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She couldn’t marry James Kinney.

Last night fear, exhaustion, and a good dose of attraction had muddled her thinking. She’d grasped at the chance for a future. In the weak December sun of today, she knew better.

Bundled up against a cold north wind, Sara had trudged down King Street to the dry goods shops. James assured her he had an account at Sproule’s. She’d need only mention his name and she could purchase whatever she needed.

She’d waited in line, next to crates of boots and bins of dried beans and rice.

The scents of leather and whale oil wafted through the room from the harnesses and lanterns that hung overhead.

Ready-made clothing and finer fabrics were behind the counter, but Sara couldn’t seem to reach the front of the line.

Whenever she was close, the shopkeeper would move down the counter to help another patron. One better dressed than Sara.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said finally, stepping to the middle of the counter. “I believe I am next in line.”

The man didn’t look up from the ledger. “Indeed?”

“Yes.” Sara put her hands on the counter, making it clear she wasn’t about to leave.

“What can I get you?” he said, turning away to tidy an array of gloves.

Sara ground her teeth. He was far enough away that she’d have to raise her voice. She began to recite her modest list, but the man swung about, interrupting her right after she’d listed a pair of half boots and before she could mention the shawl.

“We don’t accept credit.”

“The items are to be charged to James Kinney.” The two women behind her in line stopped talking. Sara could feel their eyes boring into her back.

The man’s eyes widened. “I can’t do that.

” He looked her up and down. “I do not charge to accounts based on the say-so of any person who walks off the street.” His tone left little doubt about his opinion of her.

Before she could refute his claim, he moved down the counter, looking around Sara to the women behind her. “Ladies, I’d be happy to assist you.”

The women moved past Sara with sidelong glances.

They were not much older than she was, in dark wool gowns with full skirts and fine pelisses, marking them as solid members of the merchant class.

One of the women met Sara’s eyes for a moment and Sara’s heart dropped.

The woman had once been her schoolmate, a year or two ahead of her at Miss Strachan’s.

Sara ducked her head and backed away, but not before she saw the puzzled look on the woman’s face.

Sara turned and fled the store. It was hard being invisible Sara O’Connor, but that was infinitely better than being an object of curiosity.

.. or scandal. If she married James Kinney, she wouldn’t be able to avoid running into people she knew.

What a fool she’d been to think she could hide from her past. A bitter blend of anger and frustration brought hot tears to her eyes.

She blinked them back, stumbling out the door.

Back on the street, she wiped her eyes. Proudfoot’s Emporium was next door. She’d have to try there, though the selection wouldn’t be as good. James had paid her wages. She’d have enough for something simple.

The navy cotton gown she purchased was suitable for a housemaid.

The shopkeeper counted her coins one by one, examining each as though he suspected she were a counterfeiter.

On the way home, she’d twice had to step off the boardwalk to make way for the wide skirts of a lady, causing half-frozen mud to ooze between the cracks in her old boots.

She welcomed the discomfort. This was where she belonged.

How had she ever thought she could marry him? She’d always be worried about detection, about bringing shame on them both. Luckily, it wasn’t too late to change her mind.

That evening, she waited until Evie and Mrs. Hobbes were abed, then crept from her room.

Light glowed from under the parlor door.

At her tap, James bade her enter. She slipped into the room.

James came to his feet in a rush, the paper he was reading floating to the ground beside him.

“Sara.” He bent over to pick up the paper and stood before her with a boyish, eager smile that made her heart flip.

“I must speak with you,” she said, her voice serious. James’s smile faltered and she rushed on before she lost her nerve. “I can’t marry you.” The words had been building all evening and it was a relief to say them out loud.

The smile vanished. His fingers clenched, wrinkling the newsprint in his hands. “What brought this about?” His gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“Sober reflection.” She had no intention of telling him about the scene at Sproule’s. It was too... humiliating.

He folded the paper into a precise square. “Please, sit down. Explain.” His voice was cool, emotionless and she had the uncomfortable feeling he was grilling her like a witness again.

She took a breath. Best get this over with. “I’m a servant. I can’t be the mother Evie needs.”

His shoulders relaxed, as though her words eased his mind. “Nonsense.” He dismissed her concerns with one word and a shrug. “Evie loves you.”

“Nonsense?” Her voice rose. The humiliations of the day, the week, the years were suddenly too much.

“So says a man. You can earn your place in society through hard work. Control your destiny. A woman’s position will always be dependent on others’ opinions.

With me as her mother, Evie won’t have a chance. ”

James leaned forward, his gaze pinning her to the chair. “A chance at what, exactly?”

The fierceness of his voice gave her pause. She hadn’t expected anger. “A chance to... to be invited into the finest homes. To marry well.” It was more than that, though. She wanted Evie to have a choice. To be happy.

“And you really think that is what is most important to me?” He stared at her as though she ought to know better.

Didn’t he realize how vulnerable Evie would be if something were to happen to him? Her temper rose to match his. “If it isn’t, it should be.” Surely, she didn’t have to explain how the world worked. “I don’t want her to struggle. Not like I did.”

He tossed the newspaper aside and reached for her hands, his face softening.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you.” He paused as though looking for words.

“But I’ve tried for too long to fit into a society that had no place for truth.

For compassion. It’s not the life I want for her.

We can do better, don’t you think?” Sara nodded, feeling a flutter of hope.

“You’ve opened my eyes, Sara. I was living with blinders on.

Now I see what’s around me.” He spoke faster, the words pouring out of him as though they’d been building up in a logjam until one piece shifted and they rushed forward in a gush.

“The odds are stacked against the poor. They come here looking for a better life and end up stuck in the same world they tried to leave behind.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s wrong and I’m in the position to do something about it. ”

“Wh-what are you planning to do?” Would he join Mackenzie’s rebels? The thought terrified her. He couldn’t risk his life like that. They needed him.

“I don’t want to spend my life on financial contracts that benefit the rich.

” He searched her face. At her slow nod of understanding, he continued, sweeping a hand in a direction that approximated north.

“There are hundreds of men out there, in the settlements, who feel they have no recourse but armed rebellion. I could help. Explain the law and get their concerns before the authorities, but...” He bit his lip, his eyes sliding to the floor. “We’d have to leave the city.”

Sara could have laughed at the relief that swept through her. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to leave the place that held only bitter memories and the threat of discovery.

“I bought an allotment years ago. As an investment, I suppose.” He gave a huff of laughter.

“Amelia assured me no woman would ever want to live there, but...” He looked at her then, his eyes pleading.

“Do you think you could be happy far from the city? It would be hard work, I imagine, setting up a practice there, but perhaps together...”

Sara reached out and touched his forearm.

Was this the same man who’d looked down his nose at her at Cooper’s Inn?

It was hard to believe. “Yes, I could be happy there.” He smiled, relief and hope lighting his face.

“It sounds wonderful.” Her voice was husky.

She wasn’t sure if she dared believe the picture he painted.

Could they really start over, in a place where no one had heard of Sally Ballantine?

He looked down at her hand on his sleeve. She flushed and moved to pull it away, but he quickly covered it with his own, holding it in place. “It won’t be as lucrative as what I do now,” he warned. “I might not be able to provide—”

“I’m a laundress who faced a life on the streets,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t mind living simply. It’s high society I’m afraid of.”

He looked down at her, his smile growing until it threatened to crack his face in two.

“I’m beginning to think you could handle just about anything that’s thrown your way.

” She started to protest such lavish praise, but he reached out and cupped her cheek before she could say more.

“I’ve never met a woman like you. True to her convictions, intelligent.

I won’t ask you to be something you’re not.

We need you. Please don’t leave.” He grabbed her hands and raised them to his chest. She could feel the beat of his heart, steady and strong beneath her fingers.

No one had ever valued her like this. Not Papa, who tried to marry her off to Stephen Osgoode. Not even Colin, who’d treated her like a delicate china figurine to be set up on a shelf and admired. James wanted a partner.