I shed a tear as Mason inched us back toward the shore.

"Don't panic," he begged, now well aware of my condition. "Please, don't panic. Just look at me. Don't look down."

But we weren't close enough. And sure, he was able to perhaps skate for his life in the event that these fissures separated, but I was as good as dead.

The world went black and he yelled, "What is happening with your eyes! Hey! Look at me. Look at me. Look here."

He zipped back into focus. Each time we shifted, the ice made a creak.

"Hey, talk to me. Tell me a story or something. But talk. We're almost there."

My body trembled and I fought to breathe.

"All right. You're in no condition to. How about I tell you one instead?"

Perhaps he said something, I didn't hear, only the chuckle when he was done. It wasn't working. Though he pulled me, I felt as if I was falling back.

One name brought me to reality.

"Her name was Angelique," he said again.

When I blinked at him, his face was red but he had my attention.

One look at the ice to see the cracks everywhere now, and he shouted, "And I met her at a party."

I focused on him rather than the imminent death below, despite the very vivid imaginings of the ice splitting apart, dragging us down into cold water.

"And I started dancing with her. I thought I was in love. I started to court her. I'd just turned eighteen, this was a year before you came. And one day, her parents invited me to her home."

He hesitated and my mind returned to the ice. When I looked down, my hands started to shake.

"So, so I thought, foolishly, that this was it—she was signaling for a proposal. Therefore, I told my parents and all of us piled into the carriage and went there."

For a long moment, he said nothing. We weren't picking up speed. I dared not imagine what he saw from where we'd first noticed the cracks.

"Don't look down," he begged.

I couldn't help it.

When I made the attempt, he yelled, "I left that house with a black eye."

I picked my head up. "What? Why? From whom?"

He swallowed hard then changed the subject. "Hey. How about, how about you tell me about—about your sister? You said she was a great singer. Do you sing, too?"

When I opened my mouth to answer, only a sound came out.

We were slow moving still but we were in motion.

"Well, that's all right." Mason tried to chuckle but it died in the back of his throat. "What about that awful play you wanted to see?"

This made me take note. "It is not awful. It is a masterpiece."

For some reason, he smiled. I felt cross at seeing it.

"It is well-written and anyone who is absolutely anyone must see it!"

"Fine. Good." Mason gained speed; perhaps he didn't think I noticed.

Still hunched over with him holding my hands, I slid along.

"Well, why haven't you seen it yet?"

The fact that he had to ask showed his ignorance.

"Well, I'll take you."

I gripped his hand and he slowed.

"We—this is no time for a fight," he warned.

"Why do you assume I'm looking for a fight?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at the ice then at me and said, "I think it's best if you go without me. You weigh less."

All my anger faded and turned to fear yet again. 'What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "It's not far—"

"Then you can come, too."

"It's not far and it's easier if I can move without worrying about you."

"Then stop worrying about me and move."

He swung me around and set me off but my legs gave out and I slid to a stop.

"No, no, no. Get up."

Body shaking, my vision blurred and returned again and again. I managed to look back to see him storming my way.

"You must get up," he said. "You're so close."

Everything went black after that.

When reality came back, I was sat in the snow, freezing, something gnawing at my right foot then my left. I was weightless moments later.

A foot kicked the door opened and I realized I was being carried.

"Wake up. Please wake up! Please wake up!"

He flung me down on the settee and charged up the stairs. I couldn't move. The fire still raged, I knew, and yet...I felt nothing.

I slipped from the sofa.

Ten seconds later, I slammed into the snow. It was very hard for snow—it felt more like carpet.

My face stung but I didn't care, I felt actual land, frozen land, but land.

Mason made a terrible ruckus, worse than usual when he stomped down the steps. The noise stopped part way and a single thud sounded. I almost misunderstood the sound to mean he jumped the banister.

"I'll take you up to your room. You must change out of these clothes. Do you hear?"

I didn't like being bossed about but words failed me. I was weightless again and then I was put to stand.

"Wake up." He tapped my face. "Wake up."

I crossed my arms and crouched. "I'm so cold."

"Yes, darling, I know, but—"

"I'm so cold."

Two strong arms held my face. "All right. This is getting us nowhere. Let's just get you to the fire and you can warm up there."

I supposed he picked me up yet again. A time or two, he paused on the stairs to catch his breath.

The fireplace came into view soon after and he sat me down there. Something landed on top of me, then something else. Blankets.

I was too thankful for them to complain.

"You haven't fallen into the water. You should be all right."

Fatigue won out and I could barely keep my head up. A moment later, a wall appeared. A soft wall but it was steady, so I rested my head against it. The wall had hands that wrapped around me.

"Just rest here for a moment. You'll be warm soon."

This was a lovely wall.

But as I shivered, it asked me a strange question. "Have you always gotten panic fits? You started to shake."

Had I always gotten them? What a peculiar question.

I felt warm and safe when I said, "When I was young, my mother hated winter. She said all the awful things in her life happened in winter. But I was born in winter."

"What? When were you born?" I told him and he laughed. "I hadn't known. But what does that have to do with your condition?"

"It's stress. That's all. My mother used to scream whenever I made a mistake. Winter was especially hard for her. One day I simply couldn't breathe. My father said my eyes rolled back and I nearly swallowed my tongue. I don't know if that's true but I do know he was firmer with her to never yell at me."

"That's good."

"So instead, she'd whisper." The memory had me chuckling, but not for amusement. I leaned in close and demonstrated, "Don't make a mistake. Sit up straight before you embarrass us. Don't you realize people are staring? Think of your father's reputation."

The grip around me stiffened.

"The whispering was worse than the yelling. But I no longer shook. Instead, I'd feel queasy. That's why I do things so perfectly, so I'll never have to hear that whisper again."

No words came back to me from that wall. No sound. Nothing but that tight grip. Now and then, something firm stroked my arms but not for long.

"I will take you to your room. But you must change. I do not like how you're shivering. Do you hear?"

Somehow, I came back to my senses to find that I was standing in my bedroom, staring at the door. I'd already changed out of my stockings at least. Heavy footsteps scaled the stairs and a knock came.

"Come down by the fire. Have you changed yet?"

I ignored the muffled voice and instead watched my reddened toes.

I was in my bedroom. Had he carried me? At least now, I was calm and composed. How would it look if anyone came home and I had my barefoot up beside him?

"I am freezing," he shouted, "and I'm not going to that fire until you be reasonable and do the same."

This was one characteristic about him that I did not like—the threats. He could achieve nearly everything he wanted in this house by threatening someone in some way.

To me, a bribe and threat were essentially the same. Bending someone to one's will.

He knew nothing about me if he thought that would work.

I was cold. So cold that I was fearful but I resolved to simply climb into bed.

The day dimmed and then there was silence. A restful sleep eluded me. Slumber came with a shiver. I was warm, however, and that was somewhat nice. In time, that warmth became uncomfortable, making me so hot that I sweat, so I threw the blanket off.

"She's burning up!" a groggy voice called.

The duchess sounded distant when she commanded, "Get everyone out of here."

Lana cried, "She won't die, will she?"

Her mother instead ignored her and told someone, perhaps a maid, "Fetch some water, we have to cool her down."

"But won't that hurt her?" a voice thundered.

"Mason—"

"I'm getting a doctor. None of you know what you're doing."

"Mason, this is no time to—"

A door slammed and all went quiet. I turned over and decided to rest. My body ached.

It was the strangest dream, considering just how groggy everything was. Voices came at me vividly, then faded yet again. Excited chatter turned to panic then calmed a moment later.

Mason's voice closed in. "Are you sure she's even breathing?"

With how abruptly it stopped, maybe someone caught hold of him. I was told once that dreams held meaning. They were messages. But there was hardly even one message in all this confusion.

The duchess ordered Mason out. His voice would fade, another person who I didn't recognize would come, Mason would barge in again.

What exactly should any of this mean?

Try as I might, I could not awaken. Each attempt left me with an ache in my chest. Even breathing hurt. A damp cloth lay on my face often.

The morning my dream finally broke, I opened my eyes to find the curtains drawn. I was dressed for bed, though I did not remember ever changing.

From what I could see of the yard, most of the snow had faded. For that to be possible in one night was an amazing thing. That was why I sat up to get a better look.

"You're awake!" Lana jumped from her little chair and barreled out of the room.

She wasn't the only one there. Slumped over in a chair of his own, Mason snored. Lana's shouts made his eyes fly open.

Worry creased his face as he charged at me and held my forehead. "The fever broke."

He collapsed down in his seat once more, watching me. I couldn't read his expression fully but I could see that something vexed him. So I waited for the shouting. What I received was a pained frown.

The duchess came in next. She sat down on the bed and held my face and forehead.

"Oh, thank goodness."

I scanned the room, waiting for some insight but received a heavy sigh.

"Please, everyone, leave us," she commanded.

Mason moved slower but eventually walked away. It was then that I realized I was still in my nightgown. I dragged the blankets up.

The duchess waited till we were alone to inform me that I'd been feverish for four days.

"We'd thought we'd lost you a time or two." There was no view of the lake from here, so I wondered what she wanted to see once she stood and made her way there. She stared out my window. "So," she drawled, "you and Mason?"

I drew myself up to sit, confused by her words. "Pardon?"

For a long while, the woman could hardly move much less talk. "He ran out of here, collecting three different doctors to see to one patient."

My face warmed as I closed my eyes. I was being a bother.

"Even my husband never afforded me more than two." Her eyes settled on me again finally, "And I nearly died giving birth to Lana."

"Ma'am—"

"I suppose I should have seen it coming sooner. You are an accomplished lady."

"Ma'am!" I said firmer. "You need not accuse me of anything."

"Oh, darling, I wasn't accusing you. I'd welcome you to this family with open arms. You know this."

But that wasn't the tone that was in her voice. She'd made plans and I'd interfered with them. I decided to make some things clear.

"I am not interested in Mason."

She took insult. "And why not? He's a fine man."

"He is," I agreed. "He's good looking, strong, and though he's a brute at times, he has a gentleness to him. He is a good catch. And between you and I, he's more princely than the actual princes."

My words confused her because she whispered, "Then why do you say you do not want him?"

I hesitated but there was no need for that. She knew this game, and I knew it and we both had our roles to fulfill.

"Your family's status isn't high enough for someone like me."

Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked. "I beg your pardon—"

"I come from a very troubled estate, a troubled past. Someone like me will hurt any household I marry into. I'd either need to marry low so that it barely has an effect or marry incredibly high to offset those shortcomings. Simply put, ma'am, your status isn't enough."

The frown on her face said she still took offense but she calmed in time and asked, "And love?"

I narrowed my brow. "What about it?"

"Don't—don't you seek love?"

My scoff died in the back of my throat. "Do you think someone like me can find love?"

Her eyes drifted downward when she shook her head. "I doubt you'd even recognize it."

"That may be true as well. But no, love is not my concern. I may never find love at my age, but my mother found it later on so I won't chase it down. If it's meant for me, it's meant for me. For now, my focus is elsewhere. But we must speak of your son. I think his interest in me means he's ready to settle down. This might be the chance you've waited for."

She rotated her head toward me at first, then her body.

"Are you saying you have no interest in my son?"

There was no reason to repeat it, so I stared her down.

"Do you know why he's fixated on you?"

I didn't.

"You make his coffee—"

"As per my job."

"You mend his clothes. You buy his favorite author's books immediately upon its release. You tie his tie, shine his shoes, anticipate his outfit. You even know his favorite meals, something that I'd thought I'd known before you'd come and on one occasion you even straightened his hair in my presence."

I wasn't sure where she was going with this. "As is my job."

"That is not your job. Your job is to focus your interest solely on my daughter!"

I blinked at her.

"We have a maid for the coffee, and the buttons and all in between. He's even stopped buying clothes, he simply relegates all that to you instead."

In the last two years, I'd done a lot of chores without prompting. More than once, I had to stop myself from cleaning but I had cleaned Mason's desk a time or two whenever I passed by and saw it untidy. This woman may have seen this as some sort of covert operation but rather...it was poverty. From the age of fifteen to sixteen my sister and I had cleaned our new manor day in day out because we could not afford staff.

I'd taken to making and mending all the clothes. Sister did most of the cooking once the cook quit as well. Together, we worked in tandem to keep the house looking presentable. And whenever company was scheduled to come, we'd hire some bodies for the day to mask the fact that the household was literally and solely run by four people, two little girls at the helm.

My habit carried me throughout school and then job to job. I hadn't been let go previously. I'd just noticed when the husbands smiled at me a time or two and the wives became tepid. I took that as a sign it was time to leave, and I had.

Four families later, I came here. They were the only ones with a son my own age. Since when had I started taking care of this nincompoop like some part-time wife?

I was too humiliated to even defend myself. "I...I'm very sorry," I said, "I shall correct my behavior and be more careful going forward."

"I don't want you to be careful," the duchess said, turning to me, "and I don't want you to stop."

My eyes bugged. "Pardon?"

"What I want you to do, is to transfer these traits."

"Transfer? Transfer them to whom?"

She sauntered to the door and opened it to usher someone in.

Once this unknown woman stood before me, Duchess Chamberlain said, "To her. This is Angelique."