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Having successfully tamped down that flare of anger, sorrow rushed in to fill the void. She missed her sister so terribly, even after all these years. She couldn’t help but wonder if Amalthea would still be around if it weren’t for Enoch. It was a nonsensical thought, of course. Enoch hadn’t given Thea scarlet fever; it had come from a neighbor’s child. But if Thea hadn’t been married to Enoch, she wouldn’t have had that particular neighbor. If Thea had been full of ire and bile like Diantha, instead of empathy and the milk of human kindness, she wouldn’t have found it necessary to visit that sick child and her family.

Diantha shook her head to chase away the memories. There was no point in relitigating the past. Especially not when the present was so concerning.

Although perhaps she was being overly wary. Perhaps Enoch had found some keepsake of Thea’s as he was clearing out his second wife’s things and had thought to deliver it to Diantha, though that would have been uncharacteristically thoughtful of him.

“I’m very sorry to hear of your misfortune, Mr. Hill.” She pasted on a small smile she hoped wasn’t too welcoming. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I’m here to discuss the future.”

“I see.” She paused. “I can’t think what advice you could want from me on the matter.” Although perhaps she sold herself short. Thea always used to say that Mr. Hill was so cruel to Diantha because he resented her intelligence.

“What advice I should want from you?” He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “I can’t think of such, either, girl, because such a scenario does not exist. I’m not here for advice, not to dispense it nor to receive it.” He eyed her for an uncomfortably long time, as if he were considering how to deliver bad news, but she knew that couldn’t be the correct interpretation, for Mr. Hill relished delivering bad news. Bullies always did.

“I’ve decided to take you as my wife.”

She gasped, which she hated to do in front of him. But she was suddenly winded, as if he’d punched her in the gut. He had, metaphorically.

Breathe. Think. Ironically, it was by paying attention to the ever-present ache in her shoulders that she was able to come back to herself.

Mr. Hill wasn’t her guardian anymore. She had long since attained her majority. He had no control over her.

It merely felt as though he did because he once had, over both sisters.

Thea and Diantha used to take long walks, just to get out of the house, which had been gloomy when Mr. Hill was away and borderline intolerable when he was resident. They’d always taken the same route—to the park and around a small lake therein. One day, Thea had suggested they vary their routine. She’d wanted to look in a shop window she’d heard contained a pretty display of ribbons. Looking was all the sisters could do in those days, but neither of them had lost their appreciation for fine things even as their family’s fortunes had fallen, so Diantha had readily agreed.

But when it had come time to make the turn that would take them onto the high street, Diantha had gone the opposite direction, toward the park. Thea hadn’t said anything, and it had taken Diantha half a block to notice she was sisterless. The two of them had laughed and laughed. Diantha suspected she remembered that afternoon so vividly because of all the laughing. It had been as if they were starving and laughter an unexpected banquet.

Thea had said, “Your body’s memory of our customary route was stronger than your will to vary it.”

This felt like that. Diantha had never been able to defy Mr. Hill.

But she was older now. She made her own living, meager as it was. Here, today, her will could override her habitual obedience when it came to this man.

Here, today, her will would.

“While I am quite flattered by your thoughtful proposal, Mr. Hill, I am afraid I must decline.”

It was a miracle her easy tone did not betray the frantic beating of her heart, for once the words were out, fear started to take hold in earnest. She pushed it down.

“You must decline?”

She would have expected the question to be asked sneeringly, but he was back to barely concealed amusement, as if he were an ogre taking delight in being about to squash a mere human. Once again, she reminded herself that she was safe. She was independent.

“Yes, though again, I do thank you for your consideration.” She hated to thank him for anything, but experience had taught her that placating bullies was often necessary—the “lose the battle to win the war” adage applied here. “I am not inclined to leave my position in this household.”

“You would rather continue paid employment than marry and have children.”

“I would rather continue paid employment than marry and have children,” she affirmed, as if reciting his words back to him might make her message stick.

When Diantha had come to take up her role as companion to the then newly widowed Lady Harcourt, she’d yet to attain the age of majority, but no one had had to twist her arm to persuade her to accept the position. As was the case for ladies’ companions from time immemorial, she’d had no choice. She’d known that. Well, she’d had a choice. She could have married. Thea had.

Diantha hadn’t intended to repeat her sister’s mistake back then, and she certainly didn’t now. She was no longer a minor. She could choose her own fate—within the narrow lane she occupied.

“I’m offering you the chance to have your own family,” Mr. Hill said. “To be the mistress of your own household.”

She could see how, on paper, and from the point of view of a man, those things would seem important, though it irritated her that he spoke as if he hadn’t heard what she’d just said.

“What will you do when the dowager is gone?” he asked.