The wind whipped at her skirts as she emerged onto the platform. She was assailed by the smell of coal dust and hot metal, and the cacophony of overlapping voices. The whistle blew, and the porters called out to the stragglers. There weren’t many to speak of, only a handful of ladies in full-skirted dresses and large shawls, and a few gentlemen in coats and caps. They brushed by, as some boarded the train and others departed.

Effie looked about from behind the veil of her bonnet. She was just turning to join the line at the cabstand, when she spied a familiar gentleman standing near the ticket office. His hat was pulled down over his brow, his black wool overcoat stirring in the gritty wind.

A surge of joy flooded through her.

It was Gabriel.

She took a hasty step forward, thinking of nothing but her desire to see him again. He closed the remaining distance. They faced each other amid the smoke and the steam.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Gabriel removed his hat. He was quiet a moment, his pale blue gaze scanning her face through her veil. “I thought you might be in need of support.”

Her throat tightened. “But I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” he said. “That was in London. This is Hertfordshire.”

In other circumstances, Effie might have laughed at the nonsensical distinction. After recent events, she felt more like weeping.

He couldn’t be here. This part of her life was private. She dare not let him in. Not when she couldn’t trust him.

But she wanted him so much in that moment.

“I’ve procured a carriage to take us to Trowley Green,” he said. “Unless you renew your objection to my accompanying you there. In which case—”

Effie threw her arms around his neck.

His arm came around her waist in return, strong as a band of iron. He turned his face against the side of her bonnet. She felt him inhale a deep, uneven breath.

She understood then that he’d been uncertain of her. He, the untouchable, unemotional Gabriel Royce. He had come here in full anticipation of rejection. Yet, still he had come, because he cared about her.

God help her, she cared about him, too.

“I don’t object,” she said.

24

The small village of Trowley Green lay in a valley five miles from the railway station in Sawbridgeworth. Effie sat silently beside Gabriel in the hired carriage, an ever-increasing swell of anxiety constricting her breast.

It wasn’t only because of the revelations that may await her at Mrs. Young’s cottage. It was because of him.

The firm length of his body was pressed against her side, from the curve of her shoulder all the way to her knee. Beneath her layers of clothing, Effie was vibrating as keenly as a tuning fork.