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Marina lifted her head, her vision swimming. Lady Dashwood stood in the doorway in her rose-colored gown, her face crumpling at the sight of her daughter. Then she was across the room in a rustle of silk, crouching on the floor beside Marina with no regard whatsoever for her dignity or her gown.

“Oh, my darling. What has happened? Ambrose left in such a hurry, and his brother-in-law departed as well. What is going on?”

Marina tried to answer, but a sob broke the words apart.

Her mother did not press her. She simply took both of Marina’s hands in her own and held them, the way she had when Marina was a little girl with a scraped knee, and waited until she could speak.

Then Marina told her everything.

“He never told me there were rumors that Douglas might take Emma back,” she said, the words tumbling over one another. “I did not know. I love her, Mother. And now he says he wants me to take her and live with you. He means to give up everything he owns so that we are looked after.” She dashed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I do not know what to do. How can he do this? I thought… I thought perhaps there was something growing between us.”

“I thought so too, when I saw you dancing,” her mother said gently. “Your sisters noticed it as well. Harper said she had never seen a man look at anyone the way he looks at you.” She squeezed Marina’s hands. “But you must see that he is doing this because he wishes to protect you.”

“I understand that. But he is still sending me away.” Marina shook her head. “It has been the same these past weeks. Every time we grow close, he pulls away.”

“This time it is not merely his fear of closeness,” her mother argued. “There is a threat from outside, and he believes he is making the only choice available to him.”

“Must you always be so practical?”

“I do not have to be. But I find it helps.” Lady Dashwood took a breath, and a familiar steel came into her voice. “Surely something can be done. It cannot be lawful to abandon one’s child and then use her to extort a fortune. We must report him. Speak to a constable, or a magistrate.”

“I do not know whether that will help. He is a nobleman. You know as well as I do what men of our rank can get away with.”

Her mother’s mouth thinned. “I know. But Ambrose outranks him.”

“Ambrose is a duke without allies. The closest thing he has to an ally is Simon, and they scarcely know each other.”

“Simon would stand by his side,” her mother said firmly. “You know he would.”

Marina did know it. Even if Simon acted only out of love for Harper, he would never turn his back on her. But she could not see how any of it would help them before the deadline.

“We have until sunset tomorrow. If Ambrose does not sign, Douglas will try to take Emma. If he does sign, Ambrose means to send us away and remain behind with nothing.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Mother. It is foolish. I have not known him very long. But I love him. I love him, and I love this home.”

The words poured out of her, and once they had started, she could not stop them.

“For the first time in years, I am not a curiosity in my own house. I can help people, and they are grateful. Mrs. Dalton asks my advice. The maids bring me their aches and their burns. They speak to me as a person, not as some frightening creature from a fairy tale. I do not want to lose any of it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Most of all, I do not want to lose Ambrose. No matter what sort of life we must live.”

“You know I would look after you and Emma,” her mother said. “As would Simon and Harper. And Sophia would do whatever she could, though she has little more than her paintbrushes to offer.”

“That is not the point.”

“I know, darling. I know.”

“And what of the children?” Marina asked. “Do you know that Ambrose has been supporting the orphans for years? And the families of the miners who lost their husbands and fathers? Douglas will not lift a finger for any of them. I am certain of it.”

“As am I. It is dreadful.” Her mother’s grip tightened. “We must not allow this to happen without a fight.”

A slight movement caught Marina’s eye.

The door stood ajar. And in the gap, half hidden, was a face.

Lady Beatrice.

Marina stiffened. Of all the people to find her like this, weeping on the floor like a child, her gown crushed, her face blotched with tears. The woman who had called her a witch for six years. The woman who had stood at the front of every whispering crowd.

But Lady Beatrice’s mouth had parted as though she meant to speak, and no words came. For once, her expression held none of its usual hostility. Instead, Marina saw something she had never expected to see there. Something very like sympathy.

Then the older woman looked away and quietly withdrew, and the door swung shut.