Harriet snaked out a hand from beneath the covers and grabbed her gown. She then began the laborious process of putting it on while staying warm. Years of practice held her in good stead, and she soon had the gown in place and was ready to face the chill morning air.

Harriet stood in her stocking-clad feet and fished her boots out from under her bed, yawning away the effects of too little sleep. What was she doing, losing sleep over a man who was destined to leave? She seemed to have no control over her thoughts of late.

It seemed that as soon as her head hit her pillow, no matter how tired she might be, her mind immediately began to dwell on Captain Frakenham. There was something about him, about the way he smiled, about the flashes of sadness she saw in his eyes at unexpected moments, at the little acts of kindness that he committed when he thought no one was looking—like asking her to dance. Or the times he helped Ophelia or Sophia with a bucket that appeared too heavy. Or—oh—a dozen other kindnesses.

She closed her eyes and for an instant, she was back in his arms, twirling across the bedroom floor, her magic shoes on her feet as they swooped and swirled until Harriet was quite sure she could fly.

Her heart warmed at the memory, banishing the cold, and she held her arms out and danced a few steps in the empty room, her skirts swirling about her legs. As she turned, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the washstand. Her eyes were shining, her lips curved into a bemused smile. She looked like a woman in lo—

She dropped her hands to her side, her gaze widening. Blast it, that was no way to feel about a man who would soon leave, even if he did know how to dance. She would not be so silly as to allow herself to feel anything for him. She was not her father, ready to throw away her future and the future of those she loved for something she could never have.

“Piffle,” she said aloud, to further stifle her unruly imagination. For the thousandth time, she wondered at the captain’s true identity. And why he’d elected to stay here, with them. Whatever it was, Harriet decided she had better find out. She hated a mystery almost as much as she hated empty, wasted dreaming.

Firmly putting the waltz tune out of her mind and restoring her heart to its normal location in her chest, Harriet put on her boots and left her room.

He was drowning in a sea of wool. Baaing sheep surrounded him on all sides, black-faced ones, and white-faced ones, and large spotted ones. They stood all around him as far as the eye could see, as deep as the ocean itself.

Try as he might, he could not break free. All he could do was flounder helplessly as muffled waves of wool enclosed him, pressed upon him, dragged him under until he could not breathe. He struggled furiously, fighting madly, desperate for breath as he tried to break to the surface—