I could not let Mrs. Barlow have the final word on the subject. After all, I still had to consult my husband. The travel money would not ever need be mentioned again, if only he would open his mouth and stand up to the woman who clearly thought that I was beneath him.

We were married, I reminded myself as I sought out Luke. We had taken vows. Surely a little thing like a recalcitrant mother-in-law would not have to come between us, even if he had already gotten the money that he had married for.

“Marry for money,” I heard my mother’s voice saying in my head, “And believe me, my girl, you shall earn every farthing. Some think it is an easy thing, but an unequal match is one of the hardest things in the world.”

As I approached Luke’s chamber, I turned off my memory of my mother’s voice. For in my case, nothing had to be difficult. After all, I had gone from governess to mistress in a week, as dear Mrs. Barlow had so rudely pointed out. Perhaps my luck had changed for good.

When I saw my love, I was heartened by his tousled hair and glowing good looks, though he was staring out the window with sad eyes. He gave me only a faint smile when I entered the study.

“Has mama been troubling you,” he said to me, as if he already knew exactly what the answer would be.

I did not know whether to go right to him or to sit on his bed, so I stood still by the door. “She’s been saying that I am a terrible influence on Lillian. Of course, I myself think the contrary, but I suppose nobody has yet asked your sister.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Quinton,” he said to me, and my heart broke when I heard the words. So he, too, did not consider me a lawful wife. And he was standing by the window, making no move to walk over to me.

“I don’t think either of us expected things to be tidied up so quickly,” I said looking over at him.

“No, I certainly did not.”

It was not much of a response, so I forced the point. “Your mother thinks I ought to leave tomorrow. Are you inclined to agree with her?”

He gazed at his feet. “Well, that would depend.”

“Depend on what, then?” I asked with a sigh.

“On many things. But mostly on you, if you please, Miss Quinton.”

“Alice!” I insisted, stamping my foot.

“Of course,” he said, but he did not repeat my name. “You must know that I never intended to keep you prisoner here.”

When my eyes met his, tears began forming, and I hardly knew whether they were tears of sadness or tears of rage.

Because I had known that he needed to marry for more pragmatic reasons, but for a day it had seemed that he did not want me to leave his bed. And leaving his house would have been unthinkable.

He was across the room in an instant, and he reached for me. “Please,” he said, and I flinched away, then ran from the room.

“Don’t touch me,” I had tried to say, but the words had not come.

Because I did want him to touch me. I wanted him to hold me, and kiss me, and remind me of all the marvelous things we could do without censure as a newly married couple. But all those things, given without his love and regard, would be torture. I would not stay to be used as his little whore one last time. If pride was the absolute final thing that I could have for myself, then I was not going to let the man steal it.

Within an hour, I had packed a small case, leaving many of my things in the mansion.

Mrs. Barlow, with what I knew was more practicality than generosity, had given me such a large sum of money that it was more than a fund for the road, it was a payoff. If I could hire my own coach to get as far as Sutton, then I did not need to stay another instant.

I set off for the village on my own two feet, walking on the very road that I had trod as a starry-eyed newlywed.

And I felt quite sure, as I left, that I would never walk on that road again.