I had forgotten about the annual Rayfield holiday in the country that all of the gentry were invited to every year. Kyrie'smother, who had passed away so long ago I could hardly remember what she looked like now, had begun the tradition as a way to escape the season without truly escaping society. It was a week-long schedule of events hosted at their country residence of Southill Park in Bedfordshire. From hunts to croquet tournaments, every day was packed to the brim with activities meant to give the gentry a respite from the stress of the season while still allowing them to be among each other and form meaningful connections in a more relaxed environment. I thought it was positively brilliant. And it had been my favorite week of the year as a child. But now I was the woman courting the Marquess and, as Kyrie had pointed out to my mother and I when he came to call on me two days ago, that would mean I was the guest of honor.

Kyrie and his sister were hosting the event. Her family was even coming to join the revelry as well. But my family and I would be their most esteemed guests. My mother hadn't stopped talking about it since. She had written to Finn and Natalie to invite them, had gone to order all new dresses for me for the occasion, and had been bustling about the house, making sure everything was packed and in order for days now.

The more I thought about the upcoming week, the more I began to feel a gnawing pit opening in the depths of my stomach. A week as the honored guest of the Marquess'. The woman who everyone would be looking at as the next Marchioness. I began to regret everything, every moment from when we had made this arrangement and since. The point was to draw myself away from public attention, not thrust myself out in front of it. I would miss my lesson as well. I'd told Kyrie as much when we had a moment alone to whisper conspiratorially while my mother floated away to inform my father of the honor the Marquess had just bestowed upon us. He had promised to make it up to me, claiming that his cousin had left even more Oxford medical textbooks in the library of his family's country estate and that I might peruse them at my leisure whenever we had free time at Southill Park.

I hadn't seen him since. I imagined he was quite busy planning a week full of activities for the gentry and there was probably a whole host of expenses that would need accounting for as soon as we found some time for it. But I wondered if he was feeling just as anxious about the planned festivities as I was. My sister and her family were coming, his brother-in-law and nieces were joining. This thing between us was starting to feel too real. Involving our families, having our sisters and their families meet, I couldn't help but feel guilty for the lie, for letting them believe, like everyone else, that there was more than a chance of something forming between us.

So perhaps that was the reason that I was feeling so ill by the time the day arrived in which we were to leave for SouthillPark. My mother had spent the early hours of the morning floating through the house issuing orders to nearby servants to prepare this or pack that. She had painstakingly selected my dresses for the week the previous evening and had even remained behind long enough to ensure that Ingrid properly stored them for the journey in a way that would not allow them to become wrinkled or dirty. Most of the other boxes held vast selections of jewels, shoes, and other accessories for me in case of any possible opportunity. My mother and father's own luggage was tiny by comparison and I felt quite the fool at the ludicrous amount of finery being lugged all the way into the country for me. But I was too nervous to argue with her, too afraid that if I said a word against the packing or the events planned in Southill Park, she would see through our ruse and everything would fall apart. So I kept my mouth firmly shut and rode all the way into the country in a carriage with my parents without a word exchanged between us.

"It's alright to be nervous," my mother said, speaking so suddenly in the silent carriage that I jumped when she leaned forward to place a hand on my arm. "But the Marquess already seems quite taken with you. In fact, I think we should be expecting an offer of betrothal any day now."

She smiled, pumping her brows to indicate she suspected that might very well be one of the activities Kyrie had planned for us this week. I just stared at her, caught off guard by the fact that she had taken my anxiety about our lies to be the foolish nerves of a young girl in love. I blinked back at her and then nodded once. It was easier that way. Let her believe me the naive young woman hoping to secure her match. At least, I wouldn't have to disappoint her that way. Not yet.

"Finnley and Natalie should arrive with the girls only a few hours after we do," my mother told me pleasantly. "It will be good to see them again. To clear the air between us after what happened the last time we saw one another."

My father glanced her way.

"I had to be firm," she told him, raising her chin in defiance and turning back to me. "I don't like taking that tone with you girls, you know that."

I didn't answer. We were pulling up to the gates now and I got my first look at Southill Park set just beyond them. It was a beautiful, expansive estate set atop the highest of the English countryside's rolling hills. It had countless windows three stories high and reached all the way from the enormous stables on one side to the forested hunting grounds complete with kennels on the other. It was practically palatial and it was my first true taste of what it was like for Kyrie, what it was like for a Marquess, one of the highest levels of the British nobility, just below royalty and dukedom. This was what unquestionable riches looked like. It made my nerves even worse.

Kyrie and his sister were standing just outside the huge double doors of the home as our carriage pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled at me when I stepped out, assisted by my father, and stared up at the enormous mansion before me. Their servants stood waiting in two lines on either side of us, bowing as we passed. It was all very noble, very ceremonial, and my mother beamed at the fact that it was all for us.

"Miss Collins," Kyrie said in greeting once we had finally ascended the long steps and approached them. He bowed slightly, taking my hand in his and kissing it slowly. I just stared at him. A Marquess bowing to me. It was the highest show of honor, of respect. He was titled, ranked far above me and my family and yet he bowed to me as only a man thoroughly taken with a woman of lower repute would ever dare to. I could hear my mother's words even as his lips lingered on the back of my hand.

I think we should be expecting an offer of betrothal any day now.

"Is there a washroom nearby?" I asked, looking to Grace and pulling my hand from his grasp.

His lips parted slightly in surprise and he cocked his head to the side in silent question but I ignored him as his sister looked between us and then regained control of herself enough to smile politely back at me.

"Of course," she answered. "If you'll just follow me."

I could feel my mother staring daggers into the back of my head as I nodded to Grace and allowed her to lead me into the foyer of their ancestral summer home. I made a conscious attempt to block out the smooth marble floors, meticulously crafted and polished hardwood walls, frame after frame of priceless art, sculptures at every corner. It was too much. It was all just too much. And knowing that the entirety of the gentry would be coming here tomorrow, coming to take it all in and whisper about how it was likely to be mine, was too much.

I thanked Grace hurriedly when she led me into the nearest washroom and then shut the door tightly behind me and leaned against it, sinking slowly to the ground as my hands began to shake uncontrollably and my breathing became rasped and stunted. I tried to calm myself, truly I did, but to no avail. My heart was racing. It was all I could do just to remember to suck a breath in from time to time. When sitting at the door, cradling my knees in my arms, didn't work, I stood and paced, eventually coming to a stop in front of the counter. I leaned against it, placing my hands on the smooth marble and peering at myself in the reflective glass. My arms were still shaking, limp and weak. My face was pale, my lips trembling. I pressed a hand to my chest and made a conscious effort to still my beating heart but still, the thoughts came unbidden into my mind, only making things worse.

You're lying.

They'll never believe you again once they know.

You're ruining this for them. You're dangling these titles, these lands, in front of them just to take it all away.

You can't take it away because it was never yours. It's his. All his. And you aren't.

"No," I muttered out loud, sinking back onto the floor in my panic. "No, no, no."

"Norah."

The voice calling to me through the solid wooden door was soft, pleading. I squeezed my eyes closed and shut it out. But Kyrie didn't give up.

"Norah, please. Let me in."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me, and did not move.

"Your parents are upstairs with Grace being shown around your suite," he explained as if I weren't opening the door because I was worried about being caught alone with him in a washroom. "Norah, please."

Something about his tone, the pleading, broke my resistance. So I stood on shaking legs and made my way to the door. I unlocked it but did not open it, turning away from him and hugging myself so that I didn't have to see him when he entered. And he did. Slowly, so slowly, he opened the door and nudged his way inside. He took one look at me, my trembling lips, my shaking limbs, my hitched breathing, and stepped forward.

"Breathe," he told me and it was more comforting than I cared to admit. "Just breathe, Norah. It's alright. Breathe."

He didn't touch me. He held out a hand, steadying, requesting. I nodded once and then his arms were around me, holding me, comforting. I did as I was told, reigning in my breathing until the air was flowing regularly from my lungs, until I was no longer shaking.

"What happened?" He asked when I had calmed myself.

"They're going to hate us," I said then, pushing away from him, creating space between us, as I looked up into his eyes, darkened and stormy. "When this is over, when we end it, they're going to hate us."

He frowned but looked away from me when he answered.

"Maybe," he admitted and I sighed, closing my eyes and taking a breath so that I did not lose control again. "But this was always about this season. It was always going to be short-lived."

"But they don't know that," I argued, pointing through the door to the rest of the house and wherever my parents and his sister were now.

"What do you want me to do, Norah? You agreed to this. You wanted it."

"I-yes, I did. But I didn't think it would hurt them. My mother is so excited. She's practically sizing up your silverware as we speak. My father is proud of me. Proud! He doesn't say it but I can tell and I know that pride is based on a lie and- and my sister! My God! She invited my sister and her whole family. I've never lied to Finn and Natalie. Never. But I'm going to have to look them in the eyes for the next week and pretend like I'm the happiest I've ever been and—"

"Aren't you?"

I stopped, blinking at him, surprised at his question.

"You said it yourself," he explained. "All you want, all you ever wanted, was to follow your passions. To pursue your medical training. You're doing that now with that doctor in Greenwich, with those textbooks and poultices you're always making. Isn't this what you want? Aren't you happy?"

"I—" I started and then stopped, unsure of what I was going to say, unsure of how to respond.

"Norah," he said then, his voice softening, "the moment you say you're no longer comfortable with this, we call it off. We tell everyone that things have ended between us, that we're no longer courting, and it's done. Just tell me. Tell me if that's what you want and I'll do it."

I watched him for a moment, stunned. One word and I could end this. One word and I could be honest with my family, tell them the truth of our arrangement or at least end the growing expectations here. I could be free of this pressure, could avoid being the center of attention this week, could stop lying every moment I was around the people I had known all my life. He would do it, I knew he would. He would end it right here if that's what I wanted.

"Is that what you want?" I asked him, my voice quiet, almost a whisper.

He hesitated, swallowing once before he spoke.

"We had an arrangement," he answered, simply. "As far as I'm concerned, the terms of that agreement still stand. I will continue this with you until the end of the season and then we will figure out how to handle our families."

I watched him for a moment longer, staring into the face of this man, this former childhood bully turned friend, who was letting me decide. No other man in my life, besides Finn, had ever given me that option. So I steeled myself against the fear, against the doubts gnawing at every edge of my heart, and raised my chin against the panic welling up within me. And when I nodded, I followed Kyrie out of that washroom with a renewed spirit and resilient determination to see this through. Whatever may come.