The carriage pulled up to Castle Fen’s wide front door. Catherine began to clamber out of the contraption, but a footman quickly came to her aid. He led her around to Lord Glenarvon, who was looking at Catherine with the most curious expression on his face. Offering her his arm, the marquess swept up the front steps, through the already open door, and into her new home.

A line of people awaited the couple in the large hall, standing at attention. Catherine realized with surprise that they must be Lord Glenarvon’s servants–her servants now. She had never realized how many people it took to keep an estate like Castle Fen running, although she now felt naive for never having thought of it.

The marquess cleared his throat, preparing to address the crowd. “Good afternoon. As you all know, I have been wed this morning. This,” he gestured to Catherine, “is Lady Glenarvon. Please defer to her as you would to me. That is all.” He dismissed the flock with a wave of his hand.

Catherine found herself holding in the urge to scream. How pompous of him–how downright rude! If that was how one treated servants, with such–such utter coldness, then one might as well hire expertly trained monkeys rather than people with families and feelings of their own.

The hall emptied and Catherine and the marquess were left alone once again. They stood there in silence for some time, but Catherine was almost too busy curiously looking about the grand hall to notice. Lord Glenarvon took advantage of his bride’s distracted state, taking the moment to watch her.

Truly, Catherine was beautiful when she did not know anyone was looking. Her movements had an unstudied artlessness that was rare for a woman of her education and background. Too often, ladies came to Glenarvon with the sole aim to please him, using their figures to entice him and their words to beguile. But as far as Catherine was concerned, Lord Glenarvon need not even be in the room. She would be just as content without him as with him.

Finally, Lord Glenarvon could stand the silence no longer. He cleared his throat lightly, hoping to alert Catherine to his presence. She ignored him, still lost in the visual grandeur of the room. Becoming the mistress of such an estate was truly a powerful thing.

Glenarvon coughed again. "So," he said.

Catherine woke from her reveries with a start, turning to face her husband. "So," she replied.

Silence hung in the air once again, sliding between the couple like a brick wall. So much lay between them that it made it impossible to speak. Here they stood, husband and wife, and yet they only knew each other as acquaintances. They were forever bound by law and by God. The thought made Catherine sick to her stomach.

It was her wedding night. She knew what that meant. Her friend Emma had married not six months ago and told her everything. In some ways, Catherine had looked forward to relations with her husband. She could well imagine finding such a thing pleasurable, if the circumstances allowed. Emma had suggested it could be so. But with Lord Glenarvon? She appraised him, sliding her eyes from the top of his raven hair down to his well-shined beetle-black boots.

A little frisson ran up her spine. Yes, she admitted that he was very handsome. He was not at all lacking in the physical sense. If she were able to totally divorce her mind from her body, any time spent in Glenarvon’s arms would be... diverting. To say the least.

Catherine well remembered her moment of weakness with him in the Edmonson's drawing room. Their kiss had been wild and staggering, unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her body shook just thinking of it.

Yes, if Catherine could ignore her feelings, she would certainly be able to perform her duty as Lord Glenarvon's wife. Perhaps, if she worked very hard, she might even be able to change his terrible attitude. Until then, she would endeavor not to listen to him too much.

She took a step towards Glenarvon. It was not quite clear to her what she was supposed to do now. No one had told her how this sort of thing should to go. Was it her duty to initiate? Or was it his? Perhaps she was meant to wait for nighttime. Perhaps this sort of thing was only supposed to occur after supper.

Taking his hand in hers, she lifted it to her mouth and kissed it lightly. Lord Glenarvon stiffened in more ways than one. Almost as if Catherine’s lips were made of molten lava, he swiftly grabbed his hand away from her.

Hurt spread across her lovely face, her brows furrowing. She must have done something wrong, but she was unsure what it might be. Certainly Lord Glenarvon knew better than her how this was to happen.

"Come," he said brusquely. "Let us adjourn to the library until supper. I'm certain you shall find a book there to entertain yourself."

The marquess led her up the stairs and down the hall into the library. The path almost felt familiar to Catherine, though she had only walked it once before. Books still lined the walls of the room, welcoming her in the most pleasant way. The scent of pages enveloped her like the embrace of an old friend, and she let out a happy sigh.

Glenarvon's mouth twitched in a small smile. He thought his new bride might calm a bit if she saw the library again. He even felt his own heartbeat begin to slow to a more normal register. Everything would be fine, he thought, if only he could just get through seven months with Catherine. Seven months, and the bet would be won. All his troubles would be gone.

He pulled a tome from the shelf without really looking and strode the furthest armchair, settling his lean body against the plush leather.

Catherine perused the shelves, seeing books both familiar and foreign. There was much in this library that she had not yet read, and it pleased her to know that she would be able to spend many a leisurely hour here, reading many varied things.

Still, for today her husband was a rather awkward presence in the room. She would find it difficult indeed to read whilst he was there, clearly watching her. Although he was doing quite a good job of pretending to read his book, Catherine was not so daft as to ignore his eyes flitting up to look at her every two minutes.

She tried to ignore him as he had ignored her so many times before, but it was no use. Finally, she found a book she had read before and sat uneasily on the nearest settee. She did not yet feel as though she could relax around the marquess. His manners were so proper and genteel. Although Catherine had long prided herself on her decorum, it seemed that Lord Glenarvon outclassed her entirely without even batting an eye. What must he think of her! Perhaps that was why he was so entirely strange with her. Their upbringings were too different, their lives wholly unconnected until now. There was his type of wealth and there was hers.

Catherine shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to find a way to both look elegant and feel like herself. It was no use. She could not concentrate on her novel, and she could not ignore the hardness of the seat which she had taken. Glenarvon's eyes beat a brand upon her, and the hairs rose upon the back of her neck. She suddenly felt very hot in her gown, and began to understand why the wedding night involved taking it off entirely.

Finally, Glenarvon spoke. "Catherine, I–" but he was cut off by the footman knocking on the library door.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "But there is a Lord Daventry down from Downfell Abbey come to call."

Lord Daventry? That was very peculiar indeed! Catherine had sent him a quick missive after she had accepted Lord Glenarvon's proposal, telling him of the news. They had both agreed that it would have been improper of him to call upon her once she was engaged. That had been weeks ago, and she had not heard from him since. Such things happened, after all. There was no use crying about it.

She glanced up at Lord Glenarvon, hoping to divine his feelings. They were clear as day. His brow was furrowed, and his raven hair seemed almost like a black cloud gathered around his head. Any moment, he might sprout dark wings and take flight.

Instead, he merely frowned and said, "Show him to the drawing room. We shall visit with him in there."

The footman left and Glenarvon stood, towering angrily above the low tables scattered about the room.

"Catherine," he said. "I would appreciate it if you gave me a moment alone with Lord Daventry first. I have business with him to attend to. Nothing of great import." His right hand balled up into a fist at his side. "But it needs doing. Say ten minutes? And then you may join us in the drawing room."

Catherine nodded her acquiescence, but inside her mind was roiling. What business could the marquess possibly have with Lord Daventry? He could barely tolerate the man. Then of course, their estates abutted each other. It may be that they needed to work out matters of land or cattle. It could be anything, really. Still, Catherine was left curiously watching Lord Glenarvon's quickly retreating back as he exited the room.

Glenarvon seethed as he strode down the hall. How dare Lord Daventry come to his house on this day, of all days. The man was a scheming scoundrel and there was nothing else to it.

The marquess flung open the doors to the drawing room, ignoring the cowering footman standing beside him.

Lord Daventry stood as the marquess entered the room, sweeping into a mockingly low bow.

"Lord Glenarvon," he said with an air of derision. "How lovely it is to see you on such a fine day. I was merely in the neighborhood and I wondered how you were getting along, old chum."

"So this is how it is to be, then," said Glenarvon, not bothering to greet the man standing in front of him. "You're to show up at my estate whenever you please, hovering around my marriage, sucking after my wife like a wretch."

Lord Daventry smiled widely, his teeth glittering white. "I can hardly say what you mean, my lord. I am but your humble friend come to greet you."

"Drop the charade, Daventry," the marquess spat. "Say what you're about or leave."

Lord Daventry seemed to settle into the moment, his movements becoming languid and fierce. "Fine then," he said. "Today was your wedding day, was it not? Don't bother answering–I already know the truth. I was in the crowds outside the church, celebrating your union. I am simply here to make sure that our deal still stands.”

"That deal," snarled Lord Glenarvon, "Which you so cruelly foisted upon me is a sham. It serves no purpose but for you to torture me."

"A sham indeed? Then you shan't mind if I go find our dear Lady Glenarvon and tell her about it? I'm sure she'll be happy to believe you and not me. After all, you are her husband." Lord Daventry's eyes sparkled wickedly. "Then of course, I am sweet Lord Daventry, and she barely trusts you at all. There's very little between you two to prevent her from succumbing to me. Who will she believe: you or me? And even if she were to believe you, would she truly take kindly to the fact that you bartered her reputation and happiness just to satisfy an old vendetta?"

"You fool."

"I'm not the fool here, Glenarvon. Anyone can see that,” said Daventry. “So, do you wish for me to tell her about our little arrangement, or does the deal still stand?"

Nearly growling with anger, the marquess nodded his head. "If only to save her from you, Daventry."

"Think how happy you'll be when I'm gone," said Lord Daventry. "That is, if you can keep her faithful." He licked his lips lasciviously. "I can be very persuasive."

"You abominable beast," Glenarvon yelled. "You deserve to fester in the deepest pits of hell."

Just as the marquess was preparing to throw caution to the wind and attack Lord Daventry, a light knock came at the drawing room door.

Glenarvon stopped himself almost mid-flight and attempted to make himself appear calm once more.

"You may enter," he called.

A footman opened the door and Catherine glided into the room.

The men were a study in opposites: Lord Daventry fair where Lord Glenarvon was dark, Lord Daventry jocular where Lord Glenarvon fumed.

Catherine smiled at them, hoping to cultivate a positive atmosphere in the room. For the moment, it there was barely any atmosphere in the room at all, as if all sensation had left the men the moment she walked through the door.

"How wonderful to see you again, Lord Daventry," said Catherine, bowing her head slightly and walking towards him. "Truly, it has been too long."

Glenarvon snorted in derision. Catherine shot him a quick look, but chose to ignore his outburst. Perhaps it had been a sneeze or a cough–there was no need to make a scene in front of their guest.

Lord Daventry bowed deeply to Catherine, taking her hand and gently brushing his lips against her soft skin. A flush spread over Catherine's cheeks as she slowly withdrew her hand from his grasp. The man was handsome, that was to be sure.

Glenarvon coughed again behind her and she spun around, suddenly very aware of herself. Her husband smoldered indignantly at her, his eyes boring straight into her soul. Taking several steps back, Catherine widened her distance from the two men so that she could better assess the situation.

"Are you very well, Lord Daventry?" she asked.

"I am sure he is very well indeed," said Glenarvon curtly.

Ignoring the marquess, Lord Daventry smiled kindly at Catherine. "I am in fine feather these days, Lady Glenarvon. I have little to complain about and much to rejoice in. Of course, I'm here to congratulate you and Lord Glenarvon on your marriage."

"I thank you, Lord Daventry," said Catherine. Even she was surprised by his magnanimous behavior. If their roles were reversed, Catherine was not certain that she would be so courteous about his marriage so soon after their flirtation.

Still, Lord Daventry beamed at the new couple. "Glenarvon and I have known each other so long that I almost feel as if we are brothers, isn't that right?" He regarded the marquess with an arched brow. "Did he tell you that we practically grew up together? Of course, I have the estate just next to his, so it was only natural. Yes, he and I have shared a great many things..."

Glenarvon snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Know what you're about, Daventry," he said.

"I'm so sorry," said Catherine quickly, trying to apologize for her husband's behavior. "We haven't yet supped."

"It's quite alright, Lady Glenarvon," replied Daventry. "I know how he can get when he's hungry. I'll take my leave of you so that you may dine in peace." With that, the man gave one final bow and exited the room as jovially as he had come, leaving Catherine and Glenarvon alone in his wake.