He forced a smile to reassure her – ‘Somebody’s got an ale waitin’ for him’ – and steered her in the same direction. They turned onto a narrower street, where men were hailing each other as they arrived at the inn on the corner. He saw one or two of them look Harriet’s way, sizing her up.

‘This way.’

‘Silas. What if we are seen?’

‘We’re more likely to be seen ’ere on the street, aren’t we? Here we are.’

He waited for her to gather up her skirts then offered his arm to help her up the step and into the cushioned seat. He sprang up after her and they sat back together, shielded from view by the fabric covered hood of the gig. Silas took her hand. His heart had been empty, a parched crock, and just looking at Harriet, the sight of her, filled him up to the brim again.

‘What are you smiling about?’ she said.

He was seized with an impulse to drive them both away, now, to escape with her and not look back.

‘Could tha stand to be a farmer’s wife?’ He whispered the words and Harriet leaned closer.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Silas kissed her and this time she returned his kiss. He broke the lingering connection to look at her face again, and laughed – ‘I feel drunk’ – and twined the ribbon of her bonnet between his fingers. ‘Remember when I bought thee a ribbon?’

She touched his fingers, still entwined in the ribbon. ‘I thread this into my bonnet whenever I hope to see you.’

‘That’s the ribbon I gave you?’

‘I’d expected you to recognise it.’

‘It’s too dark to see t’colour. I remember, though. A red ribbon.’

He recalled he had made her laugh by telling her his wages were burning a hole in his pocket. Who else would he want to spend them on?

But now she looked sad.

Silas put his hand into his jacket pocket, closing his fingers around the small box he’d stowed there along with the letter from his father. His gut knotted in fear at his own audacity, but he knew this was the only moment. The pounding of his heart told him so. Now or never.

‘Harriet, listen. There’s summat I want to ask thee…’ He began to withdraw the box from his pocket. The thin paper of the letter rustled.

The Gunson horse whinnied gently as another gig drew up alongside theirs. Harriet shrank back. ‘This is no good,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we arrange to meet at Louisa’s house, like we used to? It’s safer there. I can find an excuse to come. I’ll make sure I’m not followed.’

Silas froze. ‘What’s the point o’ that? Why should we skulk around? I’ve a job now, tha knows. Only a temporary thing, really, summat forced on me out o’ pity. I’ll get back to steel. It’s my ambition to run me own factory. I’ll have a steelworks wi’ me name o’er the gate.’