The problem was too tricky a one to consider at the moment. He would decide what to do when he returned to his own room. Later. He leaned across to the table on which the candlestick was set and blew out the lights, then curled back into the warmth of the bed for a few minutes. He slept.


************************************

Anne was alone when she awoke the following morning, but the dented pillow and the ruffled bedclothes beside her showed clearly that her husband had slept there. Her husband! How easily the thought had come to her mind, and how impossible it had seemed even a week ago that she would ever marry. She stretched lazily in the bed, enjoying the warmth that lingered beneath the bedclothes even though her nose told her that the room was cold. No one had yet been to build the fire in her room. She did not care. She felt wonderful: alive, beautiful, and loved. Nothing could ever be the same again. She now had a reason for making herself physically attractive. But she was almost glad that she was at present looking her worst. The fact proved to her that her husband loved her for herself. How delightful it would be to watch his pleasure when he saw her as she would be in a few months' time-or even a few weeks, if she set her mind to it.

Bella entered the room at that moment carrying a cup of steaming chocolate on a tray. "Good morning, my lady," she said, smiling knowingly at her mistress and at the tumbled bed around her. She busied herself at the fireplace, clearing the ashes from last night's fire.

"Is his lordship at breakfast yet?" Anne asked eagerly.

"He finished a while ago, my lady," the maid replied, "and sent word that he wishes to speak with you in the morning room as soon as it is convenient."

Anne smiled radiantly and flung back the bedclothes despite the chill of the room. "I must dress immediately, then," she said. "Will you help me, Bella? I do not know where you have hidden all my clothes."

A mere ten minutes later she was tripping down the stairs, a new spring in her step. She even forgot to feel embarrassed when she reached the hallway and realized that she did not know where the morning room was. She had to ask a footman.

She entered the room in a rush, smiling with bright amusement. She was all ready to share the joke of not knowing her way around her own home. She must ask her husband to show it to her if he was not too busy. If he was, then she would have Mrs. Rush perform the task. She had liked the housekeeper the night before.

Merrick was standing with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him. He was not smiling. "Good morning, ma'am," he said. "I trust you slept well?"

She smiled a little uncertainly. "Yes, indeed," she said. "I did not even hear you get up." She blushed.

Merrick regarded her without any change of expression. "I rose early," he said. "I had a great deal to do before I could leave today."

"Leave?"

"I shall be leaving for London within the hour," he said. "Alone."

There was a moment of silence. "When may I expect your return?" Anne asked, her smile gone.

"You may not," Merrick said. "I have no plans to return in the near future."

"Am I to join you later?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," he said. "You are to remain here."

They stared at each other. "I don't understand," Anne said at last. "I am your wife."

"Precisely," Merrick said. "I would say you have gained what you set out to achieve, ma'am. Now you may enjoy your triumph at your leisure."

Anne swallowed painfully. "What do you mean, my lord?"

"You knew as soon as you saw me, did you not," he said, "that you could use the occasion in order to trap for yourself an eligible husband? Even if your plan to lure me into bed failed, you knew that your brother would force me into feeling honor-bound to offer for you. It must have seemed a stroke of unexpected luck that he also brought with him that dry stick of a vicar to echo his moral indictment of my behavior in staying all night in a house alone with you. Well, my dear, you succeeded. I am your husband. But by God, ma'am, I shall not be subjected to having to look at you and converse with you every day of my life. I wish you joy of your new home."

Anne appeared frozen to the spot. She heard what he said, knew the truth of what had happened, realized the nightmare future that faced her, but could not force her body to adjust to the new facts. She would collapse if she could not hold the awful truth at arms' length for a while longer. "Last night?" she whispered.

He smiled, if such an expression could be called a smile. His eyes did not change at all. "Quite delightful," he said. "I compliment you, ma'am. Your eagerness would put a barmaid to shame. You certainly helped pass what would have been a dull night."

Anne said no more. A terrible lethargy was paralyzing her brain and rooting her to the spot.

"You need not worry," Merrick said briskly, moving away from the fireplace across to a large desk in front of the window, from which he picked up a sheaf of papers. "I have spent an hour making arrangements for you here. Your needs will be amply provided for. You will find the servants loyal and eager to please. I shall make you an allowance that I believe you will find ample. If you need more money, you have only to send the bills to me. I shall pay them, provided they are kept within reasonable limits. You will be delighted to learn that you have married a wealthy man, ma'am."

"I shall go back to Bruce," Anne said quietly. "You need not be concerned with me, my lord."

"On the contrary," he said, "I have every need. You are my wife and I shall take care of your needs. I forbid you to leave this estate for so much as a single night without my personal permission. Is that clearly understood?"

Anne did not look up at him. She was examining the backs of her hands. "Yes," she whispered.

"I shall bid you good morning, then," Merrick said, hesitating only a brief moment before striding from the room.

Anne saw him again only as he rode away alone on the high seat of a curricle. She was standing at the window of the morning room, which she had not left since he had said his farewell.

PART 2

March and April, 1816


Chapter 5

It was a bright spring morning. The library windows were wide open to admit the crisp fresh air and the smell of daffodils and new foliage. Outside, the sun shone from a brilliant blue sky onto a new and shining world below. The woods to the west of the house were in bright-green leaf, and the grass beneath them was painted with snowdrops, primroses, and early bluebells. The formal gardens that stretched before the house had been freshly raked, clipped, and mown even though the flowers had not yet bloomed. The new marble fountain at its center spouted clear water from the mouth of a fat cherub.

Inside the library, a slim young lady sat at a delicately carved escritoire, writing paper and pens spread out before her. But she was not writing; she was reading a letter, a slight crease on her brow. She suited her surroundings admirably. A vase of daffodils stood beside her and complemented the primrose color of her light muslin day dress. Her light-brown hair was fashionably dressed, curling softly about her face, tied high at the back, with ringlets clustering against her head and neck. Her heart-shaped face rested on one slim hand as she read, a rather wistful look in her large gray eyes:

You really must come, my dear. I shall not take no for an answer. Unless every member of the family is present for our fiftieth wedding anniversary, both His Grace and I will consider the occasion quite a failure. And you are very definitely a member of the family, though we have not yet met you. It will not do at all, you know, to say that your husband will not permit you to come. I have never heard such nonsense in my life. You must learn from me, my dear, that men sometimes need quite firm handling. You must never let them think that they can control your every movement, or they will become insufferably dictatorial.

Of course, if he has expressly forbidden you to come, you are in a somewhat awkward position. Let me put the matter this way. His Grace is the head of this family. That means that his word is law to all the other members, your husband included. And His Grace has this moment declared in his most forceful ducal manner that I am to say he commands you to come. You have no choice, you see. You must obey a higher authority than your husband. And His Grace added that he will send our own best traveling carriage to bring you. You cannot possibly refuse such an offer. He is most possessive of all his conveyances. You cannot know what an honor he does you. You are to come two days before anyone else is due to arrive so that we will have an opportunity to get to know our granddaughter. It strikes me as a great absurdity that you have held that position for well over a year, yet we have still not had the pleasure of your acquaintance.

Do not fret your mind over Alex, my dear. You may leave him to His Grace and me. Sometimes he needs a severe set-down; he is too stubborn by half. He will not be able to scold you when he knows that you were ordered to come here by His Grace himself. Alex was always a little in awe of his grandfather.

The letter went on to make very definite arrangements of dates and times. Although it was only paper she held in her hand, Anne Stewart felt as if she were in the presence of a very powerful will. She had received the first invitation almost a month before to spend two weeks at Portland House with the rest of the family of the duke and duchess to celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary. She had not known what to do on that occasion. She had wanted to go; the letter from the duchess had sounded so friendly. She had written to her husband to ask if she might accept the invitation. His answer had been swift and bluntly in the negative.

However, it appeared now that the duchess was not prepared to accept her refusal. And she had put Anne in a very awkward position. She could not disobey her husband. Although she had not seen him since the morning after their wedding well over a year before, she had always obeyed his final command. Yet she could not disobey the Duke of Portland, either. He was the head of the family into which she had married.

She put the duchess's letter down on the escritoire and crossed to the window. It was so lovely outside. There were the spring flowers growing wild in the grass among the trees. And the daffodils were growing almost as wild beneath the window. The gardener had asked her if he should thin them out, and if he should try to cut back the wild growth at the edge of the wood, where it could be seen from the house. But she had said no to both suggestions. It was the flowers that had kept her sane the year before, she would swear until her dying day. Perhaps they did not quite fit the image of formal beauty that she had had created down the long stretch of land before the house, but that did not matter. The grounds were large enough to allow for great variety.

The formal gardens were one of her great triumphs. When she had finally pulled herself free from the dismals that had engulfed her through those long winter months after Alexander had so cruelly abandoned her, her thoughts had turned toward improving the house and the estate. And she had begun with the garden, planning eagerly with the gardener what might be done, summoning, on his advice, a well-known landscape artist from London to come and draw up plans. The fountain had been his idea, but she had chosen the design, and that cherub that looked so much like the child she would like to have had.

The improvements had taken all summer to complete, and had been costly, but they had been worth every moment and every penny, Anne reflected with a smile. The house now looked stately and quite lovely as one approached it up the curved drive lined with elm trees. And to her, alone in the house much of the time, the garden had afforded hours of pleasure. She had written her husband to ask permission to make the improvements, and he had made no objection. Even when the bills began pouring in, rather heavier than she had expected, he had made no comment, but presumably had paid them all. In fact, she had found her husband to be quite indulgent. He had never refused her anything, except once a visit to London to stay with Sonia for a week, and now a visit to his grandparents. Of course, he had always refused her his company, though she had never asked for it.