leaves. He gulped.

At that moment, he knew what he’d sworn was impossible. This marriage couldn’t be entirely chaste. There was no way that he could stop himself from touching Amelia, or deny himself the indulgence of pleasuring her.

He watched helplessly as she advanced towards him, her gaze lowered. In the pews to either side, there were coos and smiles from hastily invited guests. When his desire for her was so ferocious in a church, he had no way of leaving her alone on their wedding night. When she looked so enticingly beautiful to him here, what would she look like in bed? The thought of her being his wife and not running his fingers through her golden hair or kissing her pink lips was inconceivable.

Edith reached him first and he squeezed her shoulder, whispering that she’d done a good job as a bridesmaid while Amelia hugged her father. Then Amelia was standing next to him, the hem of her dress almost touching his boots. The priest smiled at them and began his welcome, but Robert couldn’t help but look at Amelia’s profile.

He loved her. He loved her so utterly, he couldn’t pretend this marriage was just a duty. There were hundreds of ways to please and pleasure her and he intended to do them all, with just one exception. Consummating their marriage was the only limit. He wouldn’t risk her life. Control of himself would be critical, but there was too much at stake to lapse.

The sun had set by the time they arrived at Robert’s house in the village of Loudwater. They’d left after the wedding breakfast, at Robert’s suggestion. When she’d proposed delaying their journey because of the threat of more snow, his mouth had creased before he’d asked if she wanted to have their wedding night under her parents’ roof. There’d been no arguing with that.

The coach journey had been a quiet affair between the two of them. Edith had chattered away in her excitement, reliving the wedding several times before falling asleep. She and Robert hadn’t talked, nominally not to wake Edith. But also because silence better befitted the enormity of what they’d just done. Amelia stared out at the rolling white fields crossed by spindly brown and green hedges. Thankfully, where the roads weren’t so good, it was cold and the mud was almost frozen under the coach wheels, so they didn’t get stuck. Though the unyielding surface made for a bumpy, uncomfortable ride.

She glimpsed rough old red bricks and a heavy wooden door before Robert ushered her into his house, carrying a sleeping Edith. Emerging from the arches of a partition, the imposing main hall stretched before her. There was a blaze in the enormous stone fireplace and the walls were paneled with dark wood. Heavy wool curtains obscured the dark outside, but it hardly seemed warm. The table and chairs were so old the wood was almost black. There were paintings of severe men in gilt frames high on the wall, and the polished floor echoed underfoot. Robert carefully transferred his daughter to the footman who followed the nursemaid upstairs to put Edith to bed.

“You can stay with Edith,” Amelia protested when Robert strode over to her.

He shook his head. “She’s lived here her whole life. I’ll see her later. You’re here for the first time.”

This wasn’t her home. It wasn’t at all like Henrietta’s airy, modern house in London, with its pretty landscapes rather than scowling ancestors on the walls. The town house’s walls were papered, not paneled with hardwood. She’d never imagined when she left before Christmas that she wouldn’t return. If she had known, she wasn’t sure her past self would have come.

But Robert caught her eye and smiled, offering her his arm. Heat rushed through her. Perhaps it hadn’t worked out so badly. She was with the man she never thought she’d have.

Her hand rested on his arm naturally as they walked upstairs,

“I sent word yesterday to the staff to prepare a couple of rooms for your consideration. Have a look at these first.” He led her to the left to a door and pushed it open. “They adjoin mine.”

The rooms were decorated in cream with highlights of reddish taupe. It was elegant and understated but warm and comfortable, with a pair of chairs on either side of the fireplace. The bed had drapes that matched the curtains. Amelia couldn’t help but like it. She stepped in and it felt like a snug pelisse.

“Isabella didn’t like the red I’d chosen. She took rooms on the other side of the hall. Her rooms were redecorated a couple of years ago.” He’d moved behind her. “I’ll show you those next if you’re not sure about these.”

“It’s beautiful.” He’d decorated these and other rooms. She imagined him frowning over paint colors and fabric swatches before efficiently picking the combination here. Taking in the room, it was as if it had been waiting for her. She glanced over at him. She couldn’t help but think of when he’d brought his previous bride to this house and to these rooms and she’d rejected them. By the bleak line of tension in his shoulders, he was thinking of the same thing.

“There are only two other bedrooms for you to choose from.” He rubbed his neck. “It’s not a big house.”

“I live in my great-aunt’s townhouse.” She smiled wryly. “I’m used to a smaller house than either of our parents live in. And I like this room.”

“Well.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “We’ll probably have to get used to one of those houses at some point. You’ll inherit, and so will I.”

They would have to choose whether to sleep in the largest rooms, currently occupied by their parents. They’d have to decide whether to keep the furniture their parents had used. Now they were married, dealing with the past and the future would be something they’d do again and again.

“I’m a little tired.” The enormity of the past few days was suddenly overwhelming. “From the journey. I think I might rest.”

“Of course you are.” He looked down. “If you’re sure you’re happy with these rooms, I’ll ask Tom to bring up your trunks and Sally will unpack for you later. Dinner is at eight. If you need anything at all, please ask me immediately. The servants will know to find me in the glasshouse.”

For a moment, she thought he would approach and kiss her, but after a brief hesitation, he nodded and left, leaving her alone.