hen we finally arrived at Edenbrooke, I stumbled upstairs in an exhausted daze. The night sky was just beginning to lighten toward dawn when I dropped into bed. I didn’t bother to undress or even take off my boots.

I awoke hours later to the sounds of Betsy trying to wake me without actually shaking me awake. She was moving about the room, rattling my cup of chocolate on the tray she carried, bumping into furniture, and whistling. I was still tired, but I could see there would be no putting her off. I turned toward the window and the afternoon sunlight that streamed through it.

When Betsy saw me stir, she nearly dropped the tray on top of me in her haste to set it down.

“Oh, I am so glad you’re finally awake!” She threw herself on my bed. “I have been so impatient to know what happened yesterday! You wouldn’t believe the uproar that happened here when Mr. Clumpett came stumbling into the house claiming you had been abducted.”

I sat up and reached for my cup of chocolate. “Mr. Clumpett? How was he involved?”

“He said he was looking for insects in the woods when he heard shouting and saw a man throw you into a carriage. He tried to run after you, but he tripped over a tree root and twisted his ankle. He did, however, hear Mr. Beaufort say something about Dover. It took Mr. Clumpett half an hour to limp back to the house with his bad ankle and tell Mr. Wyndham what had happened. I can’t even describe how exciting it was! I vow I nearly swooned when Lady Caroline gave Mr. Wyndham the dueling swords to take with him. Now I have to hear what happened or I shall die of suspense!”

I told her all of it, from Mr. Beaufort’s arrival in the orchard to Philip’s duel.

“He fought a duel for you?” She clasped her hands together. “Was it horribly romantic?”

I thought I should discourage her romantic fancies, but after a brief struggle, I gave up and smiled. “Yes,” I admitted. “It was.”

She squealed. “I knew it. I knew he was the one for you. I don’t care what you say about Miss Cecily—it’s you he loves, and that means I will get to be a lady’s maid.” She looked as if she was about to go into raptures. I had to stop her.

“Betsy, nothing happened between Sir Philip and me, so don’t start planning your future life here.”

She waved aside my words. “Nothing has happened yet. But something will. I’m sure of it. Oh, I’ll make you look so beautiful for the ball tonight that he won’t be able to restrain himself any longer.”

My feelings wavered between nervousness and excitement, hope and doubt. I had to agree with Betsy: something would happen tonight. I felt it. I asked Betsy to draw a bath for me, and then stood up and stretched. I noticed my boots by the side of the bed, but I couldn’t remember taking them off.

“Betsy, did you take off my boots?” I asked when she came back to tell me that the water was being readied.

“Yes, earlier this morning when I checked on you. I thought you would be more comfortable without them.”

I stared at the boots and a warning went off in my mind. There was something important about them that I had to remember. I gasped when I recalled what it was: the letter I had written to Philip at the inn last night. I lunged for the boots and turned them upside down. There was nothing.

“Did you find a piece of paper when you took off my boots?” I asked.

“You mean the letter addressed to Sir Philip? Yes, I saw it.”

Dread filled me. “What did you do with it?”

“I set it down right there on your table.”

She picked up the tray she had put there, but there was no note underneath. I searched all over, even checking the bottom of the tray, then the floor, and under the bed, and even in the bed. The letter was nowhere to be found.

“We have to find it, Betsy!” I yelled in utter panic. My letter was a declaration of love, and if Philip read it, it would ruin everything. A woman never declared her feelings first. Never! What if he had no intention of offering for me, and then he read my letter and felt obliged to? What if he had only been flirting when he had made me that promise in the carriage last night? I sunk to the floor, head in my hands, and groaned with embarrassment. I would never live this down if he read that letter. Never.

A knock sounded at the door. A moment later, Cecily rushed in and threw herself at me.

“Oh, you’re safe! I’ve been so worried about you!” She hugged me tightly, then pulled away and held me by the shoulders. “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head and tried to smile. “No, I’m fine.” She mustn’t know about that letter either. She mustn’t think I would ever willingly betray her by throwing myself at the man she loved.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “To think of the peril you were in! I should have never left you alone. You must have been so frightened! You have to tell me all about it.” She took my hand and pulled me to my feet. She seemed determined to not let me go.

We sat on my bed, and Cecily listened with wide eyes while I told her almost everything that had happened. I left out a few important details, like what Philip had said to Mr. Beaufort about always wanting me. I kept those words close to my heart like a sacred treasure.

Cecily insisted on feeling responsible for my kidnapping, and vowed to me to be a better sister and to never leave me alone again.

I felt so happy and so guilty at the same time. She couldn’t guess that I was in love with the man she hoped to marry.

I was a bundle of nerves by the time Betsy finished my hair and proclaimed me ready for the ball. The letter had not turned up, even though she had asked among the other servants if they had seen it. I blushed with embarrassment every time I thought about that letter ending up in the wrong hands. Or even the right hands.

I stood and regarded myself in the mirror. My cheeks were rosy, thanks to my state of embarrassment and nervousness. I smoothed my hands down the front of my white muslin gown. Betsy had cut miniature white roses from the garden and pinned them among my curls. Taking a deep breath, I turned toward the door and this fateful evening.

Pausing at the top of the staircase, I surveyed the scene below me. Papa stood in the foyer, talking to Lady Caroline. Louisa and Cecily were whispering to each other, their heads bent together. Mr. and Mrs. Clumpett stood near William, and they appeared to be talking animatedly about something. Judging from the motions Mr. Clumpett was making, I guessed it had to do with birds. I noticed he was using a walking cane tonight, but appeared to be in good spirits. And away from the others, near the door to the drawing room, stood Rachel and Philip.

Rachel appeared to be talking to him in a low voice, for he had his head bent as if listening closely. She glanced up and saw me, then said one more thing to Philip. He turned and met my gaze. He looked more handsome than any man had a right to look. He walked to the bottom of the staircase and smiled up at me. The evening had begun.

Philip’s attention made me so nervous I had to grip the railing tightly to ensure I did not trip and fall down the stairs. He did not pull his gaze away from me the whole time I descended the staircase.

When I reached the last step, Philip held out his hand to me. I put my hand in his. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said in a low voice, “but you look more beautiful than ever tonight.”

My heart skittered. “Thank you,” I said, feeling breathless.

He lifted an eyebrow in a look of surprise. “Thank you? Have you learned to accept compliments, Marianne?”

I tried to suppress a smile without success. Feeling a little proud of myself, I said, “I suppose I have.”

Philip looked down at my hand, which he was still holding, and smiled as if at a secret thought. Then he bowed his head and brushed his lips across the back of my hand. A shock raced up my arm all the way to my heart and set it pounding.

“I am glad to know it,” Philip murmured, looking up at me through his eyelashes.

Oh, my. I had seen this look before—the night of the last ball. This was the smoldering, determined look that Philip had used on me when we had danced together. This was the look that had disassembled all of my defenses. I gripped the banister with my free hand, feeling as if my legs could not hold me.

My father walked toward us just then, saving me from the disgrace of falling at Philip’s feet from a severe case of weakened knees.

“You look lovely, my dear,” he said, as Philip released my hand and stepped aside.

I was grateful for my father’s interruption, for it brought clarity back to my thoughts, and I remembered I was still missing a very embarrassing letter. Betsy had promised to keep looking for it and to notify me as soon as she found it. I hoped that she found it soon, before it had a chance to be read or—heaven forbid—delivered.

When people began to arrive, I stood next to Cecily in the foyer and greeted the guests along with Philip and Lady Caroline, since the ball was held in our honor. Cecily looked like an angel, with her golden hair shining in the candlelight. She squeezed my hand and smiled at me, excitement glittering in her blue eyes.

I could hardly focus on the guests who flowed through the foyer as I was so preoccupied with wondering about that letter. I did notice Mr. Kellet, though, because he was the only person who smirked at me. He kissed Cecily’s hand and said something in her ear that made her blush and giggle. I gave her a reproving look, but she appeared not to notice.

“What did Mr. Kellet say to you?” I asked.

She smiled secretively. “I doubt you want to know.”

Remembering her comment about his kissing, I agreed with her.

She looked sideways at me. “Sir Philip looks very handsome tonight, does he not?”

“To be sure.” I tried to make my voice sound breezy, but I felt my cheeks grow warm. My blush was sure to give me away if Cecily ever paid attention to it. “I suppose you will want to dance with him first.”

“No, I think you should.”

I looked at her with surprise. “I thought you had a plan for tonight.”

Her secretive smile appeared again. “I do.”

Before I realized it, the musicians were warming up and Lady Caroline was telling us it was time to take our places in the ballroom.

The ballroom was crowded and noisy. I could hardly say a word to Philip during our country dance, which was just as well, since I was so busy worrying about that missing letter that I would have had a hard time concentrating on a conversation.

Glancing down the line of couples, I saw Cecily dancing with Mr. Kellet, and she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. When the dance ended, I reluctantly accepted the hand of my next partner while Philip bowed and walked away. I saw him throughout the ball, dancing with various ladies. There he was with Miss Grace, her mother watching from the side with a hawkish look in her eager eyes. There he was dancing with his mother like a dutiful son. And all too soon he was dancing with Cecily.

When the musicians paused for a rest, some of the guests drifted out of the hot ballroom through the French doors and onto the cool terrace. I watched Cecily and Philip from across the room. They stood close together; he bent his head to her as she whispered something in his ear. I could see his surprise even from a distance. I wondered what she had said to him. Then she whispered something else, and he offered her his arm. They left the ballroom together, but they did not follow the other couples onto the terrace.

With a surge of jealousy, I wondered where she was taking him and what she would do with him. I forgot completely about the earlier, benevolent feelings I had toward Cecily. I wanted to scratch her eyes out.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and was surprised to see Louisa.

“I need to speak with you,” she said.

She never wanted to speak with me. “About what?”

“Just come with me.”

I followed her out of the ballroom and through the throngs of guests. She grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the hall that led to the library. It was quiet here, and she stopped just outside of the library doors and turned to me.

“I know about the letter,” she said. “The one you wrote to Philip.”

My heart fell. No. No, no, no. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do.”

Louisa had never been my friend. She was Cecily’s friend, and clearly she wanted Cecily for a sister, not me.

“I want to know if you meant it,” she said. “Do you really feel that way toward Philip? Or was it something you wrote because you were in a desperate situation?”

My face was on fire. I felt like I was choking. “Why do you care if I meant it or not?”

She stepped closer. “Because I care about my brother. And he’s in the library right now reading your letter. So if you didn’t mean it, you had better tell me now, before you break his heart.”

I stared at her in dismay while my heart threatened to stop. “He’s reading it? Right now?” Panic streamed through me. I wanted to run away. I had declared my love in that letter, but I had no assurance that Philip felt the same way toward me. It was beyond forward—it was unheard of—and I was going to die from the shame of it all.

A smile lifted Louisa’s lips. “You meant it.”

She tapped on the library door. Cecily opened it and stood in the doorway, smiling at me. “There you are.” She grabbed my arm, pulled me inside, and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

The room was dark except for a low fire burning in the fireplace and the moon shining through the large window at the other end of the room. Philip was standing next to the fireplace, with one shoulder leaning against the mantel and his head bent over a piece of paper. He looked up when the door closed, but the room was too dark for me to see his expression.

My heart was pounding so hard that I pressed a hand to my chest to keep it from bursting through my skin.

Philip was looking at me from across the dim room with that condemning letter in his hand, and he wasn’t moving or saying a word. We both stood there, as if on the brink of a cliff, and I didn’t know if I moved if I would fall to hell or soar to heaven.

Then he finally spoke. “Did you mean this?”

My heart was in my throat. Here I stood, between something and nothing. I could answer either way. But my heart was stronger than it had been in months, and it was begging me to hope, to believe, to take a chance. So I stepped toward him—a step toward something—and whispered, “Yes.”

Philip moved, the firelight shone on his features for a split second, and I saw everything. That day I had watched him fence with William, I had been surprised to see how impassioned he looked—as if he was leashed fire. Now, by the light of the fire, I saw the leash snap.

He crossed the room to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. In three steps, he had me backed up against a bookcase. Before I could do more than catch my breath, he took my face in his hands and kissed me.

I had never really been kissed before. But I did not need experience to know that Philip’s kiss was, in a word, devastating. His lips were firm and insistent, gentle and caressing. His fingers threaded in my hair, holding my head exactly how he wanted it while he kissed me one way, then another, until I trembled in his arms.

And then it finally occurred to me that Philip was kissing me—Philip was kissing me!—and I was doing nothing about it. I quickly remedied that situation, sliding my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, burying my fingers in his hair. His arms surrounded me, pulling me close, holding me as if I was infinitely precious. I burned and trembled in his embrace.

And then, just when I was sure that Philip’s kiss could not get better, it slowed and softened and became achingly tender. His gentleness tugged at my heartstrings until I was completely undone. My heart broke open and quiet tears streamed down my cheeks. I tasted the salt of my tears on Philip’s lips.

He pulled away from me, just enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breath came as quickly as mine did, and through his shirt I could feel his heart pounding. A slow smile curled my lips.

“How could you not know?” His voice was throaty and a little shaky. “How could you not know that there is nothing in the world I want as much as I want you?”

I shook my head in wonder. It was all too much to believe.

“It seemed too remarkable,” I said, “for you to love me, instead of Cecily. And then... I heard you, in the fencing room, tell William you would do anything to be rid of me...”

Philip groaned and pulled away to look into my eyes. “Is that why you were so angry the night of the ball?”

I nodded.

“I wanted you out of my home, away from your sister, and free of the constraints of my honor—but I never wanted to be rid of you,” he said.

“I was going to follow you—I would follow you anywhere—and court you as I wasn’t free to court you here. But then, when your maid gave me that letter to your father, I thought following you to your own home might be the best solution. I had no hope...” He bent his head to mine, and kissed me again as if he couldn’t help himself. “I had no hope, darling, that I had already won you.”

“How could you doubt that?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine not falling in love with Philip.

“Very easily! Every time I attempted to woo you, you either scowled at me, or laughed, or ran away. Or you told me you only cared about me as a friend.”

I smiled sheepishly. That was exactly what I had done. There was so much to explain to him—about my heart, and my fears, and my loyalty toward Cecily. But all that could wait for another time. For now I said, “I was very confused, and rather blind, I think.”

He cupped my face in his hands. “Then listen to me, my blind, stubborn, darling friend. You stole my heart the night we met, when you sang that ridiculous song and dared me not to laugh. And every moment I have spent with you since then, you have stolen more and more of me until when you’re not with me...” He drew in a breath. “When you are not with me, I am left with nothing but longing for you.”

My heart swelled until I felt as if it might take over my entire being. I had landed in heaven. This was heaven.

“I tried to tell you,” he said. “So many times I came close. I even wrote that love letter, hoping you would know it was for you.”

I thought of the beautiful words he had written, and which I had torn up. “Will you write me that love letter again?”

He pulled me close. “I will. I’ll write you dozens of love letters—hundreds, if you want them.”

“I do. I do want them.” I wanted everything I could get from Philip. But this seemed too wonderful to be true. Even now, with all the evidence I had of Philip’s sincerity, I couldn’t help wondering why, out of all of the ladies he could have chosen, he had fallen in love with me.

“But are you certain you want me?” I asked. “I am not elegant or accomplished, and I always do the most embarrassing things—”

He stopped me. “You don’t know yourself, but I do, so I will tell you what you are, Marianne Daventry.” He looked intently into my eyes, as though he would write the words on my heart if he could. “You are bright and fun and delightfully unexpected. You are brave and compassionate and selfless. And you are lovely beyond measure. I want you, all of you, just the way you are.” He drew in a breath. “If you will have me.”

Something happened to me in that moment. Doubt was banished and hope became certainty. It overwhelmed me, and I found myself laughing and crying at once.

I was clearly unraveled, but Philip did not seem to mind at all. He wiped my tears, and he kissed me again, and again, and whispered things too sublime to repeat, until I was thoroughly convinced he was madly in love with me, Marianne Daventry, a girl with no great figure, too many freckles, and a propensity for twirling. And then I knew I had met my match.