Aliya came back to her villa in Penrose Lane utterly stunned and baffled.

Oliver did not explain why he wanted to marry her. He did not even ask that she give him an answer that very night. He gave her a quick kiss, turned her around, and told her to think of an answer. He walked her to her stagecoach and watched it drive away.

As she took off her pelisse, her brows were fused, and Fatima found her in the same state moments later.

Her maid helped her into her nightdress before asking where she came to.

"Sinclair," she replied in a daze, her mind still on Oliver's face, his voice clear as he said, "Marry me."

"To Dr. St. Vincent? But why? Did you hurt your arm?"

Shaking her head, Aliya sat on her bed. She looked at Fatima. "Dr. St. Vincent is someone I know from my past—before Belcourt."

Fatima blinked her grey eyes in astonishment. "He is?"

Aliya nodded. "We were on a cruise together, the last I took before the night of the Gambler."

"Then he knows who your father is?"

"Yes, and apparently, he does not care."

"I do not understand."

Aliya met Fatima's eyes. "Fatima, Oliver St. Vincent just asked me to marry him."

Her maid's hands flew to her mouth, grey eyes wide.

Aliya scoffed. "That boorish man just asked me to marry him."

Fatima was suddenly kneeling before her. "My lady, surely you are not considering him. Carrie said he is an obnoxious man!"

"No, he is not—Fatima, he is not."

The woman blinked at her with confusion. Then she read the unspoken truth behind Aliya's gaze and she gasped. "You fancy him! Oh, my Lord! You fancy—"

Aliya muffled Fatima's words with her hand. "Hush!"

Fatima nodded and Aliya withdrew her hand. "But, my lady, supposing you agree to marry him, that cannot be done. He is not a gentleman and he cannot—" Her maid paused, realizing the same thing Aliya had been thinking. "Unless you pay for your dowry using your money and set yourself free." Finally, Fatima understood Aliya's plan. "Oh, my lady! We can be saved after all! Mason! Delaney! If you marry the doctor, he can help you with Delaney. And you can—oh, it will be perfect!" Fatima hissed.

"If I decide to marry him," Aliya pointed out.

"But was I mistaken when I thought you fancy him?"

"I do, but how can I willingly pull him into our problems, Fatima? He is innocent. If Belcourt finds out, he will also have to pay for our sins. I do not think I can carry that in my conscience. All he wants is to help me get out of Belcourt. He does not know about Delaney and Mason. He does not know that I will have to give Belcourt a Vow, and that same Vow could ruin everything for us in the future. I know it did for previous Belles."

"Then you are going to say no?"

"No!" she snapped. "Well, yes, of course, I have to say no. I mean... I do not know. He is the perfect solution to all of this. And—"

"And you want to marry him."

She scoffed with incredulity because Fatima was correct. And it was incredulous! Her, Aliya Guideville, a prime Belle, wished to marry a man she barely knew simply because he was a good kisser and he could make her laugh.

Burying her face in her hands, she moaned. "Oh, Fatima, he is a very nice man. I remembered doing nothing but laugh when we met on that cruise."

Fatima reached for her hands and peeled them off her face. Peering, the woman said, "Tell me about it—the cruise. You never mentioned it."

She sighed, turning her face to look at the wall across her bed. "He was a very lanky boy then. He was on the cruise with his uncle. On the first night of the voyage, I slipped out of our cabin to go to the deck. I wanted to see what the ocean was like during the night. He was also there and told me the ocean was a disappointing sight. He was sixteen, but he acted like a child. We talked for hours and decided to meet the next day to explore the ship. We did and we were inseparable. His uncle found two caged monkeys below the deck where they hold the ship's cargo. The crazy man set them free and let us play with the monkeys. Every day, we would go there. At night, we would take the monkeys out. On our last day, the monkeys caused havoc. You should have seen the face of the people there as they ran up and down the deck in panic. Ollie and I—I called him Ollie and only knew him as Ollie—were laughing so hard. My father found out we were responsible for the commotion and prohibited me from seeing Ollie again. He promised to write me a letter once he reached Coulway with his uncle where he planned to study medicine. For days and months, I waited for his letter. It never came." She paused, her smile fading. "And the night of the Gambler happened."

Fatima was smiling broadly when she finished. "You must have had an amazing journey, my lady."

"It was amongst my favorite memories. It is a wonder I did not recognize him, really."

"He grew up. Both of you did."

She sighed. "Yes, I guess we did."

Fatima covered her hand with hers. "Whatever you decide, my lady, I will support it. You have always made the right decisions, even the most difficult ones. You protected me and hid my pregnancy from Belcourt and I will forever be in your debt. Whatever you decide, know that you are not alone."

Aliya nodded and kissed Fatima's forehead. "Thank you, Fatima. We are a family, you know that."

Moments later, Aliya lay in her bed wide awake.

She was desperate, but was she desperate enough to involve St. Vincent?

*****

The very next week, Oliver received a missive from Aliya.

He looked out the window and frowned.

The snow was raging outside and she wanted to meet at the café?

He was starting to believe that the only time she thought of him was during a catastrophe. He crumpled the note and threw it in the fire.

Half an hour later, he burst into the café almost completely covered in snow, a giant snowman walking into a warm room filled with proper ladies.

His eyes scanned the café and he cursed under his breath. He never understood why these women would wear hats when there was a roof over their heads.

Scouring through a flurry of feathered hats, Oliver found her in a quiet corner beside a window, sipping her tea, wearing a hat with ribbons and white feathers. She was looking at him over the cup's rim. Their gaze met and he smiled, and at that moment, he realized he knew why the women wore the hats.

He walked toward her, murmuring apologies as his cold and damp cloak brushed through sleeves, hats, and gloved elbows.

"Do not shout my name," she warned when he opened his mouth. Taking off his cloak, he grinned and sat across from her.

"Ali," he greeted in a melodic tone, enjoying the look of annoyance flash in her eyes. His laughter rumbled in his chest. As he peeled off his leather gloves, he realized that the attention of nearly half of the people in the room was on them, and he smiled when Aliya seemed unperturbed by it.

"This is not the best weather to invite me to tea, you must know," he pointed out after he gave his order to the server. She did not say a word and he sighed. "Very well, we can talk about the weather later as I am certain we will be trapped here for quite some time."

She frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

He motioned his head to the windows. "A blizzard has just started."

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh, no."

He dramatically sighed. "Too bad, I did not bring my carriage."

"My maids think I am in Maple Row. I came all the way here on foot."

He looked around them. One by one the guests were taking their leave. Carriages started to line outside the café.

They watched as one lady opened the door and yelped when the strong wind from outside rushed in. More shouting from the other guests followed as they clamored outside where footmen strained their necks to find their mistresses.

Oliver sighed. "I am afraid my butler will not lift a finger. He is used to me going home in the wee hours."

When he turned to face her again, she was smiling. "I believe we are trapped here, St. Vincent."

He feigned a frustrated groan. "Ah, blazes. Whatever should I do now? This will be a boring night."

His tea arrived, and so did the other carriages that took the remaining three ladies in the café.

He watched Aliya take off her hat.

"Why do you have to wear your hats inside a bloody building?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Perhaps I am not the right person to ask. You should blame the women in London. They started the fashion."

"Fair point," he retorted, sipping his tea. "For someone who hates the sight of dead animals, you wear their feathers on your hats."

She groaned. "Do you have to say such improper things?"

"I made a rather good point."

"You did, but it was... mind not," she said with a sigh. "I will never wear my hats the same way again."

"The animals owe you their feathers then."

She quietly chuckled.

A quiet stillness passed and they just sat there looking at each other, a small smile on their lips.

"Gregory Cook," she said with a smile and he laughed.

"Oh, good God," he said in between laughter. "You barely remembered me, yet you remember the bloody monkey's full name."

"Gregory Cook was a very—very—good monkey."

"It did manage to wreck a luncheon party, of course, it was a very good monkey!"

Her laughter echoed in the empty room. "Although I cannot remember the name of the other one."

"We never got the chance to give it one," he said, shaking his head. "I wonder where they are now."

"I truly hope they managed to escape. Did you not hear?"

"About what?"

"While we were disembarking, the crew were still looking for them. I thought you set them free!"

"No, I did not..." his eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. "But I do recall Uncle Carl wearing the most wicked smile as he rushed us away from the ship."

Aliya chortled and it was the same one he remembered. "Uncle Carl was the best, would you not agree?"

"He was." He looked to the window, at the waves of snow outside. "He was..."

They watched as the servers gracefully cleaned the other tables, both of them lost in their thoughts.

Finally, she caught his gaze. "Why do you want to marry me?"

Oliver shrugged. "I can list down numerous reasons, Ali." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you find my condition odd?"

She shook her head. "I find it... premature."

"You want a longer courtship?" he asked.

She scoffed. "More stalking?"

"I am very efficient."

"No, thank you," she said, taking a lungful of breath. "Do you not realize how rash a marriage between us will look like?"

"Thousands of couples get married without even having a second meeting, Ali. I even know one man who met his wife on the day of the wedding."

She smiled. "I know."

"So why would you think it rash?"

It was her turn to shrug. "People will think you made a mistake by taking a lady from Belcourt for a wife. It will not be the marriage that will be seen as rash, but rather your decision to marry someone from Belcourt."

"You are Ali—my Ali. I care not if you are from Belcourt. I met you before you came to Belcourt. We can always tell them we have been on courtship for fourteen years."

She shook her head.

"I want you out of Belcourt, Ali. I care not if I have become your mission, or if you are manipulating me." He lifted his finger to stop her protest. "I just want you out of there."

"Why?" she asked, her curiosity genuinely painted on her face. "Am I your mission as well?"

She did not look suspicious despite the allusion of her statement that he may be part of the Circus. She was a Belle and they must have been given warning that any man they encountered could be a Royal.

Since it was not the perfect time to admit anything, Oliver simply had to rely on his charms so he said, "Believe whatever you want, Ali, but whoever I am, and whatever I do, you are my personal mission. You do not deserve to be there." And because my conscience will not allow it.