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Before she knew what she was doing, she heard herself agreeing.

The vicar beamed. “Your Grace, it is wonderful indeed. And I truly believe it will be good for all of you. I know you have suffered unkindness from the people of your village, and I do think such a ball would show everyone what a good person you are, and His Grace as well.”

She nodded, thinking of Lady Beatrice and Peter and all the others. Would they come to such a ball? Crestdale was not far from here. Surely they would come. Did she want them to?

She wasn’t quite certain. But she knew that she wanted to arrange this ball, to help, to support the town.

She promised to return once he was back from London to plan the details. In the meantime, she would come up with a plan.

And by Jove, it had to be a good one.

Marina stepped out of the little church and made her way back to the carriage. She had already placed one foot on the step when she paused.

“Hendricks,” she called to the coachman, who had introduced himself earlier that day. “How far is Crestdale from here?”

He shrugged. “About twenty minutes, Your Grace.”

“And how are the roads? His Grace mentioned that they were rather⁠—”

“Aye, Your Grace. They’ve been quite icy these past few days, but today they’re not so bad.”

“Very good,” she said. “Please take me to Crestdale. I wish to retrieve a few items from my cottage.”

The man looked briefly unsettled, but then nodded.

“If you wish, Your Grace. Although I will say that it will be dark by the time we return. It might be best to leave it for another day.”

“No,” she said. “We are already almost there. I shall not be long. I know exactly which items I require. Please take me now.”

The man hesitated, but then climbed back onto his seat and set the carriage in motion.

It was four in the afternoon, and the sky was already turning orange. But it was beautiful. Thick snow covered everything in brilliant white, making the countryside look so inviting that she had half a mind to leap out of the carriage and run through it.

She smiled to herself.

In a few years, she would be able to take Emma out into snow like this. They could run together and make snow angels. Ambrose would sit in a chair nearby, eating roasted almonds as he watched them, until she and Emma turned on him and bombarded him with snowballs.

Goodness, what was wrong with her?

How had a sweet little daydream about herself and Emma turned into one about herself, Emma and Ambrose?

It was the vicar. She knew it. He had spoken so highly of Ambrose and had seemed so entirely unafraid of him that she had allowed these foolish thoughts to enter her mind once more.

No more. This was going to be the end of it. She was not going to think of him that way again.

For the remaining ten minutes of the journey, she forced herself to look outside and take in the beauty of her surroundings. The trees had grown bare, their branches now heavy with snow. As they approached Crestdale, she saw smoke rising from the village chimneys, pale, puffy clouds of it drifting into the winter sky.

She looked out and spotted Peter Wakeford and two of his companions running past. They glanced at the carriage, but whether they knew who was inside, she could not be certain.

She had half a mind to poke her head out and wave. Perhaps now that she was a duchess, they would not treat her as they had before.

But she thought better of it.

They drove through a small clearing where fir trees still stood green and lush beneath their covering of snow.

At last, the carriage came to a halt. Marina opened the door and climbed out before Hendricks had a chance to assist her.

“Your Grace, it is rather cold,” he said.