Free Ember Island by Kimberley Freeman

reluctantly left the library behind, and he took her up one more flight of stairs to the bedrooms.
    “Through here,” he said, opening a white door on a small but comfortably furnished room with a view out to the water. She could see masts in the distance, the gray churning sea. “This is your room.”
    “My room?” she asked. “Or do you mean . . . our room?”
    He smiled. His eyes shifted almost imperceptibly sideways. “I have a room too. But of course, we are . . . husband and wife, and . . . we will . . .” He cleared his throat. Straightened his back. “It is not proper to discuss these things, Tilly. As your husband, I will lead the way, when the time is right.”
    Tilly’s cheeks burned. She was speechless with embarrassment, concerned that Jasper now thought her a woman of scandalous appetites. She made a promise to herself not to make the same mistake twice. What did she know about married life? Perhaps all couples who lived in grand houses had separate chambers.
    Jasper laid her trunk carefully on the bed. “I will bring your other trunk up shortly. I had a manservant, but I’ve had to put him off until our finances improve. I’ve put off nearly everyone.” He frowned, ran his hand through his hair. “I know it’s not what you expected,” he said again.
    He couldn’t meet her eye and she ached for his shame and distress. So she went to him, careful not to take his hand or try to hold him again, so he could form a better opinion of her ability to contain her physical desires.
    “I expected, Jasper, to find here my husband and start mymarried life. I vowed to be with you for richer and for poorer. We will be fine. A few days before Grandpa died, he sent over a trunk of goods from his home. Valuable goods. We can use them to replace what you have lost.”
    “Or sell them?” he asked hopefully. “To pay debts?”
    Something about his desperate tone sent a niggle of alarm through her blood. “Of course. They are ours to do as we please.” She opened her mouth to tell him about the banknotes, but then stopped herself. “Whatever problems we have, we will face them together.”
    He was much brighter now, more like the sure-eyed, confident Jasper she had married. Tilly felt glad that she had been able to cheer him. “My Tilly. My wife.” He kissed her cheek lightly. “I’ll go and fetch your other trunk.”
    And he was gone.
    Tilly went to the window. The pane was slightly warped, distorting the view. Outside the wind was wild in the trees, but in here she was warm and safe. She smiled. This would be her new home and it wasn’t as fine as she’d thought it might be, but then Tilly wasn’t a woman who cared overly for fine things. There would be time and comfort here for her to grieve her grandfather, and one day there would be children and bright laughter in the dim corridors of the house.
    She turned, flipped open her trunk, and found the cigar box. If he needed it, if he really needed it . . .
    But no. That would be contrary to Grandpa’s wishes, and her memories of him were still sharp enough that she couldn’t bear to contradict him. Perhaps what was in the trunk would be enough. She glanced around the room, found the tall wardrobe next to the door, and opened it. Slid the cigar box back as far as she could reach on the highest shelf, then placed her bonnet in front of it forgood measure. Then she sat on the bed—hands folded—to await the return of her living, breathing husband.
    •
     
    Because they were conserving every penny, there were no lamps lit down the stairs to lead her way to the dining room that evening. Jasper had warned her, before going out for what he promised was no more than an hour’s business, to make sure she lit a candle before coming down so she didn’t trip on the stairs. So when the supper bell rang, Tilly took the candle she’d been reading by in her room and made her way carefully downstairs.
    She arrived to find Jasper pacing, hands