“I know. My brother Finn spent time in prison. He never spoke about it, but it changed him, made him more somber.” She picked up a book, dusted it, and set it on the shelf. “Do you view me differently now that you know the truth of how I came to be?”

“Yes.”

When she jerked her gaze around to meet his, he cradled her cheek, grateful that this time she didn’t withdraw from his touch. “I now know you to be stronger than any other woman of my acquaintance. Last night you were accosted, physically and emotionally, and you did not cower in the face of the truth. You are truly remarkable, and any lord would be fortunate to have you as his wife.”

Any lord, including him.

Chapter 21

Later that afternoon, after Marianne had left for the day, Fancy stood at the counter, going through the post that had been delivered when a cream-colored envelope caught her eye. Her name was inscribed in elegant script on the vellum. Her fingers were trembling slightly as she turned the missive over, broke the seal, and unfolded it. The words flew at her, a jumble that hardly made sense.

Ball.

Fairhaven Hall.

Pleasure of your company.

She stared at the date. At the end of the month. In the evening. Of course, in the evening. Eight. The Marquess and Marchioness of Fairhaven requested her presence.

She could hardly fathom it. She wasn’t related to them at all. But here they were wanting the pleasure of her company.

She remembered a time when she would have been overjoyed. Now all she could think was that she didn’t belong, wasn’t worthy of such an elaborately designed invitation. She shoved it back into the stack, carried the pile into her office, and crammed it all into a drawer, as though doing so would extinguish its existence.

Returning to the counter, she watched the clock tick off the minutes before she would lock her doors, determined to keep the shop opened until the proper time, even though she found it to be a chore. She hated Dibble for taking away her joy of working, grateful he’d not moved beyond the storeroom, so she had no memories of him invading this section of her shop.

In spite of Matthew’s earlier visit and his kind words, she was unable to shake off the gloom that had settled over her as she struggled to deal with how vulnerable she suddenly felt. Vulnerable and off-kilter. She wasn’t as she’d always believed herself to be: the product of a grand love. She had devoured romantic stories because they represented a world that had come together to create her. While she knew her mum loved her, she couldn’t get past the fact that she’d come to be because of ugliness, and that made her feel ugly. On the surface, deep down, throughout.