Verity found that the upper halls were considerably better furnished than the lower halls. The carpet under her feet was fresh and deep, and there were paintings hung on the walls, mainly of hunts and mysterious hills and violent storms. One door was open to her left, and Verity slipped through. It was a bedroom, well-furnished, with a fire blazing in the hearth, even though it was only September. A woman was snoozing by the fireplace, and some dresses were spread out over the double bed, glimmering in the light. Verity examined them, heart thudding. They were far finer than anything she'd ever worn before, far finer than most of what she'd ever seen.

She turned back to the lady, who was grunting slightly in her sleep, and coughed.

The lady woke with a start. She was somewhere beyond middle-age and plumpness, but not quite arrived at elderly and fat. She was dressed in a severe black gown, but her face broke out in a strange smile when she saw Verity.

"So sorry, Child." She bundled herself out of her chair and kissed Verity on the cheek with a familiarity that made Verity blush. "Now, you must take that awful thing off, and I'll get you in something proper."

"Are you Mr Armiger's mother?" Verity queried, as she undid her dress.

"Oh, Lord no!" The woman chuckled. "I'm his old nursemaid. He keeps me around. My name is Mrs Roper. Didn't he tell you nothing?"

"No." Verity struggled out of her dress and let it fall to the floor with a sigh of relief. "Oh, what beautiful dresses."

"You can try them all on, and then pick. I guess you don't get much in the way of pretty dresses."

"No."

Verity spent some time trying on the dresses and prancing around in front of the mirror, aware that for the first time in her life she looked like the lady she was, and not a kitchen maid. When she finally chose a grey-green silk dress with silver and gold trim, Mrs Roper sat her down and undid her untidy braid, and combed and brushed and pinned up her hair. A few loose curls, those Verity could never tame, sprang out by the sides of her cheeks, and one at the nape of her neck.

"My Dear, you have such lovely hair."

"Thank you." Verity had never felt so beautiful. Staring at her reflection, she felt the agony of her missed position in life. My mother was a lady, she thought bitterly, and yet I spend most of my days in rags in a kitchen.

"You look like a princess, My Dear. But to be a princess... There is just one last touch." Mrs Roper opened a box on the dresser, and pulled out a glittering necklace. "Here."

"Oh!"

The necklace rested around her neck, all small bright diamonds, and one large topaz, resting heavily upon her breast.

"I've never worn anything so nice," Verity whispered. "Why are you doing this for me?"

Mrs Roper squeezed her arm. "The Master can hardly dine with a woman who looks like a kitchen maid now."

And Verity's world came crashing down again, as she remembered exactly why she was here. She set her mouth in a grim line.

"Thank you, Mrs Roper, for making me look beautiful tonight."

She left the room, trembling with anger. She found the library downstairs, and entered, to find Mr Armiger sitting on a couch with a book. He looked up when she entered, and a strange expression washed over his face, that he quickly controlled. He stood, and bowed.

"My Lady, you look... very beautiful."

"Good evening, Mr Armiger," Verity said stiffly.

"Are you hungry? There is dinner in the hall. It's past eight."

"Yes. I'm hungry." She stared at the arm she offered him in distaste. "I can walk alone, Sir. I am no invalid."

He let his arm fall to his side and smiled coldly. "I can see that."

She followed him to the dining room, which like the hall was only half-renovated still. There were no curtains yet on the windows, and she could see right down through the darkness into the glowing lights of Greater Hough, all laid out like stars had fallen and come to rest in the valley.

A footman stepped forward from the wall. "Five more minutes, Sir."

"Of course. Go see to it."

The footman disappeared. Mr Armiger went to the sideboard. "Would you like wine, Miss Baker?"

"Please." She stood against the windows, looking down into the town, and wondering what it would be like to truly live in a house like this, with a view, instead of a miserable, ramshackle cottage with draughts and mice.

Mr Armiger appeared at her side, and handed her a glass.

She sipped, the course of alcohol down her throat quelling her nerves. "Mr Armiger, whose dress am I wearing? Mrs Roper is too old, and, anyway, these are not servant's gowns."

"My wife's."

The wine was suddenly bitter in Verity's mouth. She put the glass down on the table and left the room without a word.

"Miss Baker!" Armiger loped after her. "Verity!"

He took her arm, and she turned and slapped him. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the hall. He let her go, and she trembled, sure he would hit her next.

Instead he rubbed his cheek and winced. "Good God, you must have wrists of steel."

"You, Sir, you are a disgrace to your class." Verity's voice shook with anger. "Where is your wife, that you come to this valley and pretend to be a bachelor to buy virgins from their fathers?"

Armiger's expression went cold, and he stepped back, his cheek still red with the impact of Verity's hand.

"She lying six feet under, in a grave two thousand miles from here, along with our infant son."

Verity flushed, and then felt a chill sink through her soul. "I'm so very sorry," she whispered.

"They died last winter, and that is why I returned to England."

"I'm sorry, Mr Armiger."

She examined him properly for the first time, and could see now that he was younger than she had first thought, perhaps twenty-eight, and that he was not the ogre she had in mind during the walk here. His hair was streaked with grey, like an old man's, but the lines on his face, around his eyes and brow, were from worry, not age, and with his sharp, aggressive bones, and angular, strange black brows, and impervious grey eyes, he was very handsome, in a queer, almost frightening way. Looking at him reminded Verity of looking at a grand line of mountains, or down from a tall wall. It made her stomach swoop in a strange, pleasant fear.

"I do not blame you."

"You do not – mind me wearing your wife's dresses?"

"I mind far more than I thought I would." He cracked a bitter smile. "But I have no other dresses, and you can hardly go naked, and I refuse to look any more upon that rag your father gave you."

A gong sounded down the hall.

"Dinner is served." Armiger offered his arm to Verity, and this time she took it. Perhaps he is just lonely, she thought desperately, filled both with pity and fear for this strange, handsome widower.

The meal was like none Verity had ever had. Course after course came through the doors, of exquisite delicacies as she had never before seen, and some she had never even heard of. Armiger talked about Italy, and Greece and France and London, and all these places Verity had never been and could not understand and never would. Nonetheless, she was enchanted with the world she had been born so close to, yet so far from.

By the time the dessert, three courses of miniature puddings served in thimble cups, had been disposed of, the clock said it was half-past-nine, and Verity was feeling warm and almost comfortable, and buzzing slightly with the effect of the dessert sherry.

"At this time, I normally retire to the library," Mr Armiger said. "I like to read at night, but perhaps it would amuse you to play chess, or some music?"

"I am terrible at chess, and I know no instruments," Verity confessed.

"Would you like to see over the manor then? It is mostly barren, of course, but I haven't even explored it all myself."

Verity hesitated a moment, but she was stuck in this man's house regardless of his intent, and she was curious about the grand house, that had spent so many years empty on the hill above Greater Hough. "Yes, I would."

Mr Armiger called for a lamp, and together they walked amongst the dark, abandoned halls and rooms. Verity was fascinated by the faded luxury of the old house. Some of the original wallpapers had gilt leaf, and the wooden panels were a world beyond the dirty limewash she was used to at home. Mr Armiger kept murmuring things like, "Oh, look at the bars on the window, I suppose this was a nursery," and "The mother-in-law must have lived here. This room has a very grim feel."

All of the rooms on the third floor, smaller, and darker and half-built into the roof, were as yet untouched by Mr Armiger or his tradesmen.

"I'm afraid this house is really too big for me," he said, as he stooped into a room that ran right under the eaves.

"You could become an entertainer," Verity suggested, stepping over some discarded curtains lying on the floor. "Look, the window is open. How careless."

She crossed to the window and looked out over the roof, the cold wind blowing through and sending chills down her spine. This high up, she could see right over the valley, over the glowing town, over the shadows of the woods beyond the town, to the hills in the distance. The view made her gasp Mr Armiger joined her at the window, his presence somehow warm.

"Let's go out on the roof," he suggested. "It's perfectly safe. I've had builders checking the tiles. They must have left the window like this."

"Alright." Verity felt somehow like she was in a dream.

Mr Armiger climbed up first, and then held his hand down to help her. It was much colder out on the rooftop, and Verity shivered as she carefully hobbled forward over the tiles. Mr Armiger moved like a cat, hunched slightly against the wind. He leaned against a chimney and looked out across the valley.

With the stars above and the town lights below, and the moon casting a cold clear light over everything, it looked like a fairy kingdom.

"The house may be a little large, but I am glad I bought it," Mr Armiger called.

Verity crawled carefully over the tiles towards him. "You'll have to fill it somehow."

"I shall never remarry."

"I wasn't suggesting you would. You could have friends over, or family."

"I'm afraid I have precious few of either of those." Armiger gave her a smile that wasn't as sad as it ought to have been, saying that. "Here, stand up."

He pulled her to his feet and put his arm around her. He was very warm and solid against the cold, intangible night, and Verity shivered.

"Are you cold? Shall we go in?"

"No, I – " she turned to say something and it was lost as he kissed her on the mouth. It was a cold, passionless kiss, and Mr Armiger withdrew quickly, as though he realized it was such. "If you kiss me again, I shall struggle, and we shall fall," Verity threatened.

"I won't." Mr Armiger stared at her. There was something haunted about his gaze. "I should have burned my wife's dresses."

"Sir."

Verity stared in surprise as Mr Armiger shook the tears from his eyes. One landed on her cheek and she wiped it away, surprised how hotly it burned against her skin.

"God dammit! Do you know what it's like to lose someone you love, so dearly?" Armiger demanded, holding her close, like she was the anchor.

"No. Not at all."

"It hurts."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"I thought perhaps, what I needed, was a woman in my arms, but in her dress..." He dashed away the tears in his eyes again. "God dammit, you're wearing her dress!"

There was an unhidden agony in Armiger's tone. Without saying a word, Verity unclasped the necklace from her neck, and handed it to him on the roof, there. Then she unpulled the ribbons and clasps at her waist and let the gown fall to the tiles at her feet, and stood there naked but for her drawers. Armiger stared. She bundled up the gown and shoved it at his chest. He grasped it awkwardly, and stared somewhere off to the left of her head, not quite knowing where to look.

"There. It's off." Verity tossed her head, and clutched her arms around her in the cold. "We must go inside now, though, or I shall catch my death of cold."

"Yes, let's get indoors, I'll find something for you to wear." Armiger's voice was higher than normal. Verity led the way across the tiles, trying not to think of his eyes swallowing the appearance of her naked back, her unshifted and uncorseted waist and bust, and most embarrassingly of all, her own drawers, patched, and faded, and old. She jumped hastily back down in the room, and Armiger followed, the gown still wrapped in his arms.

"I'll find something for you to wear." His voice was back to normal. "Come with me."

Down in the dark house, it was obvious the servants had left already. Armiger and Verity went in silence to his room, down the hall from hers and much larger. Embers slumbered in the grate, and the bed was luxuriously draped in thick green covers, and curtained in green gauze. Armiger laid the dress carefully over a chair, smoothing it out, and put the topaz necklace on top. Verity hovered in the doorway, unwilling to enter.

"I'll find something for you to wear." Armiger's gaze upon her now was bold and unconstrained. He seemed not to notice her nakedness. Verity shivered.

He hunted through a closet in the back of the room, and returned with a bulky black velvet dressing gown. "It's mine, I'm afraid, and too big for you, but it will do."

When she took it from him, he did not quite let it go, and somehow his hands found hers through the fabric. She met his gaze, too afraid not to, somehow.

Armiger was leaning towards her, his hand upon her bare arm, dangerously close to her naked breasts. He ran his hand slowly up her arm to her shoulder, and played with a tendril of hair, come loose from the pins. His head tilted closer to her. She felt his breath upon her cheek.

"Mr Armiger," Verity blurted, "there is something I must say, now. You promised to spare my father's debt if I passed the night with you, and I shall, but I will not sleep with you, or kiss you. The terms of your agreement were not so specific as to that. If they were, I should never have come here tonight. You must have known that."

Armiger stiffened, his touch suddenly cold. He let go, and she was left clutching the gown. For a moment, neither spoke, and then, hurriedly, Verity bundled herself into the gown, fighting the arms, which eluded her, and pulled it close around herself. Armiger was looking at her with a strange, painful expression on his face.

"You do realize that regardless of whether you do, or don't, the people of your village, your father and his acquaintances, they will hear of this, and think that you have?"

"They shall think, and I shall know." Verity felt hollow inside. Her reputation she could sacrifice — it had never meant much to her to begin with — but she still did not like the thought that people would think of her as a common slut. In her heart, she had always tried to be the lady her mother was, and the lady she should have been. She might dress in rags, and she might spend her days serving a drunken, ruined cardsharp, but class came from the body and soul, not its trappings.

"I think I will go to bed now," Armiger said quietly, the indescribable emotion still etched on his face. "If you don't mind, the room Mrs Roper was in shall work for you. She, too, has left the manor tonight."

"Yes, Sir."

"The servants are gone, but I'm just down the hall if you need anything." Mr Armiger hesitated, and then put his hand on the door, to shut it. "Good night, Verity. You are a very strange woman."

Strange was not quite the word, Verity thought irritably, as she collapsed into bed. She did not know quite why she had thrown off the gown so boldly, and now, somehow, she did not know why she felt no shame at all for that, but she was not happy with Mr Armiger, or her father, and most of all she was not happy with herself.

*   *   *

Neil Armiger awoke slowly, just before dawn, to see a figure standing in his bedroom window, awkwardly wrapped in his dressing gown, too big for her.

"I'm coming, to see in the dawn with you," she said quietly, "as I promised."

He said nothing, but watched as she went to the window, to gaze out upon the lightening world, noting the way the dim light played upon her hair and face, and finding a strange sickness deep within him. She was truly beautiful, the masses of dark curls, like burned copper, the slim, muscular wrists, hands clutched against her white throat, and those large, sea-green eyes under their black, heavy lashes. She moved slightly, the light creeping in through the window and illuminating her cheek, and she looked to Neil like the visions of the Virgin Mary he had seen in the cathedrals in Italy, like an angel.

He felt ill with the pleasure of looking at her. Ill, too, with the knowledge that he had tried to make this angel a whore. Through blackmail, like a common rake. In punishing the man her father was, he had become such a man. And she had known, and come anyway, and calmly outlined his sins, as though she expected no better from mankind. Shame settled deep into his soul.

"Your duty is over. Your father's debts forgiven. Please, Miss Baker, leave my house."

"The sun is not quite - "

"Please, leave."

She glared at him coldly, those large eyes hard in anger, suddenly more like a statue than an angel, tossed her head, and stalked from the room. At the door she turned.

"I may be a strange woman, but you, Sir, are an abomination of a man."

The bitterness in her voice stung his soul. He waited until he heard the front door slam in the distance, and then buried his face in his pillow to groan.