It was a good fifty-mile drive. They stopped three times to exchange horses on both the coaches. Twice they stopped to eat, use the necessary, and get warm by an inn fire. They had docked just after dawn. When they arrived in London it was already dark, and Aurora was still cold and exhausted. Cally had chattered almost the entire way. She babbled about society, and fashion, and the latest gossip.

"The king is to be married this year," she said.

"The king to wed? He's too old," George said.

"Ohhh! You don't know, do you? Well," she answered her own question, "how could you. The old king died in late October. We have a nice new king, and he's going to marry some German princess, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. He's very handsome, the king." She giggled. "Dull, but handsome. Do you know how the old king died?" She lowered her voice. "He was on his commode!" And she giggled wildly again. "His commode! Of course they hushed it up so the common people would not hear and make a mockery of it, but naturally they did. All of Europe knows that old King George died sitting on his commode!"

"How mean-spirited of you, Cally," Aurora chided her stepsister.

"Oh, Aurora!" came the protest. "You are so serious. You must become gayer, or you will never succeed in finding a husband for yourself. Men in polite society do not like bluestockings."

After what seemed an interminable time, the coach pulled up in front of Farminster House. Servants ran from the mansion to lower the coach's steps, open the door, and help the occupants out. Aurora sighed with gratitude as they entered the warm house. Behind her she could hear her stepsister giving orders to the servants about the baggage.

"Welcome to England, Miss Spencer-Kimberly," she heard a voice say.

Looking up as she drew her gloves off, she saw the duke descending the stairs. "Thank you, your grace," she responded politely.

He took her two cold hands in his warm ones and replied, "I thought we had agreed all those long months ago that you would call me Valerian, Aurora. Lord, you are frozen, I fear. Come into the drawing room, and I will have tea brought. My grandmother has come up from Hawkes Hill with me to greet you. She is waiting for you."

Ascending the staircase, they entered a magnificent drawing room with a gilded ornamental frieze around its paneled ceiling. The carpets were thick and colorful. The walls were hung with fine portraits, and the mahogany furniture, unlike that in the Indies, was upholstered richly. Heavy velvet draperies hung from the windows, and in a huge fireplace flanked by great stone lions a great warm blaze burned. By the fire sat an elderly lady with snow-white hair. She arose to greet them.

"Grandmama, this is Miss Aurora Spencer-Kimberly," the duke said. "Aurora, this is my grandmama, the Dowager Duchess of Farminster."

Aurora curtsied prettily. "How do you do, ma'am," she said.

Mary Rose Hawkesworth looked sharply at Aurora. Why was the girl's face familiar? She looked nothing like that foolish Calandra. "How do you do, Miss Spencer-Kimberly," she answered the girl. Then, seeing Aurora shiver, she said, "Come by the fire, my dear. You are, of course, not used to our English weather."

"I fear not, ma'am, although Captain Conway assures me that my blood will thicken, and then I shall not feel the cold as deeply."

The dowager chuckled, and led the girl to a seat by the fire. Her grandson pulled the bell cord on the wall, and when a servant replied sent the fellow for hot tea. Out in the foyer Cally could be heard laughing, and then she called for her stepsister.

"We are in the east drawing room," the duke responded.

Cally burst into the room, George and Lord Trahern in her wake. "Hawkesworth!" she said, surprised. "What brings you in from the country?" Then her eye spied the dowager. "Oh! Grandmama has come too. Good evening to you, ma'am." She offered the dowager a scant curtsy.

"Calandra" came the frosty reply.

"We did not expect you, Hawkesworth," Calandra said.

"Obviously not, my dear," he answered her. "Good evening, Trahern." Then he turned and said, "Welcome to England, George." The brothers-in-law shook hands. "Come now, and meet my grandmother."

There was something terribly wrong between Cally and her husband, Aurora thought. They were civil to each other-barely-but there was a coolness between them. For some reason, she felt sorrier for the duke than for her stepsister. The young woman chattering brightly in this room was not the sister she remembered. She could tell from just looking at George that he felt the same way. The butler arrived bearing a large silver tray upon which was a teapot, tea saucers, and a plate upon which were delicate triangles of buttered bread and thin slices of fruitcake.

"Tea? Ohhh,no, no, no, no, no!" Cally trilled. "We would celebrate my brother and stepsister's arrival with champagne! Bring some up from the cellars!" she ordered the butler.

"Cally, I am so cold," Aurora told her. "I want tea!"

"Oh, very well, but the rest of us shall have champagne!" Cally declared. "Aurora, I hope your attitude stems from exhaustion, and that you are not going to prove to be a dull guest."

"It was not my understanding that George and I had come to provide entertainment for you, Cally," Aurora snapped.

"Good for you, girl!" the old dowager said softly.

"Trahern," the duke said suddenly. "I thank you for accompanying my wife to Dover, but I would assume that you have an engagement elsewhere this evening. We will excuse you."

Charles, Lord Trahern, bowed to the Duke of Farminster, a small sardonic smile upon his mouth. "Good evening to you, then, your grace," he said, bowing. Then he left the room.

"I did not want him to go!" Cally said angrily, stamping her foot.

"He overstayed his welcome" came the response from her husband.

"You are always spoiling my fun!" Cally whined. "And now you have given me the headache. I am going to bed, Hawkesworth, and I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone."

"Of course, my dear," the duke said smoothly, and he bowed to her. "Shall I escort you to your room?"

"No!" Cally said sharply, and she departed the drawing room.

There was a long silence. George Spencer-Kimberly looked exceedingly uncomfortable. The dowager looked annoyed. There was a look on Valerian Hawkesworth's face that Aurora could not fathom. She said, "What has happened to my stepsister? I do not know her any longer."

"She has, I am afraid," said the dowager, "been seduced by society. I have seen it happen before with these young girls." She poured a generous dollop of fragrant tea into a deep saucer and handed it to Aurora. "It is worse with Calandra, for she had no contact with real society before she came to England. She tells me she lived on St. Timothy her entire life, and never even visited Barbados. Why on earth did her father not at least take her to Barbados?"

"I believe our father did not quite see Cally and me as growing up into young women," Aurora said quietly. She took a sip of her tea. It was hot and satisfying. She took another sip, and then set the saucer down upon a small table. "We did not even know of this marriage arrangement Papa had made until we received your letter, ma'am. Only then did my brother, George, open Papa's strongbox, and we found the betrothal agreement. Had Valerian just arrived without prior warning on your part, we should have been even more surprised than we were."

The dowager nodded. "My late husband and your father were obviously cut from the same cloth," she said. "No need to trouble the ladies until we must, my James used to say." She shook her head. "As if women cannot manage on their own. Well, we can, but I suppose to keep them happy, we must pretend we cannot." She peered at Aurora. "You look a far more sensible miss than your sister, child. Are you?"

"We are different, ma'am, I will admit, but we are sisters, and do love each other. Cally calls me a bluestocking. If loving learning makes me such a creature, then I suppose I am."

"And are you as eager to make your mark on society as is your sister?" the dowager asked Aurora.

"I think I am a trifle afraid of society" was the reply. "From the little I have seen of England so far, it is most overwhelming. The drive from Dover was interesting, but once we reached the city I found myself becoming a trifle uncomfortable. I suppose it is because I am not used to so many people, and so many buildings. I believe I shall prefer Hawkes Hill," Aurora concluded.

"I've lived in England my entire life," the dowager woman replied, "and I, too, prefer Hawkes Hill." She smiled, but her eyes were again scanning Aurora's face. Why did the girl look so familiar? "Valerian!" she called to her grandson. "Bring Mr. Spencer-Kimberly over here so I may get a better look at him."

The duke complied with her request, flashing a quick grin at his companion. "Now you're in for it," he said low.

The dowager looked the young man over carefully. Medium brown hair. Hazel eyes. A stocky build. Of average height. There was nothing in particular to distinguish him, but he did wear his clothes well, and he had a pleasant countenance if only average features. "I believe," she said, "that we can find a most suitable wife for you, Mr. Spencer-Kimberly. Not here in London, of course. Too many flibbertigibbets and fortune hunters. But down at Hawkes Hill. A good, sensible country girl who will be a good breeder even in the heat of the Indies."

"I would be most grateful for your guidance, your grace," George replied sincerely, a friendly twinkle in his eye.

"Harrumph, and pretty manners to boot." The dowager chuckled. "You are certainly a different cut from my grandaughter-in-law, I must say. I am amazed the same woman raised you. It must be in the blood." She rose to her feet. "I am going to show Miss Aurora to her bedroom, Valerian, The child is about to fall asleep on her feet, and has had a long day. Come, girl, we will leave the gentlemen to their own devices." She exited the drawing room with Aurora stumbling sleepily in her wake.

The butler came to clear away the tea things.

"Bring whiskey," the duke ordered him.

When they were finally settled by the fire, heavy crystal glasses in their hands, George looked directly at his brother-in-law and said, "What is the matter between you and Cally, Valerian? I've never seen her behave as she behaved today, and it is obvious that something is wrong from the way you treat each other."

For a moment Valerian Hawkesworth considered telling his companion that whatever the problem was, it was not George's concern, but then he said, "It was a mistake to marry a girl I did not know. It is my fault. Had I remained on St. Timothy for some months instead of being so eager to return to England for the racing season, I should have discovered that your sister is still more of a child than a woman. She would not permit me to consummate our marriage until we had reached England. She feared, she said, in such close quarters as we had aboard the ship that the other passengers might hear us. I acquiesced reluctantly. However, Calandra does not like the act as she so coldly refers to it, yet I swear to you that I am not a cruel or thoughtless lover. She hates being down in the country, and fled to London without my permission three months ago. I thought if I left her here until you and Aurora arrived that perhaps she would get this passion for constant amusement out of her system, but I fear she has not. Her dressmaker's bills are outrageous. She commissioned a new coach to be built for her. Its interior is completely lined in scarlet velvet, and has crystal accoutrements. She went to Tattersall's and purchased two snow-white and two pure black horses to pull the damned thing. Do you know how much that cost me, George? And I would be more than willing to indulge her if she were willing to do her duty by Farminster and give me an heir, but she will not! I would not shock you, nor would I appear indelicate, but on the few occasions that I have managed to make love to Calandra-and believe me, George, it is no more than a dozen times in all the months we have been married-your sister lays silent, her head turned away from me as if she cannot bear to look at her husband. It is not easy to rouse one's passions with such a cold wife. Frankly, I prefer not to, but what choice have I? She is my wife."