“You should wear it to dinner tonight. That way the both of us can show off our new gowns to Papa. I’m sure he’ll want to see them.”

  “Hmm, well.” Julia folded the gown over her arm and smiled at Zora. “We’ll see.” It was a reply meant to placate her for the moment, but she feared the girl might not be so easily distracted. “Now let me take this to my room and put it away before it becomes all creases and lines,” she said, and swiftly made her escape. In her own room, she laid out the dress on her bed, wondering at how such a lovely garment had made its way into her possession.

  When she had first learned that Alexander wanted them fitted out with new gowns, she had grudgingly allowed it as a part of her earnings, as a way for her to appear as a more suitable caregiver to one of the most respected landowners in the county. But now that she’d spent the night with him, now that she knew he not only desired her but had for some time, everything had shifted. The gown had become something of a gift, one shared between lovers. Even looking at it now made her think about being with him, how it would feel for him to caress her breasts above the braiding, to skim his hand beneath the flowered skirt and trail his fingers upwards until—

  A quick knock on the door and Zora popped into the room. She was already clad again in her old, stained dress and pinafore from the morning. “Are you coming back, Mrs. Benton? I thought we were going to construct Viking longships out of paper and float them in some water. Is there still time to do that?”

  Julia turned her back on her bed and the gown and followed Zora out of the room. The rest of the day fell into its usual, comfortable routine, or at least as much of a routine as could be shaped around Zora’s frequently changing interests and brief flashes of obsessive attention. They ate a small meal together, then took their poorly constructed boats outside to dip and bob and ultimately crash into the rocks along the bank of the stream. The remainder of the afternoon was spent sketching in the library, both of them attempting to draw portraits of one another. The drawing took them until dinner, when they returned upstairs to wash the marks of pencil from their fingers and change their clothes.

  Zora chattered happily about wearing her new gown, while Julia fought an internal struggle over the decision about whether or not to wear her own. She wanted to wear it. It was the finest piece of clothing she had ever owned, but looking at it now made her doubt her own ability to carry it off. The cut of it was far younger and fashionable than she believed suited her figure, a figure that was more round and soft than most considered something that should be put on display. And the last thing she needed was to put herself forward as a bit of mutton in the garb of a lamb.

  “Damn it all,” she muttered under her breath, and began tackling the buttons of her gown in order to change.

  She took care dressing for dinner. She told herself it was due to the new gown, that she thought she should honor the fineness of it by bringing the rest of herself up to match its quality. But she knew it was because this would be her first encounter with Alexander since the previous night. Mrs. Holland had already informed them they were expected to dine downstairs, that Mr. Halberd (as he was still referred to everywhere but in Julia’s thoughts and when she was alone with him) intended to return in time for dinner after spending the day examining the new drainage project on the western edge of the property. So she would see him again, would be expected to converse and behave with him as though nothing had happened, nothing had changed.

  She gave herself a final glance in the mirror. Her hands trembled as she fixed a pin in her hair, as she adjusted the small cross at the end of its chain around her neck. Jewelry was a rare accessory for her, the cross and a simple coral necklace the only two pieces she owned. She had let her sister’s share most of their mother’s jewelry between them upon her death, as Frederick had frowned upon the flaunting of jewels by a vicar’s wife. And so her few treasures had remained locked away, the lid of her small jewelry box gathering dust as it sat on its shelf.

  No, no. Julia closed her eyes and blew out a breath, blowing away the memories along with it. It wouldn’t do to dwell on such things. She was here now, clad in a new gown and wearing a necklace that had been a gift to her when she had still been a young, unmarried woman. And so it almost felt like a new beginning. A reminder that her life had not ceased to matter with the dissolution of her role as a wife and potential mother.

  They went downstairs to the dining room, Zora practically skipping along while twisting a narrow strip of lace that trimmed her collar. “You’ll pick it to pieces if you don’t leave it alone,” Julia admonished her. “It will be nothing but tatters and rags to show to your father, and then there might not be any more new gowns if you’re not to take care of them.”

  Zora smiled at the lack of threat in Julia’s words, then reached out and took her hand as they arrived at the dining room.

  Alexander was not there yet. A large fire blazed in the fireplace, and a single servant stood at attention in the shadows, waiting to be needed. The table was set, candles burning and flickering with the subtle drafts that moved through the house when it was windy outside. Julia approached the table, unsure if the proper etiquette was for them to remain standing and wait for the master of the house to arrive, or if they should simply seat themselves in case he was delayed in joining them.

  “Ah, am I late?”

  Zora spun around first. “Papa!” came her shout, before she sailed into her father’s arms. “Look at my new dress! Do you see?” She stepped back and performed an admirable pirouette on her heel. “I like the color. And I was worried it would make me itch, but it doesn’t!”

  Alexander laughed. “Well, I’m pleased it’s passed the itching test.”

  “Oh, but have you seen Mrs. Benton’s gown?”

  At those words, Julia took a small step forward. She had not looked at Alexander since he had come in, instead focusing her attention on Zora’s constant flitting. But she raised her gaze to him, and found him watching her over his daughter’s head. There was a light in his eyes, glowing deep and hot as an ember. Their secret, threading its way between them, speaking a hundred words about a hundred touches in that single glance.

  “Mrs. Benton looks very well indeed.” Was his voice rougher than it had been only a moment ago? “But then Mrs. Benton always looks well, no matter what she is wearing.” He bent down and tapped the underside of Zora’s chin with his knuckle. “As do you.”

  Zora beamed. Julia let out a slow exhale and looked away again. But she couldn’t keep her attention diverted from him for long. As chairs were pulled out and everyone was seated, Julia studied him from behind a show of adjusting her skirt and unfolding her napkin.

  He looked impeccable. Like her, he appeared to have taken greater care in his dress, his jaw bearing the closest shave she’d yet seen on him, while his neckcloth boasted a substantial amount of starch. But there was a restlessness to his movements, a nervous edge corrugating his behavior. His hands fiddled with his silverware, then busied themselves with aligning his plate with the edge of the table before he nearly knocked over his empty wine glass with a sweep of his arm.

  Julia was seated near enough to him — he sat at the head of the table, with Zora and herself on either side — that she accidentally kicked his foot beneath the table. She mumbled a quick apology, but then he reached his hand beneath the tablecloth, his fingers seeking out hers where the other people in the room could not see.

  “Will you read to me again tonight?” Zora asked when the meal was almost finished, a dollop of cream from her trifle still clinging stubbornly to the corner of her mouth.

  “No, not tonight, I’m afraid.” Alexander finished what was left in his wine glass before he pushed aside his plate, his dessert only half-eaten. “I’ve an egregious amount of accounting to do that I’ve avoided for too many days. Which is why I will not have a second glass of wine and I will abstain from eating anymore of this delicious trifle, or else I won’t have any kind of a head for numbers this evening.”

  “What does ‘egregious’ mean?” Zora blinked up at her father.

  He leaned towards her. “It means an amount so large it should not be permitted by either man or God.”

  “In other words,” Julia put in, “if you were to eat an egregious amount of trifle, you would no doubt end up with a stomach ache.”

  Zora made a face. “Hmm, I do like numbers, though.” She paused to lick more cream from her spoon. “I like how they always make sense, no matter what. Maybe I can help you with the accounts someday. But not tonight,” she added, shaking her head. “I’d much rather play with Ellen while Mrs. Benton tells me a story.”

  Alexander smiled. “Well, perhaps a few more years under Mrs. Benton’s tutelage and you’ll be able to help me with my accounts as often as you wish.”

  From anyone else, it might have been dismissed as a flippant offer made by a parent in order to placate their child. But from Alexander, there was sincerity in every word. And with Zora’s ability with numbers, Julia did not doubt that she would be able to help her father with his ledgers and account books before another year or two had passed.

  “And now I’m afraid I must abandon you to your own devices, ladies.” Alexander pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, while Zora quickly scraped up the last bite of trifle from her plate and followed suit.

  Julia moved to stand up as well, having finished eating several minutes before, and Alexander moved behind her to help pull out her chair. “Thank you,” she said, and intended to step around him and take Zora to the drawing room for an evening of card games or other fun diversions until bedtime. But he caught her hand as she passed, and held it. It was a brief grasp, barely more than the sweep of his fingers against hers, their hands hidden between them. But it was enough to draw her attention upwards, her gaze skimming over his jaw, his lips, the heaviness of his eyelids.

  “Julia.” A whisper from those lips, her name spoken like a caress, like a promise.

  And then they broke apart before their proximity could be noticed. Julia chivvied Zora out of the dining room while Alexander parted ways with them at the door, taking himself off to his study and his accounts for the rest of the evening.

  The drawing room was warm and cozy, the fire built up high against the cold winds blowing against the outside of the house. Julia and Zora tucked themselves into overstuffed armchairs fitted out with too many cushions, their shoes kicked off and their feet — well, Zora’s, at least — warmed by Ellen the kitten and her twitching tail. They played games of cards created from their own rules, and snacked on biscuits until the clock chimed eight and Julia announced it was time to go upstairs and prepare for bed.

  “But I’m not at all tired!” was Zora’s protest, even though she had been hiding yawns behind the back of her hand for the last quarter of an hour.

  Julia gathered up their cards and swept as many biscuit crumbs as she could back onto the plate. “And you’ll be exhausted in the morning if I give way and let you stay up any longer. No, I will not be thwarted. Upstairs, now!”

  Zora fairly dragged herself up the stairs, Ellen cradled in her arms. The girl’s head was nearly rolling off her shoulders by the time she made it to the nursery, and Julia helped her out of her dress and into her nightgown. Once teeth were cleaned and hair was brushed out and rebraided and the first, second, and third requests to use the water closet were granted, they settled in for storytime. Zora wiggled down beneath the blankets, while Ellen flexed her claws on the pillows and began licking the end of her tail with a loud, slurping sound. Julia was three minutes into her story when she looked up to see Zora already asleep, her lips still moving around some silent words she hadn’t been given enough time to say.

  “Very well.” Julia put away her book and tucked Zora in before she took the candle from the nightstand to light her way back to her own room. And yet she had only taken three steps down the hall when she realized she didn’t want to go to bed yet.

  She stood a few paces from her door, her breath guttering the flame of her candle.

  She wanted to be bold. So rarely had she made the move to take what she wanted, and so she hesitated, the thought of seven years of unhappiness with her husband wrapping around her ankles like a dragging weight, combined with another dozen years of wanting another man outside the realm of her marriage. A man who, at that moment, was only a single floor below her.

  Her heel scraped on the floor as she turned away from her room and began walking towards the stairs. She was quiet, thankfully. Years spent drawing in on herself, of slowly diminishing into an unseen creature had gifted her with the talent of moving from place to place without making a great deal of sound. The downstairs halls were lit with candles in sconces along the wall, and so she blew out her own light and passed like a shade the rest of the way to Alexander’s study.

  A seam of light shone out from beneath the door. She raised her hand to knock, then thought better of it and simply opened the door instead.

  Alexander sat behind his desk, his shoulders rounded forward, the fingers of his left hand pinched around a quill that was busy scratching out figures in a massive ledger. He’d removed his jacket and his waistcoat, and his neckcloth — so starched and pristine at dinner — sat in a crumpled heap on the corner of his desk. She took in all the little details of his appearance, his bare forearms where his sleeves had been rolled up, the open collar of his shirt, his hair tousled from where he must have pushed his fingers through again and again in frustration at the numbers before him, and stored them away like little keepsakes inside her mind.

  He gave no sign that he’d seen or heard her enter, so Julia carefully closed the door behind her and stood with her back against it, simply enjoying the opportunity to watch him work undisturbed.

  Another minute passed before he set down his quill and looked up. He jolted at the sight of her, and she smiled that she had been so well undetected.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, and took a step away from the door. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Well…” She tangled her fingers together in front of her. “I suppose I did mean to disturb you. But I can leave again if you wish. Or if you’d rather—”

  “No.” He slammed the ledger shut. “Stay.”

  She set down her candle on the nearest shelf. Now that she was here, her heart pounding in her throat, she wasn’t certain what to do. She had come here with a single goal, to see him, and she couldn’t push her thoughts beyond that first achievement. Would he come around the desk to her, or should she go to him? What if he would rather be upstairs, in the comfort of his room? The practice of seduction, she belatedly realized, came with more variables than seemed necessary.

  “Um,” she said, a small sound escaping her before she cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down the front of her gown. “Does this door lock?”

  He stood up, his chair creaking at the absence of his weight. “Yes, it does.”

  She fumbled with it for a moment, then a flick of her wrist, a click of the lock, and it was done.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she said, taking another step forward. She looked at him and then glanced away again, her nerves getting the better of her. “For the gown, I mean. It’s much lovelier than I anticipated, even though I’m not entirely sure it suits me.”

  “Julia.”

  He was going to protest, she knew it. Not about her being there, but about her thanks to him for the clothing, along with her wariness about how well it looked on her. So she raised her hand before he could speak, even as his mouth moved to form the first word of his speech. What she was about to say made her heart flutter inside her chest, a bird attempting to escape the bars of its cage. And if she let him interrupt her, allowed him to distract her from her purpose with lovely words that she would have better appreciated at any other moment, she would never be able to say the words currently dancing on the tip of her tongue.

  “Alexander.” And she drew in another breath, taking courage from the pronouncement of his name. “It’s my turn.”

  His brow puckered in confusion. “Your turn?”

  Another breath. If she hesitated any longer, she feared she would float upwards to the ceiling like a hot air balloon. “Tonight, I want you to undress me.”

  Did he have any idea how frightened she was at that moment? It didn’t matter that they had already spent one night together. It didn’t matter that she already knew how much he wanted her. Still, the irrational fear lingered in her mind that as soon as he saw her fully unclothed, as soon as he saw the pale stretch marks on her hips and abdomen, the looseness of the skin on her belly, the dimpled fat of her thighs, he would recoil. He would demand the lights to be put out and for her to cover herself again. Frederick had never shown any interest in seeing her naked, so why should he?

  He walked around from behind the desk. She was still only a step away from the door, her arms locked straight at her sides, her hands clenched tight. He stopped in front of her, and her gaze leapt upwards long enough to see the rapid beat of his pulse at the base of his throat.

  “Come here,” he said, and held out his hand.

  She took it and followed him over to the fire, the room substantially warmer there than when she had been standing by the door and the drafts that slipped in from beneath it.

  “Turn around.” His voice was gruff, as though it took all of his effort to force out those two words with some measure of control.

  Her eyes closed and she sighed. She turned away from him, her shoulders holding onto her tension as she waited for him to touch her. A tortuous wait.

  His fingers brushed across the nape of her neck first, so light it could have been a sweep of her own hair. And then he found the fastenings at the back of her gown, and she felt the steadier touch of his hands at her upper back. A curse slid out of him on a hissed breath when the gown wouldn’t immediately cooperate.