Ever since Marian had set foot in New York City, she had been met with more rules than she could possibly count. Aunt Agnes had more than enough of her own as well- rules about comportment, propriety, dress, dinner conversation, the very way she was to walk down the street. Marian had long since learned to let most of them pass through one ear and out the other, if only for her own peace of mind. So what if she had not followed every instruction put before her? Surely the world would not crumble.

But even she knew there were limits.

Her judgment with Mr. Raikes, and the humiliation it brought, was not easily forgotten. Nor was her brief engagement to Dashiell Montgomery- an engagement she had entered with hope, but broken off within weeks. Calling off an engagement never reflected well on a woman, and Aunt Agnes’ sharp words made clear how thin Marian’s reputation had grown. For once, Marian understood that she must tread carefully. No rushing into attachments. No scandal. No foolish, reckless leaps of the heart.

That was the plan.

But plans in this city had a way of dissolving like snow in the gutter. For Marian had- quite without intending it- fallen in love. Not the foolish sort of infatuation she had confused herself with before, but a love she felt certain of this time.

And the object of it? A woman.

She had never dared to imagine such a thing for herself. She had heard whispers, but believed such affections belonged to the shadows, never to her. Yet you- well, you had made her happy in a way no one else ever had. And once Marian admitted that truth to herself, there was no undoing it.

It wasn’t as though you had appeared from nowhere. You were a Russell- moved into that palatial house across 61st Street just as she had taken up residence with her aunts. The eldest daughter, placed neatly between Larry and Gladys, you carried yourself with an independence unusual for your mother’s world. Marian saw in you both freedom and familiarity, and against her better judgment, she trusted you. She told you of Mr. Raikes, of her faltering engagement, of her fear that she was destined to stumble through life making only mistakes. And you, with a steady gaze and words that always urged her to “listen to her heart,” became her confidante.

She should have realized then- your eyes had lingered too long, your hand brushed hers too deliberately. But she was unprepared for the night you kissed her.

It was cold, her walk to clear her mind made unbearable by the winter air, when you insisted she take your carriage back home. One moment she was sitting across from you, the next her lips were pressed against yours in the lamplight. Her immediate reaction was confusion, disbelief, but you had looked at her with such calm certainty that she found herself unable to turn away. That night she hardly slept, turning over the sensation again and again. But then you called on her. You explained yourself without apology, and suddenly her fears melted.

It had been nearly three months now, three months of whispers in corners, of gloved fingers clasped just long enough to quicken her pulse, of stolen kisses in shadows, of long walks that appeared no more than friendship. And yet what she felt had not dimmed.

She did not know what future there could be. You were a Russell heiress; your mother would insist upon a grand match in time. Marian too could not avoid marriage forever. But neither of you wished to sacrifice the present for a future neither desired.

This afternoon, Mr. Church himself showed Marian to your room, his expression unreadable as always. She hesitated at the door, hands trembling slightly in her gloves, before knocking softly. Till she heard your voice.

She stepped inside, shutting the door quickly behind her. The warmth of the house was a balm after her short walk across the snow-covered street. She tugged her gloves off, rubbing her hands together as she looked at you letting out a small nervous laugh.

“Should you really be summoning me here so often? Surely the staff must be talking about my visits by now.”