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I t was a ridiculous fabrication—and yet one Jacob seemed inexplicably determined to maintain.

For the rest of the day, every attempt Amelia made to correct Jacob’s presumed betrothal, whether in the presence of Sir George and his relatives or not, was immediately met with more solicitous behavior from her friend—until Sir George, and perhaps a small part of Amelia, had no choice except to believe him.

Throughout the afternoon, Jacob acted the part of a loyal future husband arranging for their removal to Sir George’s residence.

He even planned their imminent return to London with all the concern and involvement one might expect of a real fiancé.

Sir George had insisted, in no uncertain terms, that it was highly inappropriate for them—betrothed though they might be—to travel together so loosely chaperoned.

And the baronet ordered that they be escorted back to her father within the next two days, with a veritable entourage and himself in tow.

A single day ago, Amelia would have wept and raged at being forcefully returned to the parents who had so heartlessly arranged her future for her.

But the shock of Sir George’s revelations, in addition to the way Jacob’s fabricated betrothal threw her further off-kilter, had Amelia protesting little, if at all, to the plan.

Where else was she to go?

She was no one—not a princess, not a lady, and potentially the offspring of a petty household thief. She had no grounds whatsoever to deny Sir George’s authority—or, her father’s.

It was a sobering and humiliating thought.

Scatter-brained though he might appear while talking about his beloved Orient, Sir George was remarkably efficient when it came to logistical arrangements, and their entourage was assembled a mere two days after Jacob began his persistent act as her besotted betrothed.

It infuriated Amelia that they were never alone to discuss their odd situation.

Unlike the intimacy of their journey from London, their return to the capital was now being carried out in style, with servants both of their party and from the various well-kept inns giving them not a moment’s reprieve.

Even now, as their well-sprung carriage rolled along on the equally well-maintained road for the second day in a row, they were entirely at Sir George’s mercy, nodding in acknowledgement at his ceaseless effusions about the fascinating kingdom of China.

One day, the man might find other comrades who shared his enthusiasm for the Far East. Today, Jacob, Amelia, and a half- awake Betsy would simply have to suffer the role of forbearing audience.

As someone who had rather little forbearance in general, Amelia found it a particularly trying role to play.

“Ah, the Silver Arms!” Sir George finally exclaimed about something in their immediate vicinity, when their carriage pulled up to what was to be their final stop before London.

The trip had been efficient—too efficient, for Amelia’s sake.

“I have always enjoyed their pies here. Shall I have a servant procure some for us?” the baronet suggested generously.

Jacob kindly offered to complete the errand, committed as he seemed to be to the role of gentlemanly betrothed, and Amelia sighed in frustration as the only person in the carriage she wanted to talk to slipped outside.

How was one to pretend to be betrothed to a man one actually admired if said man was not there?

“Oh, I forgot the broth! They have a most excellent broth at the Silver Arms,” Sir George exclaimed. “Nothing like the Chinese broths, mind you, but Mr. Hawthorne ought to be informed.”

And with his mind likely still ruminating over the complexities of Chinese cuisine, Sir George tumbled out of the carriage, leaving Amelia and Betsy alone.

Amelia exhaled, long and slow. Unlike the earlier heights of the North, the last few miles had begun to look familiar—if not in location, at least in flora and topography. They were headed for London, and she would be well and truly trapped once they arrived .

“Ought I to relieve myself, miss, you think?” Betsy asked.

“By all means.” Amelia removed her skirts from the way.

The maid shuffled out.

And, at last, Amelia was alone—alone and filled with more confusing thoughts than she had ever thought possible.

The last two weeks of her life had been the grandest adventure she’d ever had, even without leaving English soil. As a child, she’d dreamt of such adventures. She’d dreamt of discovering treasure or uncovering secrets—of meeting handsome princes and perhaps encountering a dragon or two.

Real-life adventures were decidedly more ordinary, and perhaps infinitely more depressing.

Real-life adventures did not end with an overlooked stepdaughter finding herself the heiress of a hidden kingdom.

Real-life adventures did not have handsome princes falling for a servant’s child.

Amelia let loose a helpless chuckle when she realized that even Jacob—dear, inexplicable Jacob—was now far above her station.

He might claim to have been raised in trade, but at least his mother didn’t steal from royalty.

The carriage door opened, and Amelia steeled herself for more lectures about the unique cultural qualities of the hidden Orient. Yet it was not the baronet’s face, but Jacob’s, that greeted her.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Jacob smiled. It was not a bright smile, by any means. But it was a kind smile, a reassuring smile. It was a smile Amelia wished she could bottle up and keep in her heart for the inevitable storms ahead.

“They were out of pies,” Jacob said. He pulled himself inside and settled across from her. His long legs folded gracefully enough, but his knees still brushed against her travel garments. “Poor Sir George is still explaining to the innkeeper’s wife why such a disappointment cannot be borne.”

For the first time in days, Amelia laughed. “I pity her—although I thank her for granting me reprieve from the illustrious man’s company.”

“Tired of him already?”

“Quite. I don’t know why I thought it a good idea to search so diligently for him across half the country.”

They traded quiet laughs before falling silent.

Amelia studied her hands. She’d never hesitated to ask a question before, inquisitive as she’d always been.

But now that the person she most wished to talk to sat alone with her, the words suddenly refused to come.

Once bitten, twice shy—she supposed. She’d hardly enjoyed receiving her latest set of answers in Sir George’s study.

Would she find Jacob’s answers equally life-altering, or equally disappointing?

“Are you well?” he asked softly.

Amelia looked up, moved by the genuine touch of concern in his gaze. “Well enough, all things considered.”

“I understand Sir George’s revelations could not have been welcome.”

Amelia bit her lip. “No, they were not.”

“But perhaps if you explain things to your father?—”

“And ask him why he allowed me to believe a lie all my life?” Amelia sniffed. “One could argue that he did it out of kindness, but I worry if it was only out of a sense of escapism for himself.”

“Surely, the situation cannot be so entirely dour.”

“Or it could be.” Amelia stifled a sob. Once she returned to London, Mother would declare Amelia to be the hoyden she’d always believed her to be. They would force her into marriage with the unknown tradesman’s son, and she would never again see her family, her cousins, or Jacob.

“Amelia—”

“Why did you claim to be my betrothed?”

Jacob started. Amelia swallowed. She had nothing to lose in asking her question now.

“I—please forgive my presumption,” he said.

“It’s not the presumption that’s the problem. It’s—it’s—” The problem was her own unruly emotions—emotions that told her she would much rather elope with him to Scotland right now than to return humiliated to her family. But the man hadn’t offered.

“Amelia, believe me, I said it for both our benefits.”

“I can’t see how.”

“There are certain things that I need to confirm, after which I can tell you all. But for now, I am waiting?—”

“Waited too long, have you?” Sir George’s voice burst in along with his person. He shoved a wrapped, warm pastry into each of their hands just as Betsy scrambled in behind him. “I should have known better than to send you in, Mr. Hawthorne. They only save the pies for me.”

Around them, activity resumed for the last leg of their journey.

Sir George bit into his pie and hummed in satisfaction. “The Chinese might have their tea and their broths—but nothing beats a good English pie.”

And as they journeyed on with more of the baronet’s generous opinions, Amelia found it difficult to remember why she’d ever thought she’d wanted to meet the man.

The carriage rolled up to the familiar sight of Upper Wimpole Street late in the afternoon, the overcast London sky striking Amelia as an apt representation of her heavy heart.

Betsy had long fallen asleep, lulled away to her dreams by the moving carriage.

Sir George Staunton, likewise, had appeared much more subdued after having his fill of pie, and now he took one glance at the Fitzwater residence, grunted in recognition, and muttered to Jacob, “You’ll see her down, won’t you? ”

“Of course,” Jacob answered immediately. He unfolded his long limbs and preceded Amelia down onto the pavement. It was perhaps for the best—given that Sir George believed them betrothed when Papa did not.

With a sigh, Amelia accepted Jacob’s hand and stepped down after him. With all propriety and gallantry, he escorted her forward until they stood at the small half flight of steps to the door. Amelia looked up.

It was a place she had intended never to see again after her quarrel with her father.

But a small slice of her heart still tugged fondly at the familiar sight of the worn front door.

One knock, and Mr. Perritt would appear, ready to escort her either to Papa’s study, to her own bedchamber, or to another scolding from Mother.

None of those things were particularly pleasant, but after a futile chase across half of England, those things still represented home .

Jacob cleared his throat beside her. Amelia blinked, anxious not to cry, and turned to face him.

“Are you truly well?” he asked softly. His persistent concern was at once heartening and heartbreaking.

Was she well? No—she was the farthest thing from well. She was confused and disappointed and heartsick and wanted nothing more than to cling onto his arm and never let go.

But Jacob had already done so much for her—above and beyond what she had any right to ask of him. It was high time she let him return to his own life.

Amelia sniffed. “Well enough.”

“Your father—will not be cruel, I think?”

That question, while no doubt sincerely meant, sent Amelia into a slight chuckle. Papa could be many things—oblivious, childish, obsessive—but never cruel.

“No, I don’t think so.” She tried to smile in an assuring manner, moved as she was by the concern in Jacob’s eyes.

Was it possible for her to keep him? If she had to marry a tradesman’s son anyway, could Papa be persuaded to let her find her own tradesman’s son to make a match?

“He might chide me for having worried him, which I think is wholly deserved—but he’ll never seek to hurt me. ”

“I am glad.”

“Right.”

They stood where they were, facing each other on the busy London pavement, neither having much to say in such a public setting, yet also neither willing to take the final few steps to bid the other goodbye.

“Will you hurry?” Sir George called from the carriage. “The pies cool as you speak. ”

They both chuckled hollowly at the interruption and acknowledged the baronet with a nod.

Amelia could feel her heart aching when she lifted her eyes once more, unable to stem the tears this time around. “Thank you, Jacob—thank you for everything you’ve done.”

His eyes looked equally misted. He took her gloved hand and pressed it between his. “There is never any need to thank me for only doing what I already wanted to do.”

“But just because you wish to do something does not mean it took no effort or sacrifice. I will always remember you, Jacob, and think upon our little adventure with incomparable fondness.”

“Don’t—“ Jacob sniffed. “You speak as if we shall never see each other again.”

“But will we?” Amelia sobbed. “I don’t even know where I’ll be in a matter of days. I could be locked in a tower or committed to Bedlam or married and sent off to far-flung Northumberland.”

“Or chained in a dungeon? Or on a galley on the way to China?”

It was difficult not to chuckle when he spoke that way—one brow lifted and all. “Jacob, I don’t think I could honestly believe?—”

“I’ll find you, wherever you are,” he said solemnly, though still with his usual twinkle of the eye. “I’ll see Betsy to Mrs. Wilmark and Sir George to his club, and then I will hunt down the most honest hackney in London and trail you wherever you go.”

“Oh, Jacob.” She laughed, even through her tears. “Must you make it all a joke? ”

“Never.” He smiled. In a swift motion, he leaned down and kissed her cheek before pulling back. “Not when it comes to you.“

Sir George hollered another reminder from his seat, and they parted more certainly this time. And one, two, three steps later—Jacob handed Amelia back to the life she’d once deserted.