“It can’t be helped,” Edna said. “We’ll say it was a long-standing engagement. And then they’ll leave for Europe, and everyone will forget.”

Silence settled in the carriage. Alva wanted to look out the window, but the curtains were drawn, as usual. The world outside the carriage was dirty and dangerous—soldiers crowded the city, especially after the attack on Fort Sumter the previous year; and the poor, always pitiful, seemed to be ever increasing. Alva’s access to news was sharply restricted—her parents firmly believed newspapers were inappropriate reading for a young woman—but sometimes, when she was alone with her governess, she’d lift the edge of the curtain and peek out the bottom, just to catch a glimpse at the world outside her small corner of it.

But tonight was not the night to risk that. Instead she sat straight up, feeling the weight of her parents’ shame around her shoulders and in her stomach but unable to regret the actions that had led her here. She loved him. As he’d said himself, what did a piece of paper matter when it came to love?

They swayed to a stop, and the door opened. It was already dark, though barely past five, and the path to the house was dimly lit. Alva hadn’t been here before. Alain’s mother was an invalid and didn’t entertain, although his father was a fixture of New York society.

Alva had a vague impression that the house was older than her family’s, which fit with what she knew of the Websters. In a world of new money and newer money (not that she’d ever let her parents hear her say such a thing) the Websters had about a generation on the Rensselaers. She caught a glimpse of an intricate carving as she passed through the entrance, but before she could admire it the wooden door shut heavily behind them.

Briefly, Alva found herself nervous. It was almost as dark inside as it had been outside, wavering candles reflected weakly in mirrors, highlighting dark, ornate wall hangings and glinting off gold accents. There was only the butler in the hall with them, a large, middle-aged man with an impassive face, who took their coats and hats before ushering them farther into the darkness.

Her nervousness lifted as soon as they walked into the dining room. There he was, next to his brother, burning somehow brighter than his twin. He rose when she entered, but didn’t move. He didn’t exactly look at her, either. Her stomach twinged again, but he was probably nervous, too.