Several days had gone by since the fête, but Catherine still avoided Glenarvon in the halls of their stately home. She ate meals with him, yes, and even spent time with him in the parlor. After all, one wouldn't want the servants to suspect too much unrest in their marriage. Whenever any moment to speak to Glenarvon arose, however, Catherine kept her conversation brief and to the point. Icy.

Now, Anne was arriving this afternoon, and all of Catherine's original fears came flooding back. It would be so good to have Anne visit–to have anyone visit, really, and break the silence that now haunted the halls of Castle Fen–but Catherine still worried that Anne would not be able to hide her secret. Then, of course, Catherine wondered if she would be able to hide the fact that she and the marquess had barely spoken for days. Still, the trouble would have to be borne, and Catherine thought it would be worth all the trouble in the world to spend some extended time with Anne.

Glenarvon and Catherine were waiting for Anne in the entryway for only a few minutes before she arrived. She came precisely at the time she had written that she would–just half past four–and the girls greeted each other with a warm embrace.

Glenarvon bowed. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Edmonson," he said. "I hope you will find your time with us to be renewing. We've prepared a room for you, if would like to follow me–"

"I'll show her to the room, if you don't mind," said Catherine. "My sister and I have much to catch up on, I'm sure."

Catherine led Anne to a bright and airy room not far from her own. It was all done up in white and palest blue, the drapes blowing in the breeze.

"Oh, Catherine," said Anne. "It's beautiful! Thank you."

Biting her lip, Catherine nodded. "Anne, you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"You mustn't see Peter during your stay at Castle Fen. Please. It's too dangerous. What you've already been doing is too dangerous, but there are so many ways you might get caught here."

Laughing like a tinkling bell, Anne grabbed Catherine's hands. "You needn't worry so much about me, Catherine! I won't do anything to jeopardize my reputation."

"If you're sure..." Catherine's brows knit a skeptical pattern across her forehead.

"Of course. Now," said Anne, swiftly changing the subject, "When do you typically eat dinner at Castle Fen?"

"A little past five, I should think," said Catherine, glancing at the clock on the small writing desk near the window. It was nearly five o'clock already. "I'll leave you to get dressed, then."

Catherine left the room quickly. As she worried at the sleeves of her dress, she wondered if Anne would stay true to her promise. Catherine had hope, but she left a small portion of her heart open for disappointment. Anne knew how much her secret would jeopardize their family, but that hadn’t stopped her thus far...

* * *

Catherine, Anne, and Glenarvon sat down to dinner in the small dining room at half past five. This was the dining room where Catherine and Glenarvon typically took their meals. Although it was much smaller than the formal dining room, it was still quite impressive by Anne's standards. Catherine had grown used to it by now, but as she saw it through Anne's eyes tonight, she realized the level of grandeur she had so quickly grown accustomed to. Truly, it was a lovely room, and the footman serving them was impeccably trained.

"Miss Edmonson," said the marquess as he cut into his chicken. "How has your week been since we saw you at Miss Fairchild’s fête? Well, I hope?"

"As well as can be, Lord Glenarvon," replied Anne.

Cutlery clinked, filling the void of silence that followed.

"Everything is well at the house, then?" Catherine asked finally.

"Indeed. Lydia is up to her usual antics. I hardly imagine that we were so rambunctious when we were her age. She's desperate to come out, although Mama has told her that she's not old enough yet. Lydia claims that her friend Margaret is out already, but I think Margaret must be a sight older than her."

"Lydia has a few years yet, I should think," said Catherine, smiling wryly. "What havoc she would wreak upon the social scene if she were out now! Such silly scandal as has never been seen."

Glenarvon smiled. "Let us count our blessings that she is still young yet, then," he said. "But perhaps when she is older she might visit us for a season in London."

"She would love that," said Anne.

"Don't let's tell her about that idea just yet," interjected Catherine hastily. "We might create a monster."

"Perhaps Anne could come with us as well–much sooner, of course," said Glenarvon.

"To London?" asked Catherine, shock creeping into her voice.

Anne shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't impose."

"It might be good for you," said Glenarvon. "You know, it is a very good place to meet people."

Eyes intent upon her meal, Catherine fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

    "Oh, I'm sure I don't need to meet any new people," said Anne unthinkingly.

Eyes flashing, Catherine kicked Anne under the table. Starting, Anne shot a look at Catherine and settled herself back in her seat.

"What I mean to say," Anne added, "is that I am quite content to spend some time with familiar friends and family right now. Perhaps in the future, I shall take you up on your offer."

The meal continued without a hitch–for the most part. After that near miss, Catherine was quick to steer the conversation away from any subject that might even hint at Anne and her paramour.

Eventually, Anne's first night at Castle Fen came to a blessed close. As Catherine dressed for bed and surveyed the day, she finally began to relax. Nothing horrible had happened and it did not seem likely that anything horrible would happen. Anne seemed determined to be on her best behavior, and if need be, Catherine could deflect just about anything. This would be a fine visit with her sister, after all.

* * *

After several days, Anne had become a regular part of the household. The marquess was glad to have her there, for she seemed to liven Catherine. His wife was still quite cold with him when they were alone, but with Anne around she spoke and laughed as normal.

They all spent a good many hours together, eating, walking in the garden, and playing billiards. Anne was not quite so good at the game as Catherine and Glenarvon, but she lost with such a sweet deference that almost made the marquess want to rig the game in her favor.

Still, it finally came time for Glenarvon to leave the house and perform some business. He set out with a quiet sort of gladness, for he was pleased to see the sun shining and the flowers blooming. His fight with Catherine still loomed somewhere in the back of his mind, but Anne's presence was a palliative on their relationship–for time being. When she left, he would have to face the gloomy realization that Catherine did not love him, and perhaps could not ever love him. His lot in life, he thought morosely.

Catherine left the estate just after the marquess, intent on buying a new ribbon to go with her blue dress. Now that Spring was in full bloom, her wardrobe needed a bit of a change. When asked if she wished to accompany Catherine, Anne had declined, saying that she had a bit of needlepoint she needed to finish.

Glenarvon's business went faster than he had hoped, and he concluded his meeting, and had his papers signed and posted to London within an hour. And so it was that he arrived back at Castle Fen before Catherine had even finished choosing her ribbon.

Of course, Glenarvon had no idea that Catherine had left the estate at all, so when he returned home, he expected to find both the girls taking a stroll in the garden, as was their custom around one o'clock. When he did not find them amongst the trees and topiary, surrounded by blossoms, he shrugged and went inside.

However, when the marquess visited the sitting room, he discovered that Catherine and Anne were not there, either. Now, he shook his head. On to the billiards room he went, but again they were conspicuously absent. He looked in the bedroom, supposing that Catherine might have decided to take a quick nap. She wasn't there.

Finally, he approached Anne's closed door, raising his hand to knock upon the paneled wood. His knuckles met the door softly, just barely grazing it. The resulting sound was so soft that the inhabitants of the room discounted the noise immediately. The door, however, had been shut in haste, and no one had checked the lock. As the poorly latched door swung open under Glenarvon’s hand, he was dismayed to find that Anne was not alone. She and one of the marquess’s farmers lay in flagrante delicto on her bed, their bodies entwined in the most sinful of positions.

For a moment, the marquess was too shocked to say anything. And then his blood began to boil. He recognized that farmer. It was Peter Wynn. Up until this moment, he had thought that Mr. Wynn was a good man, as his father had been. In fact, his father had spoken to Glenarvon about his hopes for Peter, and together he and the marquess had devised a plan to get Peter to school.

And now Mr. Wynn was here, in the marquess's home, defiling Catherine's sister.

Without preamble, Glenarvon stormed into the room. "Out!" he yelled, pulling Mr. Wynn bodily from the bed.

Anne gasped, clutching the sheets about her nakedness. A hot flush rose upon her cheeks.

"Peter!" she cried. "Lord Glenarvon, please–"

Holding Peter Wynn's bicep in his iron grip, Glenarvon bellowed, "This man! This man dares to come into my house and take advantage of my wife's sister? What possessed you? You had no right to touch a woman who did not give you permission to touch her! I will devour you in court, Mr. Wynn–"

As Glenarvon yelled, Catherine, newly arrived, heard the commotion from down the hall. She came running just in time to view her worst nightmare.

Glenarvon continued his impassioned speech, his hair askew and his eyes raving. "–You are hereby banned from my land, and I will see to it that no other self-respecting landowner will allow you to farm again. A man deserves to be punished for his crimes, and I am here to make sure that Miss Edmonson does not go without justice."

Jumping forward, Catherine caught Glenarvon's hand in her own, squeezing it. She placed her other hand upon Peter's arm, prizing Glenarvon's fingers away.

"You misunderstand," she said, her voice high and wavering. "Lord Glenarvon, it is not what you think."

"The devil it is!"

"No! No." Catherine moved to stand in front of her husband, bringing her palm up to his fevered brow. Stroking it, she said, "Be calm, my lord."

Her hand trembled as she tried to soothe him, her face betraying her true feelings. Although Catherine wanted to be collected in this moment, every fiber of her being was on fire.

There was no hiding from Glenarvon any longer. Now was the time to tell him what she had so sought to hide. Let him hate her for it. There was no scenario in which she would let Peter go to jail for loving Anne. Catherine would take the blame.

"The situation is not as it seems," she said, squaring her shoulders. "Anne and Peter–Mr. Wynn–are in love. They have been in love for longer than you or I have even known each other."

Glenarvon's eyes bulged. "Love!"

"Yes," Catherine replied. "And it is a true love, indeed. Never have I seen such fortitude in the face of isolation, of scandal. Though they should not be together, still they are drawn to one another, as a moth to a flame. Please, let them be."

Still breathing heavily, Glenarvon began to calm under Catherine's dulcet spell, her fingers still tracing a pattern on his cheek. "You are to tell me," he said, "that Mr. Wynn plans to marry Miss Edmonson?"

Peter perked up, seeing a chance to defend his love. "Lord Glenarvon, I would marry Anne this very moment. I would have married her a year ago–more. She is the heart to my soul, and without her, I would be nothing and accomplish nothing. Without her, I am merely half a being. With her, I am whole."

Releasing Peter from his grip, Glenarvon crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. "And yet you have not married her."

"Would you wish a life of shame and poverty on the woman you love most?" asked Peter, sighing. "When I met Anne, I had a plan for my life. I was not going to be a farmer. Now, I have no other choice. I ashamed to say that I could not let her go, even after I knew I could never be worthy of her."

Tears rolled down Anne's cheeks unbidden. "You are worthy of me, Peter! I have faith that we shall be married. I no longer care about scandal, and I have never shied away from poverty. Marry me as soon as possible, and I shall be the happiest woman that ever lived for the rest of my life. Anyone married to their true partner is rich in their heart."

Swallowing, Glenarvon opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He took in a deep breath and uncrossed his arms. "I can see that I was mistaken. I shall not give Mr. Wynn over to the law, then.” Even though his pulse still beat with angry fire, his words came out steady. “I suppose I can do nothing about your marriage. That is your decision–"

"Oh, thank you, Lord Glenarvon," cried Anne.

Glenarvon bit his lip, pain crushing his heart as he saw Anne's happy face. "But," he continued, emphasizing the word. "You would do well not to take this decision lightly. I think it best that Mr. Wynn go back to his own home now, and that we all take the night to consider what has happened here. I know I have a great many things to think about..."

With that, the marquess ushered Peter from the room. Once they had left, Catherine turned to her sister and wrapped her arms about her, squeezing her tightly.

"Oh, Anne," she said. "I'll speak to him. I know things will come out right for you, I really do. Do not fret about me, or about Lydia or Mama. Mama will live, and Lydia is lovely enough to entice a husband even if her sister is married to a farmer."

Giving Anne one final hug, Catherine stood and walked from the room, knowing that she now needed to face her husband, and the truth.