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Eventually, the content expression on Madeline’s face faded as reality set in. “Lord Blackwood will never allow it. One of his sons engaging in trade?”

Simon shut his eyes, the illusion rushing away like clouds dispersed by a tempest. “And Eleanor Bigsby would raise some objections, too, I believe.”

They sat in silence, contemplating the future while watching the last rays of sunlight disappear. Mrs. Bigsby was not petty, in Simon’s estimation, but Lord Blackwood’s continuing campaign to wrest their communal garden from her had antagonized Madeline’s mother beyond civility. His father had even attempted to blacken her reputation and drive clients away from her business, but the King’s patronage had muted the effects of such endeavors, serving to fuel the feud between the two neighbors. Neither were willing to give up their beautiful homes or the landscaping gem that unified them in mutual animosity.

“I brought you a gift,” Madeline announced. She reached into a basket on the bench beside her, then turned to present him with a small figurine carved out of stone.

Simon took it, careful with the fragile piece. “Did you make it?”

Madeline nodded, her smile tender, eyes bright with quiet pride.

He peered down at the wondrous work of art. It was exquisite. The detail of muscled arms and legs, the strands of hair, the gaze of the masculine figure staring out across the distance, and the quiver of arrows slung over its broad shoulders. In its curled fist was a bouquet of flowers carved in intricate detail. Madeline might be a proper young lady, educated by the finest tutors and business minds in London, but she knew about the human form. She had to in order to apprentice at Bigsby’s Stone Manufactory.

“Eros,” she said softly. “Gazing at their garden of flowers.”

Simon chuckled. “Because he and Psyche found their happiness?”

Even in the gathering darkness, Simon saw the shimmer in her eyes. “I do not know what the future holds, but this will always be our place.”

Simon reached out to take hold of her gloved hand beneath his. “We will find a way to be together, fair Madeline. I swear it.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The evening breeze stirred the leaves above, carrying with it the promise of something fragile and beautiful. A hope that might yet endure, even when the world conspired to keep them apart.

Madeline watched Simon walk away into the night, his tall form silhouetted by the fading glow of lantern light as he passed through the archway of the garden. Their garden.

He must have been about done increasing in size because he was no longer the boy she had grown up with, but instead a man of six feet with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His almost-white buckskins caught the soft glimmer of lantern light, and she found herself smiling at how grown he looked. Earlier, she had thrilled at the intense blueness of his eyes and the gentleness of his voice when he spoke her name.

Would there be a time in the future when they could court?

It seemed an impossibility given the state of affairs between her mother and the baron.

Lifting her gloved fingers to her lips, she recalled the nearness they had shared and felt a warmth rise within her, an affection that both comforted and unsettled her. Madeline gazed up at the star-studded heavens and fought back the feeling of dread that had been plaguing her these past months. Simon was adamant their future would be together, but he was so young. He had not even reached his majority yet, and she was a year younger than him. So much could go wrong in the next few years to drive them apart until they gained control over their lives.

Gathering her things back into her basket, she made her way inside.

As soon as she opened the terrace doors to enter the library, she knew her mother was in the room. Mama had a magnetic presence, one that filled spaces and attracted all eyes to her. As Madeline’s eyes grew accustomed to the light, she looked about but could not find her in the dim interior.

“It will end in unhappiness.” The pronouncement came from near the fireplace, which was empty, the warm nights of summer not needing the intrusion of its heat. After the initial fright, Madeline deduced her mother must be seated in one of the plump wingback chairs that dominated the room.

“Perhaps he will convince the baron,” Madeline replied.

Silence followed her words, which even to her ear did not sound confident. Finally, her mother responded. “For your sake, I hope this is so. But you should prepare yourself, daughter. It may not come to pass.”

“Simon will find a way. He loves me.”

“The baron is a cruel man who does not consider the happiness of others, Maddy. He is persistent in his grievances, and it is unlikely he will relent on the subject of class.”

Eleanor Bigsby’s tone was bitter as she emphasized the subject of their neighborly feud. Madeline could not protest. The baron remained unwavering in his rigid views on proper breeding. It would not help that Madeline herself was now involved with the trade that raised his ire so.

THE NEXT DAY, 1810

“You are to stay away from that chit next door, you hear?”

Simon had been summoned to his father’s study for a stern reminder of duty. It was not the first time, and he was resilient, so it did not perturb him. This had become a ritual, a litany about the terrible Bigsbys each time Simon returned home. It had not deterred him in the past, and it would not deter him now.

“I need a response, young man!”

Simon had learned that it did not do to quarrel with the old man. It was impossible to change his fixed ideas, and any attempt prolonged their altercations. “I heard you.”