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Sophia’s expression changed.

“Surely he knows you do not believe that?”

“I have told him. More than once. But I do not think he believes me.”

Harper reached for her hand.

“Has something happened between you?”

Marina felt her cheeks grow warm. Her sisters noticed immediately.

“Oh,” Sophia said.

“Do not,” Marina warned.

“I have not said anything.”

“You are thinking it.”

“Then I am innocent of nothing more than having an excellent imagination.”

Harper gave Sophia a look, though the smile tugging at her lips suggested she was equally curious. Marina sighed.

“We have grown close,” she admitted. “Closer than I ever imagined we might.”

“How close?” Sophia asked at once.

“Sophia!”

“What? You cannot expect us to hear something so interesting and remain silent.”

Harper shook her head, laughing softly. “Let her speak.”

Marina looked down at her hands again.

“He has been helping me understand him. Or perhaps I have been helping him understand himself. We have spent so much time together this month, and I have discovered that he is not at all the man people believe him to be.”

“We gathered as much,” Harper said.

“He is thoughtful. And kind. And sometimes quite impossible.”

Sophia grinned. “That sounds very much like a husband.”

Marina could not help smiling.

“But there is something he cannot seem to overcome,” she continued. “He is afraid of having children. He fears that a child of his might inherit his condition and suffer as he has suffered.”

There. She had finally said it aloud.

For a moment, neither sister spoke.

“And what do you want?” Harper asked gently.

Marina opened her mouth, but no answer came.

She had once imagined a house full of children. Laughter, noise, small hands tugging at her skirts, and someone to share all of it with. Then came the scandal, and she had learned to be content with Luna and her cottage. And now there was Emma. Emma, who had made her understand how much love a child could bring into a home.

“I have Emma,” she said at last.