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“But a few weeks,” Mr. Steele replied much more sensibly.

Thank goodness for the man. Marianne was still tongue-tied from the fact that he’d called her ‘lovely.’

What did lovely mean, exactly? Attractive? Beautiful? A word to describe an aunt or a sister?

“Ah, to be young and in love,” Mrs. Parson said, looking up to her husband with a smile. “But I must confess, being older and in love is just as wonderful.” She turned back to Mr. Steele and Marianne. “You two will certainly discover that all too soon. Once children come, oh, your love will magnify tenfold—for each other, as well as for your children!”

Marianne smiled weakly. Her whole face was aflame. Love? Children? She longed to see Mr. Steele’s reaction, but her embarrassment prevented her from looking anywhere but the marked, wooden floor beneath her slippers.

“Well, we wouldn’t wish to take up any more of your time,” Mr. Parson said. “I am certain you are both eager to continue dancing.”

The couple moved on after a departing curtsy and bow, but Marianne felt a bit like she’d just experienced a torrential downpour and was now left to deal with the aftermath. How many more times could her mood shift?

“They seemed very kind,” she said, awkwardly attempting to start a conversation.

“Indeed.”

Obviously, Mr. Steele had been rendered just as uncomfortable as Marianne. She longed to ease his discomfiture. After all, it was unneeded. They both knew they were unavailable to each other. Marianne had to marry a gentleman, and Mr. Steele couldn’t afford to take on a wife.

“Shall we enter the dance hall again?” he suggested.

Her heart picked up as she anticipated him asking her once more. To partner twice with one’s husband would be terribly impolite, even if he was imaginary. But could she ever say no to such an opportunity?

“You ought to be where others can see you so they may ask you to dance,” he finished.

Her heart plummeted as swiftly as a fallen star. “I suppose that would be the wise thing to do.”

She took his arm, his other hand remaining at his side, rigid and stiff. Uncomfortable.

Of course he would feel such a way. He was affirming with no uncertainty that his being there that evening was out of duty and duty alone. He had to protect his employer’s daughter. He’d joined her that evening, had danced with her that evening, for no other reason.

The next two hours crept by. Even though she’d had a partner for nearly every other set, Mr. Steele did not dance with her again. He maintained his kind behavior, but Marianne was relieved when the time came to make ready for the coach—though the assembly continued on.

The two of them departed to their respective rooms to change and gather their belongings.

“Did you enjoy your evening, miss?” Jane asked as she helped Marianne into her habit.

“I did,” Marianne said, feigning a yawn, “but I am ready to sleep, I think.”

Fortunately, Jane had taken the hint and ended her questioning before it could really begin.

Once they were ready, they hid under their cloaks and slipped down the stairs and out of the inn, finding Mr. Steele awaiting them near the side of the building.

“Ready to return home?” he asked.

Marianne nodded, though she felt anything but ready. All day, she’d struggled to push from her mind their inevitable return home, the prospect of sneaking through Daffley Park not terribly appealing. But now, there was something more potent creating a yearning within her to prolong the day.

Reality was approaching, and she could not prevent it. Tomorrow, she would return to her schedule and her loneliness. Tomorrow, Mr. Steele would go back to carving for her father. Tomorrow, they would no longer be together.

As the stagecoach rattled closer, Marianne resigned herself to the fact that things were better this way. She needed to be away from Mr. Steele to stop her feelings from growing even stronger.

The stagecoach emptied of its few passengers, and the three of them were once again alone on their journey from Wells. Marianne’s thoughts continued to sprint so swiftly through her mind, she did not think she would ever fall asleep.

But moments later, when the carriage stopped, she jolted awake, her eyes flying open as she realized she had, indeed, fallen into a dreamless slumber.

She glanced around her in the darkness, confused. Jane still lay fast asleep against the side of the coach, her cloak fully covering her face.

“Have we arrived already?” Marianne asked in a groggy whisper, blinking as she stared out the coach’s window.