Probably refiguring the budget. “I think we can afford a cook-maid,” he said at last, confirming her surmises, “and of course, my man. Can you get by with that?”

She nodded. “Certainly. Especially if I have mostly clothing that does not require help to put on.”

“Which I'm sure you would prefer,” Christopher commented.

He's right, she realized. I always hated my maid Marietta seeing my back and making judgmental comments. Even if I found a maid who kept her own counsel, I would still wonder what she was thinking. “Would it bother you to have me dressing like a governess?” Katerina asked.

Christopher turned, his eyes intense as he looked her up and down. At last,

he shook his head. “Of course not. I know you won't be happy if you're uncomfortable, and in my circles, there are plenty of women who prefer simple,

modest clothing. You wouldn't be alone in that.”

Katerina smiled, but inside her sense of disbelief grew. This is too good to be

true. How can I trust it? Shoving the nervous voice away, she considered the kitchen. “So far this place seems quite good,” she said, changing the subject.

Christopher accepted her dodge with a wry twisting of lips and escorted her

from the room. Across the hall from the kitchen, tucked behind the dining room,

a small box of a room seemed to serve no purpose. Shrugging, Christopher led

her to the staircase at the very back of the building and up steep stairs with a pretty, if slightly threadbare black and red rose runner.

Upstairs were two small bedrooms and one large one. In the attic, two even

smaller bedrooms would suit the yet-to-be hired cook-maid and Christopher's

man of all work. They returned downstairs to the main floor and stood in the hallway. Christopher turned a slow circle. “I think this one will do,” he told her.

“I agree,” she replied, enjoying the coziness of the house. Very little draft seeped in, and even without a fire, the inside felt warm.

“Unfortunately, it's not furnished,” her husband continued.

“We'll work on that,” she replied. “What comes with you from your rooms?”

“Everything, but one can hardly furnish a home with a sofa, two chairs, a table and a bed,” he said.

Katerina heard something of a whine in his voice. Seems my husband does not enjoy shopping. Perhaps I should take the burden from him. How exciting to

pick out furniture for my own home. “True, but it's enough to get started, and we can work on the rest later.” She trailed her fingertips down his arm and grasped

his hand.

“There's only one thing I don't like about this house,” he added.

“What's that?”

“Come on.” He led her to the little room near the kitchen. “What a waste,” he

said, waving at the plain plaster walls.

“Oh, but it's perfect!” she exclaimed.

He gave her a confused look. “It is? What is this room to you, love?”

“It's a music room! What a pity you don't have a pianoforte. It would sit right

there, between the two windows, with red velvet draperies and a painting

above." She whirled around imagining the rest of the space. "Two armchairs to match the draperies, some small tables, and a bookshelf filled with songbooks and sheet music floor to ceiling."

“A music room?” Understanding dawned on Christopher's face. “Of course.

You do need one, don't you? Don't fret for a moment, love. I know just how to

acquire a pianoforte for you. I won't let your music get away from you. But first,

let's secure this place before someone snaps it up.”

“Yes, let's.” Katerina bubbled with excitement over her new home. My home.

Mine and Christopher's. In this house, they would begin forging their marriage.

Hopefully, the shadows of her childhood would fall away. It was such a lovely

house, and she adored it.

The signing of papers and paying of deposits only took a short time. Soon, Christopher escorted his wife down Bond Street, where the shops crowded

closely one upon the other. At their first stop, he bought her a warm winter wrap.

Snuggling gratefully inside the folds of amethyst fabric, she took her husband's

arm and he led her to an auspicious-looking shop called Channing & Company.

Of course, Katerina had heard of them. Not only did they make well-known instruments, but they also published sheet music. All serious musicians knew the

Channing name.

Inside, the room smelled of wood and wax; the comforting aroma of pianos.

A salesman with dignified silver wings in his dark hair approached the couple.

“Hello, sir, madam. How can I help you?”

Katerina looked at the serious man and began to feel nervous. What do I know about buying a piano? Nothing. Anxiety twisted her insides.