I began to get a glimpse of what my future life would be. I should work for the party; I should have to open bazaars and perhaps speak from platforms. It was exciting though a little alarming, but Bevil would be there. I pictured myself flaking witty speeches—Mrs. Menfrey, the wife of the M.P. a pleasant picture of the future began to grow.

“I’m so glad we came here,” Mrs. Syms told me. “It’s more interesting than being in the town. Yea, we were in Plymouth, but there seems to be so much more social life in a place like this. Mind you, it’s strenuous. Poor Dr. Trelarken killed himself with the work. Such a charming man … his daughter too. You knew her, of course.”

“Very slightly.”

“Rather sad. The poor girl was left almost penniless. I hear she went to London or somewhere to be a governess. It’s no life for a girl—and one so beautiful. She was a real beauty. She might marry—but it’s difficult for a girl hi her position. Life can be very difficult in those circumstances … very difficult indeed.”

When we drove away, I said, “She’s a talkative woman.”

“She talked enough for a politician. Actually she ought to be in Parliament herself. A pity they don’t let women in. Perhaps they will one day.”

“They’re very different from the Trelarkens.” I heard the faint, high-pitched note in my voice, and I wondered whether Bevil recognized it, It was a sign of emotion.

He was silent, and I glanced sideways at him to see that he was smiling.

“Poor Jessica,” I went on.

“Bad luck for her,” he agreed.

“I always remember my own governess, Miss James. She was a timid woman who seemed to be in fear of losing her post—timid, that is, except with me, whom she was inclined to bully.”

“It’s no life for a woman in the wrong family.”

“I wonder how Jessica likes it”

He did not answer, and I was afraid that if I pursued the subject further I would be unable to control my feelings and let loose my suspicions and jealousies.

There was no time for brooding. Only three weeks to the wedding! Lady Menfrey had decided to fill the house with guests, who would be mainly friends from London—parliamentary friends who, Bevil hoped, would be my friends, since I was going to be of use to him in his work. There would be local friends too.

William Lister, my father’s old secretary, who now worked in the same capacity for Bevil, was making most of the arrangements. It was pleasant to see him again, and I was delighted to guess that he was happier working with Bevil than he bad been with my father.

Fanny had arrived to look after me. She irritated me by her obviously resigned attitude; it was as though she was facing some unavoidable disaster and was determined to put on as good a face as possible. But this was just a small irritation hi a wonderful existence. I was happy. Bevil was constantly in my company. He had even wanted to come to the dressmaker’s to see me fitted into my dress until his mother indignantly forbade it as unlucky. We discussed our future life, which seemed to be suffused by a rosy light like the dawn, and I was reminded of that time when I had run away and awakened after a fearful night to see Menfreya in the morning.

I was fanciful. I was happy. I was going to surprise him by the manner in which I would help him. I read politics, and Bevil was first amused, then impressed, when I could discuss-Free Trade and Protection with nun.

I was glad enough to leave to him the disposal of the London house. He said that William Lister would deal with all that while we were away on our honeymoon. My father had collected some valuable pieces of furniture, and Lister, who was an expert on such things, would see that anything of value was brought down to Menfreya, where there was plenty of room to house it The rest could be sold.

We were going to the South of France—to a little town in the mountains from which we should be able to look down on the Riviera, He had been there before, and it was ideal for a honeymoon. Moreover the weather at this time of the year would be perfect.

The wedding was almost on us, and when I could rid myself of a slight uneasiness I was completely happy. I kept thinking of Gwennan, who had run away, and I was terrified that something would happen to prevent my marriage. Then I thought of all the women whom Bevil had loved, and I wondered how different his feeling for me was from what he had felt for the others. He assured me that it was, and with such sincerity that I believed him; but I was beginning to know Bevil very well indeed. When he desired something he did so with such enthusiasm that he believed he desired it more than anything else in the world. But one desire passed, and there was another to replace it. Deep down in my heart I knew that happiness was not a prize on the mountaintop which, when you had reached it, was yours forever. Happiness was a prize, but it was only yours for a brief moment and guarding it was as difficult as attaining it in the first place. Happiness came in moments. Elusive. Unpredictable. It came when Devil’s eyes opened wide in appreciation of some bright remark, when he turned to me in a sudden realization of the bond between us, when he said from the heart, “I love you, Harriet Delvaney. There’s no one quite like you,” He used my surname often in moments of emotion; I suspected, because he did not want to betray the depth of his feelings. He, who was accustomed to quick desires, violent and irresistible while they lasted, was a little surprised that love could walk side by side with passion. At least that was what I liked to believe.

Our wedding day arrived. It was the beginning of September. I awoke early and looked across the sea to the house on the island. The sea was tinged with pink as it had been on that other morning and the rosy glow was on the house.

Since Sir Endelion was a sort of guardian, as my father had made him an executor of his will, he would give me away. The bride given away by the bridegroom’s father! That had surely happened rarely, and the best man was Harry Leveret, who was to have married Gwennan. An odd choice, but Harry himself had suggested it. It might be that he wanted the world to know that he no longer cared for the girl who had treated him so badly.

There was I hi white satin and the flowing Menfreya veil and my orange blossom. They all declared that I looked lovely, and for once I almost believed I did.

I looked at my reflection in the glass. “Don’t worry, Fanny. I’m going to be lucky. I’ve made up my mind about that.”

“You’re tempting Providence.”

“Don’t be such an old ghoul, Fanny. You didn’t want me to become a Menfrey, did you? Well, I’m going to be one, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“No,” she said, “there’s nothing I see to do.”

“Now I know what they mean by a skeleton at the feast.”

Lady Menfrey was coming into the room. “How are you getting on, dear? Oh, but you look lovely! Doesn’t she. Fanny?” Her eyes filled with tears. She was thinking of the abduction, the seduction and the hasty wedding. Like me, she had been an heiress. If she had not been, there would have been no abduction, no seduction—but perhaps there would. The only certainty was that there would have been no marriage.

“Dear, I think we should be getting along now.”

To the village church with Sir Endelion. “You look lovely, my dear. I’m proud to give you away … This is a happy day for us all.”

Bevil was already there, and his eyes were on me. There were special glances for me alone. A pity we have to go through all this fuss, he meant A simple ceremony would have been so much better … and then away to that little town overlooking the coast, where we can be alone and I can show you that I love you as I never loved anyone before and that, if your stepmother had not died and so released your father’s fortune, I would have married you, Harriet Delvaney … no, Harriet Menfrey, now.

So we walked down the aisle to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” I saw the faces in the pews that watched us … blurred and intent No relations of mine were present Aunt Clarissa had pleaded her inability to leave home at such a time, but I knew the truth was that she could not have borne to see me married when Sylvia and Phyllis had failed to secure husbands.

Out to the carriage and back to Menfreya, Bevil beside me, holding my hand tightly, laughing now and then—a new Bevil, I thought serious, contemplating the future. I was so happy I felt that if I could have had a wish it would have been to prolong that drive for the rest of my life, to sit there in the carriage with Bevil beside me, serious and tender, telling himself—as I was sure he was—that this was the beginning of a new life for nun. He was going to love and cherish me, for better, for worse, as he had vowed to do; it was going to be an end of the life of light adventure. He was going to be the reformed rake who made the best of husbands.

Under the clock which only stopped when a Menfrey was going to die a violent death, into the courtyard where the stones were worn with the wheels of carriages and the hoofs of horses over the centuries.

I had come home—a Menfrey.

Bevil must have been thinking the same for he said, “Well, Harriet Menfrey, we’re home.”

Happy women like happy countries, they say, have no histories; so there is little to report of the first weeks of my honeymoon.

We went first to Paris, where I bought the clothes I had promised myself. An exhausting business, standing before mirrors, listening to cooing compliments in French-English. But I did acquire some charming clothes; and Paris, when one loves and is loved, is one of the most wonderful cities in the world.

The Eiffel Tower, the Bois de Boulogne, the Sacre Coeur and the Latin Quarter—they are all sanctified memories to me still. Bevil beside me, laughing, making me do the talking because I had a better command of the language than he had, for he refused to attempt to discard his English accent. I remember the soft lights of restaurants- and the looks of those who served us who, with true Gallic intuition in such matters, knew that we were lovers. We betrayed it— both of us. That was the joy of it—he as much as L

But our ultimate destination was that little town in the mountains, so we left Paris and made our way south.

The Provencal flower season was over, but how I loved the country with its magnificent mountain scenery and its glorious coast! I was immediately enchanted by our hotel, and when I stood on the balcony and looked away to the sea, I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful.

They were happy days.

Madame, the proprietress, knew Bevil. He had been here before.

“And this tune he comes with Madame Menfrey. That is very beautiful.”

Her dark eyes were speculative though, and I wondered with whom Bevil had stayed in this hotel before. Perhaps alone, but it might have been that he had made friends in the town. During the ten days we had spent hi Paris I had had no such thoughts; I had begun to believe I had conquered them; but here they were, at the first sign of suspicion.

But I forgot it when we went down to the dining room, which opened on to the terrace with its view over the mountains. There we dined by candlelight, and all my happiness returned.

“We should stay here for four or five weeks,” Bevil said, for he wanted me to love Provence as he did. Here life was lived simply, and that was how to get the best out of a honeymoon. “No distractions,” he said. “Not that anything could distract me from Harriet Menfrey—but it’s the simple life for me.”

I was content enough. In the mornings we explored the old town with its winding streets and worn steps and alleyways. The dark-eyed children watched us almost furtively. We were so obviously foreigners; and the stall holders were delighted when we paused to buy fruit and flowers in the market square. We sat outside cafes and watched the life go by. During the afternoons we would sit under the palm trees in the garden and lean on the stone balustrade looking over the mountains away to the sea. We hired horses and rode into the mountains, through lonely villages, along dangerously narrow paths. Bevil insisted on leading my horse along such places, and although I was a good horsewoman and capable of managing my mount, I enjoyed the protection. Sometimes we stopped at inns for dinner; we tried all the native dishes and the wine of the country, and we would sit sleepily content half through the afternoon before we rode on.

We rarely made plans. We let each golden day take care of itself. How I loved the warm, sunny days and the evenings when the sun disappeared taking the heat with it Then I put on a warm wrap, and we went out sometimes to walk in the cool mountain air.