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E mily pushed her way through the crowds of guests filling the Beaumaris ballroom.

No one seemed to be aware that she was trying to pass, or they didn’t care.

The chatter suffused the high-ceilinged room, it was so loud surely every member of the Ton was in attendance at this prestigious event.

Emily coughed; it was as if every single person had daubed on far too much cloying perfume and each scent was mixing together in the already excessively cramped space.

The silver dress she had worn was so tight it was hard to breathe or maybe it was the overwhelming smell that was making her lungs tight.

Someone gasped as she stood on the hem of their dress.

She apologised profusely but kept going, not sure where she was headed, only that she wanted to get away, not even sure what she was getting away from.

She heard someone comment, ‘In the family way,’ followed by the tinkle of laughter, the noise like glass shattering. The loaded comment might not be about her and Freddie’s situation but the thought that it might wound her tighter still.

‘Emily!’ Eloisa’s wide smile, emerging from the sea of people, was a welcome sight.

She held out her hands to greet her friend, who clasped her fingers tightly in return. ‘How lovely to see you,’ Emily breathed .

‘It is wonderful to see you too.’ Eloisa looked full of joy, as if all these people weren’t crushing in around her. Perhaps it was just Emily and her thoughts. ‘Marriage is clearly agreeing with you; you are glowing.’

‘I am afraid that might be perspiration.’ Emily’s palms were clammy beneath her white gloves and sweat was gathering along her hairline.

Eloisa laughed, squeezing Emily’s fingers once more before dropping them. ‘Whatever it is, you look incredibly beautiful and it is wonderful not to find you hiding behind a plant pot. You deserve much more than that.’

Emily didn’t want to point out that she wasn’t skulking behind a large floral arrangement because she hadn’t found one yet.

She was married now; she did not need to worry about making conversation with men she didn’t know in order to attract them into asking for her hand in marriage, even if she didn’t want to marry them.

There was certainly no need for the sick, swirling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Eloisa stepped closer. ‘I know I should wait to ask you this, but we haven’t seen each other in an age and I am desperate to know.’ Eloisa shot a furtive glance around them both. ‘Is it true? Is it like a horse?’

Emily laughed, her first bubble of enjoyment since she had arrived. ‘No, it is truly lovely.’ She thought back to this afternoon; whatever problems she and Freddie might face, bedding one another was not one of them. ‘I will tell you what to expect, but not here.’

Eloisa pulled a face. ‘I must say, I am disappointed we cannot discuss this, but you are quite right; now is not the time. I am very glad that it is something you can enjoy. It would be such a shame if spending time with your husband was unpleasant, especially as he comes across as such a friendly man.’ Eloisa looked over Emily’s shoulder .

Emily turned so she could see what her friend was looking at.

Her heart expanded when she caught sight of Freddie.

As always, at events like this, he was surrounded by people.

She couldn’t blame every person for wanting to speak to him; he had a unique gift of making you believe you were the centre of his attention and that was thrilling.

She did not begrudge him that; now she knew he lacked confidence about his abilities, it was lovely that he was treated with respect wherever he went.

But earlier, as people had surrounded them on every side, slapping him on the back and congratulating him on his wedding, she had begun to feel every bit as isolated as she had done before her marriage, if not worse, because now she was alone but in a crowd of people.

As the men had laughed with Freddie, the women had cast her sideways glances, often skimming over the flatness of her stomach.

She’d had to force herself not to flinch, to pretend as if she did not notice their pointed looks.

There was an odd lump in her throat and she didn’t think she could get out any words past it.

‘What is married life like?’ Eloisa asked softly, almost dreamily.

‘It is… not how I imagined.’

‘Oh.’ Eloisa’s shoulders drooped.

‘That’s not a bad thing,’ she reassured her friend. ‘I always imagined I would find someone who would let me curl up with a book in my own private sitting room. I pictured myself content and peaceful. I thought happiness was for other people.’

Eloisa scrunched up her nose. ‘That sounds rather dull and unpleasant.’

‘Yes,’ said Emily, watching Freddie laugh.

‘It does rather.’ And yet, would peacefulness have been better than this?

There was a strange agony in what she did have.

Never, in her wildest dreams, had she thought up a husband whose heavy weight curled around her as she slept; who would roll his eyes when she got lost in a book but then would hand her another one when she reached the final pages; who would reach out and lightly brush her fingers under the table whenever his intimidating older brother would turn his attention to her.

She’d never thought she would come to care desperately for her husband, that the link between them would feel so fragile she’d carry it around as if it were a bird in a cage.

It was a strange thing, the joy her marriage was giving her.

Now she knew what it was like to experience it, completely and fully, she was in utter terror of losing it.

‘But it is not like that,’ Eloisa prompted, reminding Emily she had been in the middle of talking.

‘No, it is not like that at all.’ It was breathless and soft, and thrilling and wonderful and also downright terrifying in its perfection. ‘Freddie has been a rather wonderful husband.’ That did not do him justice really. He could have made anyone a marvellous husband, but he had married her.

‘Why do you sound so wistful? Surely that is a good thing?’

‘Of course it is. I am sorry.’ It was a good thing, a very good thing, but it was also frightening.

The more she thought about it, the less equal this marriage felt.

Freddie was bringing security, a business plan, and all she was bringing was herself.

She’d made herself useful by reading to him, but he could employ a man of business for that.

When she was with him, she felt whole, but this ball was showing her that wonderful though Freddie made her feel, she was still the nobody who wanted to hide behind floral displays.

Eloisa was still looking at her, her brow furrowed.

‘I am being rather silly. It is this evening; it is setting me all on edge.’

Her frown faded to be replaced by a knowing look. ‘What has your mother done this time?’

‘Oh, nothing. Well, not nothing. Nothing this evening. I took tea with her this morning and Mrs Winstone was there too.’

‘What did that bracket-faced old woman have to say for herself? ’

‘Eloisa!’ Emily gasped, looking about her, hoping that nobody else had heard her friend’s insult. Unpleasant though Arabella Winstone was, she was a woman with great standing in Society and it would not do to cross swords with her.

Eloisa did not look bothered by her outburst. ‘Oh, come now. We both know she is a troublesome gossipmonger. Whatever she said to you is bound to be a bag of moonshine.’

‘She did not say anything to me really and yet she somehow managed to imply that Freddie only married me because we had anticipated my wedding vows.’ Emily raised her eyebrows to show how ridiculous that idea was but Eloisa didn’t smile in response.

‘Oh,’ Emily said as realisation dawned on her. ‘You have already heard that rumour.’

‘I…’

Emily’s stomach swooped. ‘You do not need to spare my feelings. It is not true, by the way.’ She forced a laugh. ‘In fact, I would really rather you told me what is being said about me; it would be better to be forewarned.’

Eloisa muttered something under her breath, before sighing softly. ‘You do not have to tell me that it is a falsehood. I was with you the night before you married, remember. Besides, no one would be so vulgar as to say that you had already lain with Freddie before your marriage.’

Eloisa glanced to the left and that was all Emily needed to know. ‘But it is being implied,’ she finished for her friend.

A small, sad nod confirmed what Emily had already guessed. Bile rose to her throat and she fought the urge to be sick right here, in the middle of the ballroom. That really would add fire to the gossip that she was already pregnant.

Eloisa squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

‘I am so sorry, Emily. I have heard it suggested, but anyone who knows you and loves you like I do, knows it to be false. And I do not care what foul Mrs Winstone or anyone else says, you are worth ten Frederick Dashworths. You are funny and friendly and dashed beautiful.’

Emily blinked; tears were pricking the back of her eyes, but she was determined they would not fall.

With every word she spoke, Eloisa, her dearest, truest friend, was making it worse.

She confirmed what Emily already knew; she was not good enough to be the wife of Frederick Dashworth.

She may not have lain with him before her marriage, but she had put herself in his way, forcing his hand.

If she had not been in the Dashworth garden that day, then he would not have had to marry her.

‘Please, Emily.’ Eloisa took her hands in hers once more.

‘Do not be upset. I cannot bear it. You have made a fabulous marriage and the two of you are going to be so happy, I just know it. I have known that Freddie… oh drat it all to hell.’ Whatever Eloisa had been about to tell her about Freddie was lost in that expletive.

‘What is it?’

‘ That man is coming and there is nothing I can do about it. I have promised him a dance and I must go through with it, despite the fact that he is utterly despicable.’

Emily had never seen Eloisa so incensed. ‘Which man?’

‘Lord Falcon.’

Before Emily could question Eloisa on why dancing with the lord was so objectional, and, more importantly, ask Eloisa to finish explaining what she had always known about Freddie, Eloisa’s dancing partner arrived.

‘Promise me, you will wait here?’ Eloisa said, while the pleasant-looking lord waited. ‘We still have much to discuss.’ She glared at her partner, but he did not release her from their dance, even though he must have heard Eloisa’s words.

‘I will,’ agreed Emily .

The opening bars to the next dance began and Eloisa tsked in annoyance before allowing herself to be swept away.

Emily’s vow to stay where she was immediately proved impossible.

People jostled her from every side, each movement setting off another wave of nauseating perfume until it felt as if her insides were swirling.

She was close to abandoning her vow and finding a secluded corner when a voice reached her.

‘I cannot understand why he married her.’ Emily froze. No names had been mentioned, but she was as certain as she could be that these unknown voices were discussing her and Freddie.

‘I agree; she’s such a drab little thing, always hiding in corners, and he is such a handsome man, so clever with his words.’ Yes, definitely Freddie.

‘I hear he has her in the family way.’

‘No!’ The shocked but gleeful gasps burned Emily’s skin and yet she couldn’t force herself away, not even after hearing the horrible words about herself.

‘Indeed. Mrs Winstone says she called on the family this morning and that the countess is already eating for two.’

Emily’s corset was shrinking, moulding to her body, making it hard for her to pull in enough air. One of the voices laughed. ‘Why am I not surprised? A woman who looks almost indistinguishable from a twig can only get a man one of two ways and Frederick Dashworth has no need of a large dowry.’

Both women laughed at that, the noise like discordant church bells.

The jarring sound snapped Emily out of her trance-like stance and she pushed away from the dance floor.

Her breathing was erratic as she shoved her way towards the ballroom door, heedless this time on whether she trampled on anyone or not.

She had only arrived a few moments earlier, but she was not going to stay.

She could not. She’d known that she was not the right match for Freddie, that she had taken his freedom from him when she married him, but it seemed like everyone else knew it too.

Dizziness added to the nausea and she knew she had to leave, that she could not stay in the ballroom while everyone talked about her, that she had to get home and lie down and probably cry.

She wanted Freddie, wanted him to put his arms around her and tell her that everything was all going to be fine, but she also didn’t want to take him away from his friends, to show him that on their very first evening together as a married couple she could not cope without him by her side.

Out of the ballroom, in the slightly less crowded corridor, the nausea swirled in her stomach.

A woman she barely recognised shot her a knowing look and Emily knew she had to get away, not just from the ballroom but from the evening.

If she was sick, she would only confirm what everyone thought to be true.

Even when no baby arrived in eight months, she would always be known as the woman who had trapped Frederick Dashworth into her bed and into a marriage.

So she did what any self-respecting woman would do in these circumstances; she fled.