Marina and her new husband spent the first night of their marriage in separate rooms in a roadside inn. Well, they weren't quite married yet – they were to marry the next day, and then to finish the trip to Hampstead, to Philip's house.

Marina flopped back onto the bed and sighed, her hands coming to rest on her belly. Her thoughts turned to George, as they so often did, and she felt tears sliding down her temples to pool in her ears. It had been easier, really, to think of him as a villain, as a man who would abandon her, abandon their child, than it was to know that she had been loved, that she could have been happy with him if not for the cruel jest of fate that struck him down. He had loved her, and she had hated him, and schemed because of her hate, and who would have her now?

Philip's face swam into her mind, his cool manner, his stiffness as he held her hand to help her into the carriage. Was he even a man capable of love? She clenched her fists in her dress. None of this was what she had wanted. None of this was fair. She was so newly a woman, and already she was being sent off to be shut away, to be a mother, an unhappy wife, a cautionary tale, but never to be human again, never to enjoy herself. Because she was female, the one time (well, fine, it had been more than one time, but it had been such a short time still) she had enjoyed herself, she had created her own prison. And she was supposed to feel lucky, to feel saved by this marriage to a stranger.

She felt sick.

She slept badly, unable to feel comfortable in her ungainly body in this strange bed, chased by dreams that left her immediately on waking, but left her with an uneasy feeling all the same.

She sat up and saw her wedding dress hanging by the window and her unease intensified.

Looking at herself in the mirror once the dress was on, she had to admit that Mme Delacroix had done a wonderful job in making it. It was a lovely dress, and the spray of fabric florals from her shoulder to her hip hid the bulge of her belly well, without appearing to exist for that purpose. She smiled at herself in the mirror, thinking how well she looked, everything considered.

There came a soft knocking at the door, and one of the inn's maids entered. "Mr. Crane is waiting for you miss." Marina lost her smile. How well she looked, for a man who didn't love her, who was marrying her for pity, for a sense of duty to his lost brother. She went out to meet him. He was standing by the front door of the inn, staring at his shoes, and he looked so miserable that she almost considered letting him out of the arrangement. But then he looked up at her, and his face was not troubled, not bothered at all as far as she could tell, and there was a bit of George in his countenance after all, if not in his affect, and she thought how at least her child would be raised by family. At least she herself would not be raising a child with no support.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, more from politeness than real concern.

"Fine, thank you," she supplied, and then, thinking she should at least be civil with her future husband she asked the same of him.

"Yes, fine as well, thank you," he replied awkwardly. He nodded to the door, where she could see the carriage had been made ready for their departure. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and squared her shoulders and went to be married.

They married in a small church, with only the pastor there as witness. Philip's hand was smooth in hers, and his fingers were ink stained, and Marina couldn't help thinking about George, how his hands had been rough and calloused, how she could feel their texture on her skin when he touched her, how she had craved that, how she would give anything to feel his hands again.

Philip didn't kiss her. He didn't even hold her hand as they left the church. He helped her up into the carriage and they were off to spend the rest of their lives together.

She snuck glances at him as they rode, trying to imagine what their life together would be like. Would it be always separate, like this? He didn't seem attracted to her, didn't seem interested in her at all. She let her gaze linger on him a little longer, since he seemed determined to ignore her. He wasn't ugly – he resembled George after all. But he had a thinner face and figure, and altogether a weaker look to him than George had had. She thought to herself that if he did ever try to force himself on her she could probably fight him off.

She suppressed a laugh at the thought. She wasn't sure what was most unlikely – her fighting off her husband every night, or Philip having any interest in relations with her. She turned away and covered her mouth to hide her amusement.

He looked at her and said softly, "George…" She turned to him and he paused, looking ahead at the road, and then said, "What did George tell you of our family? Of our fortune? I don't know what kind of life he promised you…"

"We never talked of fortune," Marina said coldly, offended by his implication of her character. Certainly, she had spent the last three months throwing herself at every eligible bachelor in London, but she had not done so for want of a fortune. She had done so for want of a choice. "We only talked of a future together."

Philip looked pained, and was silent a long time. Marina relented, feeling she was unfair. Philip had lost a brother, just as she had lost her love, and to add to that misfortune he was now being forced into a marriage with a woman he didn't know, because of their indiscretion. "I don't need a fortune," she said. "I was never raised to one after all." She turned to Philip. "What did George tell you of me?"

"Precious little," Philip said, and then explained, "he no doubt intended to surprise us all with your betrothal. He always liked a grand gesture."

Marina smiled at the memory, though Philip frowned. "He was so impetuous."

"And reckless."

It was Marina's turn to frown. "Did you not like your brother?"

Philip shook his head. "We didn't always get along – he never complained to you of me?" A bitter smile twisted his features. "I'm surprised… But we understood each other well enough, we knew each other. Or… I thought I did." He shook his head, as though to rid himself of his doubts. "I loved my brother."

"As did I," Marina said, and she put her hand gently over his. "We have that in common at least."

He looked over at her and she smiled. She was married to this man now; she would at least try to have a friendly relationship with him, even if they would never have anything more than that. He cleared his throat and looked back at the road.

"We should understand each other, as we are now married," he said, and Marina felt a clenching anxiety in her gut. Was this the moment when he declared his rules, when he took control of her life? "We both know that we did not choose each other, that we are married only because of a tragic accident. You are… I do not expect you to be my wife except as it suits you. I will not make demands of you. My home is not large, but there is space enough for you to have a room of your own. You may do as you like with your life. I married you to take care of my brother's family, not to trap you."

"And my child?"

"I will provide whatever the child needs. I would like to be a part of the child's life. It is my family. I leave it to you to decide what role you would like me to play in their life."

Marina looked down at her tangled fingers, thinking about it. She had not expected this kind of choice. Honestly, she hadn't given much thought to what life would be like married to Philip, what she would do with a child. She had been so focused on finding a husband, on finding a solution to this one problem, that she had been unable to think ahead any further than that. Now Philip was asking her what to do with George's child when she had barely had a chance to grieve George's loss. "We should pretend the child is yours… That was the aim of this marriage after all, no?"

Philip nodded. "For societal purposes perhaps. I don't spend much time with high society – not that there is much high society to found in Hampstead in any case. I will claim the child as my own for public knowledge, but what do you wish to tell the child of their parentage?"

Marina stared at him, feeling panic rising in her. She wasn't ready for this kind of talk! How was she to make this decision? How was she to know the best thing to do? And her doubts about herself only made her feel less prepared to be a mother, to take care of another human being. She was only just able to take care of herself. Most days she got by only by not thinking about it, not thinking about the responsibility, about the potential for harming this new life that would be dependent on her for everything. "Do I have to decide now?" she squeaked out.

"No. No, certainly not. It will be some time before the child is even old enough to have this discussion. But it is a matter of concern to myself as well, so when you do make a decision, please let me know."

Marina stared at his profile. How was he so calm, so calculated about all these things? He said it concerned him, but he did not seem worried about it all. She sighed and looked down at her lap, trying to calm herself by tracing the petals in the flowers, following each spiral down to its origin. A last gift from her aunt Featherington. Probably the last she would ever hear from her, or her cousins, ever again. At least that part of her life was behind her now, all the scheming and gossip and backstabbing. Everyone pretending to be polite as they spoke poison and expecting her to like it.

"Ah, there is the town," Philip said, and Marina looked up to see Hampstead coming into view just over the next hill. London was behind her, but who knew if this next phase of her life would be better or worse.