“You weren’t,” said James. “Sometimes I have foibles. This is one of them.” He grinned. “Open it.”

She did, revealing, nestled on a bed of more dark velvet, a glimmering gold pendant on a chain. She drew it out of the box, exclaiming as she realized what it was—a small, round globe, the faint outline of seas and continents etched onto its surface.

“We have talked so much of travel,” James said. “I wanted to give you the world.”

“It’s perfect.” Cordelia felt as if her heart might flutter out of her chest. “Here—let me put it on—”

“Hold on, hold on.” James laughed, coming up behind her. “The clasp is small. I’ll help you.”

Deftly, he found the clasp at the back of her neck. She froze. His fingers slid lightly across the delicate skin at the top of her spine, where her dress dipped down. He smelled delicious, like bay leaves and clean masculine skin. There was a click as the necklace fastened; he breathed in deeply as he reached around to straighten the pendant and she felt it, felt his chest expand as he breathed, the linen of his shirt against her back, making the hairs rise all along the back of her neck. His hands drifted for a moment, inches from green silk, from bare flesh.

He stepped back, clearing his throat. She turned to look at him. The Mask had slid into place, and she could read nothing in his expression but an amiable blankness. “It looks lovely,” he said, taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “And I nearly forgot—Neddy came with notes for the both of us, from Lucie. I didn’t open yours, despite my obvious burning curiosity.”

Darling Cordelia, the note read, in Lucie’s familiar sprawling hand, I am so, so sorry to miss tonight’s party and leave you to the depredations of Society, but I’m feeling quite fishy about the gills. Should anyone trouble you, keep your head high and remember what the Beautiful Cordelia would say: “I shan’t, and you can’t make me!” I shall expect to hear everything about it tomorrow, especially what everyone was wearing and whether Thoby has grown another door knocker. All my love, LUCIE.

Cordelia handed the note to James to read while they headed downstairs and out into the night. The footman had already brought the carriage around. It was a sharp, cold evening: the air was dry as chalk and the snow wore a top layer of ice that snapped and broke like glass under their feet. There were heavy fur rugs inside the carriage, and boxy foot warmers; Cordelia snuggled down with a sigh.

“Door knocker?” James inquired, as the carriage began to crunch forward over the icy road.