Jamie’s handsome face was mottled with annoyance, and the brogue was back, thicker than before. “I’ll not be defendin’ me opinions to the likes of you, miss, and it so ’appens that I love me brother’s wife very much! They don’t come any finer than ’is Maggie!”

I love me brother’s wife. The words lodged in Bliss’s mind like a fishbone in the throat, scratching painfully and making it hard for her to breathe. She couldn’t think why an insight into a stranger’s innermost feelings should hurt her so.

She turned away, baffled by the effect this man had on her, and whispered inanely, “Have you a pen and ink that I might borrow?”

There was no reply, but for the rhythmic sound of Jamie’s bootheels as he crossed the bare hardwood floor. The door closed behind him with a click that, for all its quietness, made Bliss start slightly.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the chest of drawers. Dressed for a formal ball, yet with straw in her rumpled and dirty hair, she was indeed a sight. It was no wonder that Carra disliked and mistrusted her.

Bliss began to pace the small, immaculately clean room, planning, waiting, wondering.

She would have her bath, and a much-needed rest, and then, when night came, she would escape again. No one was taking her back to Alexander.

No, Bliss meant to be in Auckland before more than another day or two passed. Now that she was so close, she could afford to spend some of her scant supply of money on coach fare. When she reached Auckland, she would make her way to the harbor, find out which ships were bound for America, and go from one to another until she found someone looking to hire a governess or companion.

Despite her earlier insistence that she would do nothing of the sort, Carra brought hot water upstairs for Bliss’s bath. Although her expression was grim, she also provided the unwanted guest with a warm flannel nightgown, a pot of tea, and a plate of sweet cakes, along with more wood for the fire.

The bath and the tea made Bliss languid, lowering her defenses. The weariness she’d been fighting overwhelmed her, and she crawled into the narrow bed, with its clean, crisp sheets, and fell into a sound sleep.

When she awakened, the room was dark, except for the silver light of an icy winter moon. The tub had been taken away, as had the tea tray, and the fire had shrunk to a few flickering embers in the grate.

Bliss crawled out of bed, stretched, and carefully dressed herself in the black silk gown, wanting to save her good tweed skirt and linen shirtwaist to wear when seeking a post in Auckland. She took great care to be quiet in packing her few belongings and crossing the room.

Holding her breath, she reached out for the doorknob—and found that it wouldn’t turn.

The door between Bliss Stafford and her glorious future in America had been soundly locked.