Sophie wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her breasts through the thin chambray of her nightdress. Ah, but she wanted him, she did. She wanted Patrick Foakes as much as Juliet ever wanted Romeo. Probably more, given that she had already experienced a night of leisured bliss before marrying Patrick.

So really, what was she worrying about? Sophie leaned forward, planting her forehead against the chilly glass, her eyes fixed on the street below. Two sturdy delivery carts rounded the corner and steered their way carefully into the alley running alongside Brandenburg House. The first phaeton of the morning clattered its way along the street.

If it had been an ordinary morning, Sophie would have rung for hot chocolate and then worked at her desk for two hours before ringing for a bath. For a moment she let her mind laze over the idea of returning to her study of Turkish verbs. But her mother’s scornful words echoed in her head. Childhood play doesn’t belong in marriage. As she watched, the housekeeper sailed out of the house to finger vegetables in a cart stopped before the door.

Mama was as embarrassed as I was, Sophie thought, her forehead still pressed against the cool glass. But she gave me good advice. If knowing about my languages will give Patrick a dislike of me, then he must never know. It was very hard to imagine not welcoming Patrick to her bed, and Sophie quickly dismissed that part of her mother’s advice as warmth crept up her cheeks.

The key was never, never to let Patrick know that she had developed a foolish tendresse for him. If Patrick didn’t know the truth, then she could play the role of the sophisticated woman who watched her husband come and go with ease. But the humiliation she would feel if he ever found out that she loved him—it chilled her blood.

“I shall never tell,” Sophie whispered, her breath momentarily fogging the glass window. Somehow comforted, she realized that her toes were cold, curled against the chilly wood under her feet. She ran back over the warm carpet beside her bed and tucked herself under the blanket.

When Sophie next woke, great golden swashes of sunlight lay across the tangled roses that bordered her carpet. Sophie turned over and blinked sleepily at the canopy. She had been dreaming in Italian, something she hadn’t done since she’d learned the language some four years ago. It was an odd little dream, and it slipped away even as she tried to bring it to mind. Something about a masquerade ball in which she was to be dressed as a gypsy, with a straw hat tied under the chin. Sophie grimaced. Today was the beginning of a masquerade, in a way. She reached out and pulled the rope next to her bed, swinging her legs out of bed yet again.