Maybe it was this place, this strange, ramshackle, warm-hearted place, that had given his wife that air of laughing, welcoming life. Because here she bloomed. With him she had faded and he had faded with her. Yet here she was, his Jane again. His hope. And he had never, ever wanted to hope again.

Bea did not want a new mother. She'd hardly even seen the one she once had, except for glimpses out the window when her mother was climbing into a carriage to go off to a party. She'd been as beautiful as an angel, all sparkling and laughing in her lovely gowns, but not much use.

He laughed and it sounded startled and a bit rusty, as if he didn't do that very often.

I could only see you. I only wanted to be with you. But marriage is never just two people, is it? It's so much more.