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O phelia slept on the train the next day, her head lolling against Silas’s shoulder as they rolled through the Somerset countryside.

She hadn’t intended to, they had so much to discuss and work through, but exhaustion caught up with her and dragged her under.

Silas’s warm bulk and the clattering of the train tracks lulled her, taking the edge of panic off all the new information circling her mind.

Silas nudged her awake on the approach to the station.

“We’re almost home now, Fee. Time to wake up.”

He squeezed her hand gently, but didn’t kiss her, though she could tell he was thinking about it by the way his eyes lingered over her lips.

She wished they were alone so that he might soothe her nerves with the brush of his lips, tell her everything would be alright with a flick of his tongue.

But that would have to be for later. For now, they needed to get back to Mrs. Darling’s and finish the haying.

She thought about Wood Grange, about her father dying alone in the house, truly an island now that she knew the extent of his financial mismanagement.

It was incredible what a life of entitlement did for you, she thought.

To be utterly at the end of one’s resources and still acting as though you had the upper hand.

She was incredulous and surprisingly sad.

Not for her father, really, but for a person so corroded by vice and their own malice.

The blast of the train whistle cut through her thoughts, steam billowing outside the windows.

She and Silas stood, he handed down her satchel, and tucking her mother’s portrait under his arm, led her to the doorway.

The small station platform was quiet, only a porter and a couple of passengers making their way to the exit.

Outside, waiting in the late afternoon light, was the local trap, the driver lounging against his seat, cap pulled low over his eyes.

“The Darling farm, please,” said Silas.

“Right away, guv,” he said, straightening, and reaching down to take their belongings.

Silas handed Ophelia up into the back seat and slid in beside her.

They pulled out of the train station and jogged down the high street, making their way past the church hall and out into the country lanes.

Ophelia felt the press of Silas’s thigh down the length of hers, muscular and firm through the layers of their clothes.

He smiled at her, and she was sure that he felt as comforted by her presence as she did by his.

He kissed her then, chaste and quick, but she felt the promise of everything to come and couldn’t help throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her nose into the perfect warm skin of his neck.

“I love you,” she whispered and felt his lips move against her hair.

“I love you.”