Before Alexander climbed into the carriage after his wife, he told his coachman to keep driving until he was notified otherwise.

She sat with rigidly correct posture on her side of the carriage seat, her face slightly turned away to gaze out of the window. She had taken him by surprise during that visit. He had expected that she would ask questions of her mother to try to understand the why of her childhood and the way she had been treated. He had expected her to plead for some sort of reconciliation, for some sign that her mother had maternal feelings after all and some feelings of remorse. He had expected emotion, tears, drama—some outpouring of passion and pain.

Instead she had been magnificent. And he understood why she had gone against his advice and that of her brother. I came because I needed to come, because I needed to look upon you once more as an adult who has learned self-worth. I needed to confront the darkness of a childhood no child should ever have to endure … I wanted to look you in the eye and tell you that you have missed so much joy you might have had in your life…. I do not hate you … I feel sorrow instead, for perhaps you cannot help your character any more than I can help the birthmark on my face.

But he could not ignore the fact that that woman with her eerily youthful appearance and little girl voice was Wren’s mother.

He took her gloveless hand in his. It was cold and lifeless at first. But it curled into his almost immediately, and the carriage jerked slightly as it moved off.

“Thank you,” she said. “How did you manage to do that? There were two of them.”

“They were a grave disappointment,” he said. “I was itching for a fight, but all they could do was dangle.”

“It is … hurtful to be told that one was hideous to look upon,” she said, “even when one is assured that there has been a slight improvement and even when one despises the person who speaks such words.”

“But she is your mother,” he said.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes for a few moments and leaned slightly toward him until their shoulders touched. “There is an image that leaps to mind with the word mother—your mother, your aunt Lilian, Cousin Louise, Anna. But there is no compulsion on a woman to fit that image just because she has borne a child, is there? My mother is … Is there something wrong with her, Alexander? Can she really not help who she is, or how she is? Or can she? No. Don’t answer that.” She slid her hand beneath his arm and moved closer. “It does not matter. I went there so that I would be free of her at last. I am not naive enough to believe it will be as simple as that, of course, but calling on her was an important step and I have taken it. I am not going to puzzle over her. She is as she is. And Blanche is as she is.” With that, she sighed deeply. “Alexander, what a burden I have proved to be to you.”

“I have not felt even a moment’s regret,” he said quite truthfully.

“Thank you,” she said again after a brief silence. “Thank you for telling her my happiness is important to you.”

“It is,” he said.

“And thank you for saying you love me,” she said.

“I do.”

“I know.” She wriggled her hand in his until their fingers were laced. “Thank you.”

But she did not know. She did not know that something had happened to him when he had spoken those words. Any red-blooded male would have said the same thing under the circumstances, of course. But the thing was, the words had not come from his head as his other words had. They had come from somewhere else, some unconscious part of himself, and had struck him with their truth just as though he had been struck over the head with a large mallet. He loved her. Not just loved, but loved. Whatever the devil that meant.

She thought, of course, that he spoke of affection, and she was quite right. But it was not just affection. He was not particularly good with words except the practical ones with which he dealt with everyday life. He could deliver a coherent, even forceful speech in the House of Lords without having to have a secretary write it for him. But he did not have the words to explain even to himself what he had just discovered about his feelings for his wife. Love encompassed it but was woefully inadequate.

The words had come straight from his heart, he supposed, but the heart was not strong on language. Only on feelings. He was a man, for the love of God. He was not accustomed to analyzing his feelings. And if he kept trying he was going to give himself a headache.

“Thank you,” she said again into the silence that had fallen between them. “My heart is full, and all I can think of to say is those two words. They can be virtually meaningless or they can be powerful. I mean them powerfully.”

Just as he meant I love you powerfully.

“We will go home,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

She turned her face toward him and smiled. “To peace,” she said, “and quiet and the challenge of all the work we need to do there.”

“Yes,” he said. “To our new life together. We will make a home of Brambledean, Wren, and a prosperous estate, and eventually there will be a beautifully landscaped park that will employ many people and a fully staffed house worthy of its grandeur. But more than anything it will be a home. Ours. And our children’s if we are so fortunate.”

“It sounds like bliss,” she said. “It sounds like heaven. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. He leaned forward to tap upon the panel as a signal to his coachman to take them back to South Audley Street. He did not know where they had been going since they left Curzon Street. He had not been paying attention.

“The House is still in session,” she said.

“I do not mind missing—” he began, but she interrupted.

“No,” she said. “I have been thinking about that, Alexander. It is your duty to remain, and duty has always been important to you. It is one thing I have always liked and admired about you—that you have felt guilt even at missing a few days since you met me again. Marriage should not change anyone in fundamentals, only enhance what is already there.”

“I would rather take you home tomorrow,” he said. “I also have a duty to you.”

“I want to see more of Colin,” she said. “Much more. We have twenty years to make up for. I want to know everything about him. I want him to know everything about me. He is my brother.”

He sighed but said nothing.

“I scarcely know your aunt Lilian and uncle Richard,” she said, “or Sidney or Susan and Alvin. I liked them when I met them on our wedding day and would wish to see more of them. I want to spend some time with Cousin Eugenia, the dowager countess. I want to hear stories about her long life. I want to see more of Cousin Matilda, who annoys her mother by fussing over her and loving her to distraction. I scarcely know Cousins Mildred and Thomas. I want to know more about their boys, who are still at school and sound like a handful of mischief. I want to know Cousin Louise better and Avery. And Anna and the baby. I want to know how Jessica is faring now that she has seen Abby again. And I want to get to know your mother and Lizzie better. They are the only mother and sister I will ever know, and I intend to cherish them.”

He laughed softly. “All this,” he asked, “to persuade me to do my duty and attend the House of Lords until the end of the session?”

“Well, that too,” she said. “But I mean everything else as well. I have lived in a well-padded and comfortable cocoon for twenty years after living in a cell for ten. Now I have taken a few tentative steps out into the world, and I need to take a few more before retreating to the peace and quiet of Brambledean. If we go home now, Alexander, I may never leave again.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” he said.

“It was,” she said. “It is. But I have learned something about myself recently. It is what Uncle Reggie always used to say about me. I am stubborn to a fault. I stubbornly refused to face the world while he lived. Now I stubbornly refuse not to.”

“Ah,” he said. “I have married a stubborn woman, have I? That sounds like a challenge. Next you will be telling me you wish to attend a grand ton ball.”

There was a silence. But silence can have a quality. Not all silences are equal. The carriage rocked to a halt outside Westcott House. One of the horses snorted and stamped. Two people were talking to each other out on the street. Somewhere a dog was barking. Inside the carriage there was silence.

“Yes,” she said.

The Westcott and Radley families and Lord Hodges had been invited to tea at Westcott House. The dining room table had been set with all the best china and loaded with a sumptuous variety of sandwiches and scones and cakes.

“This has all the appearance of a family meeting, Althea,” Cousin Matilda said after they were all settled and had taken the edge off their hunger. Lady Josephine Archer, whom a chorus of protesting voices had saved from being taken away by her nurse, was being passed from person to person to be bounced on knees, cuddled and rocked in arms, and dangled above heads.

“We cannot come together just to celebrate family?” Wren’s mother-in-law said. “We cannot have a welcome-to-the-family party for Lord Hodges? You are quite right, though, Matilda. We invited you all not just to celebrate. We need to plan a ball to introduce Wren to the ton.”

All eyes turned Wren’s way. Colin, seated beside her, raised his eyebrows and grinned at her.

“I have been saying so from the start,” Matilda said. “She is the Countess of Riverdale, a position of great prestige. But I was informed that she is a recluse and that Alexander has chosen to humor her whims.”

“To respect her decisions, Matilda,” her mother said sharply, “as any husband worthy of the name ought. Clearly Wren has changed her mind.”

“Mama and I are quite delighted,” Elizabeth said.

“And so am I,” Aunt Lilian said. “What is the point of having an earl and a countess in the family if there is no public occasion at which we can show them off to our friends and neighbors?” Her eyes twinkled at Wren and Alexander and there was general laughter.

“My feelings precisely,” Uncle Richard said.

“Do you dance, Wren?” Cousin Mildred asked. “If you do not, or if you need to brush up on your steps, I know a dancing master who would—”

“Not, one would hope,” Avery said, sounding pained, “the man who was employed to teach Anna to dance last year, Aunt?”

“Mr. Robertson, yes,” she said.

“If I had not intervened while he was teaching the waltz,” he said, “I daresay he would still be trying to teach Anna just how to position her left hand on his shoulder with each finger held just so and her head at just such an angle with just such an expression on her face.”

“And if Lizzie and Alex had not demonstrated how it ought to be done,” Anna added, laughing. “And if you had not then danced it with me, Avery, breaking every rule poor Mr. Robertson had just taught. I would have to agree—I am sorry, Aunt Mildred—that meticulous as Mr. Robertson’s instructions are, he can also be intimidating to someone who just wishes to be able to enjoy dancing without tripping and falling all over her partner’s feet. Practicing various dances in advance of your first ball is probably a good idea, though, Wren. Aunt Mildred is quite right about that. Lizzie and Alex will help you. Shall Avery and I come too? And perhaps Lord Hodges?”

“Oh, and us,” Susan Cole said. “May we, Alex? It would be great fun. And we will bring Sidney with us. Lady Jessica will perhaps be willing to make the numbers even.”

“Who is going to provide the music?” Cousin Louise asked. “And let no one look at me. Our music teacher always told Mama when I was a girl that I was all thumbs, though I thought they were particularly nimble thumbs. Mildred is better. Matilda is the best.”

“I am out of practice,” Cousin Matilda protested. “And I never did hold much with the waltz. I know no suitable tunes.”

“My brother is a skilled pianist,” Wren’s mother-in-law said. “Can we persuade you, Richard?”

“With a little arm twisting, Althea,” he said amiably. “If, that is, Wren feels the need of a few practice sessions. She has not voiced an opinion on the matter yet.”

“Well,” Wren said, “I was taught to dance by a governess who was very strict and probably as meticulous about the details as is the Mr. Robertson you speak of. But that was a long time ago and did not include the waltz. And I only ever danced with her or with my aunt or my uncle. There were never other people to make up sets.”

“Then we have work to do,” Cousin Matilda said. “And where, Althea, is the ball to be held?”

“Here, I thought,” Alexander answered. “With the doors folded back between the drawing room and the music room and most of the furniture and carpets removed, we can create quite a sizable—”

“I understood, Riverdale,” Avery said, “that it is a ton ball we have been summoned here to plan, not some sort of assembly for a limited few. The venue will, of course, be the ballroom at Archer House. We held a ball there for Anna last year, you will recall, and for Jessica this year. We are becoming quite experienced ball givers, though it pains me to admit it. And when I say we, I must confess that I mean mainly my stepmother and Anna and my poor, long-suffering secretary. My dear Wren, if you wish to display yourself to the beau monde, you must do it in a grand manner and invite everyone who is anyone and squeeze them into one of London’s largest ballrooms and its accompanying public salons and have the whole spectacle spoken of admiringly the next day as a sad squeeze. Anything less would be unworthy of your courage.”

Courage. Was that what had impelled her? Had that one little word spelled her doom? Next you will be telling me you wish to attend a grand ton ball, Alexander had said in the carriage by way of a jest. And she had spoken that other little word—yes. It had been spoken on a whim, in a burst of stubborn determination not to allow her mother to destroy the rest of her life, not to allow her any further influence at all upon it, in fact.

She would remain in London a while longer because duty was important to her husband. And she would become better acquainted with his family and her brother Colin while she was still here. She would not be driven away to Brambledean just because of a need to hide and heal. She would go there when it was time to go. She would be busy there, and she would reach out to get to know their neighbors better, her first acquaintance with some of them at Alexander’s tea not having been an auspicious start.

She was going to be as normal as it was possible for her to be.

But a ton ball?

At Archer House?

Colin, she realized suddenly, was holding her hand tightly on the table between them. Alexander, at the head of the table, was looking at her with that expression of his she loved best—apparently grave but with smiling eyes.

“You may choose the assembly for a limited few here, as Netherby describes it, if you wish, Wren,” he said. “And if anyone has anything to say about your courage, the remark may be addressed to me.”

Avery, Wren noticed, raised his quizzing glass all the way to his eye and examined Alexander through it while Anna laughed and set a hand on his arm.

“A hit, Avery, you must confess,” Elizabeth said, a laugh in her voice.

“If you had the courage to call upon our mother, Roe,” Colin said quietly, for her ears only, “you can do anything.”

“I want to waltz,” she said to the whole table. “And to waltz properly, I have heard, one needs space. I daresay the ballroom at Archer House offers a great deal of that. Thank you, Avery and Anna—and Cousin Louise. Mama and Lizzie and I will help with the planning. Is it proper for a lady to ask a gentleman to dance with her? I know the answer, of course. My governess would have had heart palpitations at the very idea. I am doing it anyway. I want to waltz with Alexander.”

“You are a woman of discernment, Wren,” Cousin Mildred said, clapping her hands. “Alex is the best dancer among us—oh, with the possible exception of Thomas and Avery. And Mr. Radley and Mr. Sidney Radley, I daresay, and Mr. Cole. And perhaps Lord Hodges.”

“You may take your foot out of your mouth now, Mil,” Cousin Thomas said to general laughter.

The smile in Alexander’s eyes had deepened and spread to the rest of his face as he held Wren’s gaze. “I will teach you,” he said. “And yes, Wren, we will waltz together at your coming-out ball. I will insist upon it. A husband really must assert his authority occasionally.”

*  *  *

Wren would have been in her element during the following two weeks planning the ball. However, her mother-in-law and Cousin Louise assumed happy ownership of that task while Mr. Goddard, Avery’s secretary, quietly and efficiently did all that needed to be done. If he ever wished to leave the duke’s employ, Wren thought privately, though it was extremely unlikely, she had a job to offer him in Staffordshire.

Meanwhile she was not idle. There was a modiste to be visited with Elizabeth, for despite being in possession of several evening gowns she had thought suitable for any occasion, apparently she was wrong. And if she was to have a new gown to wear, then she must have everything else new to go with it—undergarments, stays, slippers, silk stockings, gloves, a fan, and a jeweled headband with feathered plumes, though she was not at all sure she would actually wear that last purchase.

There were two families with whom to become more fully acquainted. She called upon them all, usually in company with Elizabeth. She went strolling in Hyde Park with various combinations of relatives. She wrote to Viola. She even wrote a letter to introduce herself to Camille and Joel. She hoped, she said in it, to go to Bath soon with Alexander to meet them and their daughters and the baby due in the near future.

Colin came to the house almost daily. Sometimes they sat in the library, just the two of them, talking about all the missing years, getting to know each other, coming to feel like brother and sister. Sometimes he sat with her in the drawing room or dining room with Alexander and her mother-in-law and Elizabeth. Once, he took her in his curricle for a drive in Hyde Park, though he avoided the areas where they were most likely to meet crowds of people. Always he took his leave of her by kissing her left cheek better while they both laughed.

During one of their private talks in the library she broached a topic she had discussed with Alexander the night before. “Colin,” she said, “you told me you live here in London all year. I suppose that means you do not feel comfortable going home to Roxingly even though it is yours. Would you consider living at Withington House in Wiltshire? It is just eight miles or so from Brambledean. I have thought of selling it, but I do love it. It holds fond memories for me. I would far prefer to see a family member there.”

He looked consideringly at her. “I have thought of purchasing a place of my own in the country,” he admitted. “Maybe I will buy it from you, Roe. I like the idea of having a place close to you.”

“No.” She held up one finger. “You do not need to buy it. I will give it to you. Alexander will approve.”

But he was adamant, of course. If he was going to move to Withington, he was not going to do it on her charity.

“Then let us compromise,” she said. “Come there this summer if you will and stay as long as you like. Pay the servants’ wages and the other expenses. After a year, decide if it is somewhere you wish to make your home and then purchase it if it is. But only if it is, Colin. No obligations.”

He grinned at her and held out his hand to shake on the deal.

“Oh, I do love you, Colin,” she said.

“Roe,” he said, her hand still clasped in his, “will you write to Ruby? I think it will please her to discover that you are alive and that you are willing to hold out an olive branch. I recall her telling me just before she married Sean Murphy and went off to Ireland that the biggest regret of her life was never having stood up for you while you were still alive.”

Wren looked down at their clasped hands and heaved an audible sigh. She hesitated for a long time. “Very well,” she said at last. “Because you ask it of me, Colin. The worst she can do is ignore the letter. Or answer it.”

“Were they very nasty to you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I will write to Ruby,” she said.

“Thank you.” He raised her hand to his lips.

During those weeks she dealt with all the reports that came from the glassworks. Her suggestion of one minor color change to the new design had been well received, and soon she would have samples of the finished product before it was put on the market.

And she learned to dance. It was quickly apparent that the skills she thought she had were woefully inadequate, but she set to with a will. Uncle Richard on the pianoforte showed a great deal of patience. So did all the other dancers who had volunteered their time to come to Westcott House almost every afternoon to help her. And learn she did, to the accompaniment of a great deal of laughter and some serious work. The relatives who were not actually dancing often turned up to watch and give their advice and encouragement. Alexander’s mother was always there, smiling and laughing and nodding her head in time to the music. Cousin Matilda announced that she was coming around to the waltz on the afternoon when Wren finally got it as she performed the steps with Alexander. Elizabeth was dancing with Sidney, Anna with Avery, Susan with Alvin, and Colin with Jessica.

“Though I would question its appropriateness for any couple who are not related by blood or married or at the very least betrothed,” she added to the obvious discomfort of Jessica and Colin.

“If I were but fifty years younger,” the dowager countess said, “I would not waste my time waltzing with a brother or father or even a husband. I will never forgive whoever invented the waltz for not doing so half a century sooner.”

“Perfect.” Alexander was smiling at Wren, her hand still in his, his other arm still about her waist. “Either I am a perfect teacher or you are a perfect pupil.”

“Or both,” she said.

“Or both,” he agreed.

Those two weeks were busy and a bit frightening as she wondered more and more what she had unleashed. They were blissful too. For there were always the nights to look forward to, that span of hours when she was alone with her husband. She loved lying in bed with him, sometimes in darkness, occasionally with candles burning. They did not always make love, though usually they did, and sometimes they made love both at night and in the early morning. But they always talked, their arms about each other, and they always slept deeply and well. She knew he liked her, respected her, cared for her. No, more than cared. She knew he had an affection for her. And it was enough. It was what she had dreamed of and more than that. She only hoped it would continue, that they were not just in a honeymoon stage of their marriage that would wear off in time. But she would not believe it. It was up to her to make sure it continued, never to grow complacent or lazy.

She was going to make her marriage work, just as she was going to make her life work.

If only there was not a ball to be faced first. And everybody who was anybody, as Avery had put it, was going to be there. Of all the invitations they had sent out, only three had been refused, with regrets. Only three. It was enough to give her heart palpitations.

But she was going to waltz with Alexander.