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Drew held the open door.

‘Goodnight. Your wife will come about,’ Peter said. ‘Do not ignore her, hold your temper and there you have it.’

Drew smiled. ‘Goodnight.’

‘May Cupid be with you,’ Peter said, raising a hand, before walking away.

Drew shut the door, thinking about the day before her father had found them in the inn. That had been a good day, the two of them in harmony. He was still the first few footprints in the snow of her life. He was the only man Mary had known.

He thought of Caro, when they were young, lying in the snow making angel shapes using her arms and legs, making him laugh.

Instead of trying to pull Mary away from her family, he and Mary should have been lying in the crisp fresh snow of their life making angels.

It was the wrong time of year for snow… He laughed at his mental jest. Hay then. They ought to be in fields rolling in the hay.

He would repair this. He would make it right. He would try harder. He would be the person she needed.

He looked at the chair where he had been sleeping. It would do no harm if he shared their bed again. If he slept beside her he would know if she was ill again.

He stripped down to his shirt in the sitting room, so he would not disturb her. Then walked about the room snuffing out the candles. The last one, he picked up and carried into their bedchamber. She was facing the door, on the side of the bed he had always slept, her dark hair tumbling across his pillow, not plaited.

She had taken it over – his bed. His life. His body. His mind. His heart.

He was going to correct every mistake he had made. Every day, he would make sure she knew how he felt. He drew back the sheet, put the candle down on the chest beside the bed and slipped beneath the covers.

He turned and blew out the candle, wrapping them in darkness, then moved closer to her and rested a palm on her hip.

He fell asleep thinking of hay fields, and snow, and how he and Mary would spend their time when they found a property in the country.