Catherine could hear Anne and Lady Edmonson’s fervent whispers outside the bedroom door. Though it was nearly eleven in the morning, she was still tucked under the covers of the bed she had once shared with Anne.

“For the last time,” whispered Anne, “I don’t know what happened, Mother!”

Lady Edmonson’s voice came querulously through the closed door. “But surely she must have indicated something to you? We left rather rudely, and I should like to know why!”

“You’ll have to wait for her to wake,” Catherine sighed. “And maybe she shall tell you herself.”

As their voices retreated, Catherine tugged the white sheets up about her neck, burrowing down further into her nest. She closed her eyes wearily and drifted back into a light slumber.

At some point, someone knocked on the bedroom door, quietly at first, and then louder. Catherine heard the creaking sound of the door opening ever so slightly. She kept her eyes shut and did her best to appear asleep. Eventually the person left, gently shutting the door behind them.

As the afternoon was nearly turning to evening, and the room was tinted pink by a blooming sunset, a horse clopped up the drive and came to a stop in front of the house. The brass knocker hit against the front door three times and the household set into motion, readying themselves for an unexpected visit.

As her window was near the front of the house, Catherine could hear muffled voices wafting up from the entrance. Someone–most likely her father–was greeting the guest. They were speaking so quietly that Catherine could barely make out the sounds, but a knot twisted in her stomach all the same.

A soft knock came at Catherine's door again. This time, Catherine stood listlessly, and turned the handle, allowing Anne to enter the room.

Anne's brows were furrowed, her hands clasped. "Catherine..." she said carefully. "It is Lord Glenarvon come to see you."

All the blood came to Catherine's face in a rush. It was just as she had expected when she heard the horse come up the drive. She should have known that he would follow her. After all, he needed some way to make amends. There was no scandal greater than a wife leaving her husband behind.

Catherine didn’t want to be at the heart of such a scandal either, but there was no force on Earth that could make her live under the same roof as her husband. Perhaps in time, he would adjourn to London and she could reside at Castle Fen alone, visiting Anne and Peter as often as she wished. It was not what she had dreamed for her marriage, but she’d prepared herself for a loveless life once before.

A sharp pang of loss shot through Catherine's breast. She had truly believed that Glenarvon had wanted her. She had almost convinced herself that he even loved her. Every day for the past month, she had been readying the words in her mouth: I love you, too. But that was not meant to be. What a fool she was.

Catherine hardly glanced at Anne before the words were out of her mouth: "Send him away."

"Catherine, I don’t think–"

"I said, 'Send him away!'" Catherine spoke louder now, her voice taking on great force. "I don't wish to see him." She was left winded and exhausted from that small effort, all strength sapped from her body.

Nodding meekly, Anne walked down the hallway to relay Catherine's wishes.

Stepping across the creaking wooden floors, Anne approached the entrance where Sir William and Lord Glenarvon were waiting. Sir William's mouth was twisted quizzically, his arms crossed, fingers beating a pattern against his right bicep.

Lord Glenarvon looked bleak. No emotion escaped his face. To Anne, the marquess almost seemed frozen in time, as if he were barely registering what was going on around him.

"I–" Anne started quietly.

"Speak up," barked Glenarvon.

She spoke louder. "Catherine does not wish to see you today."

Helplessness bubbled up from a dark pit in Glenarvon's stomach. So, he truly had made a fatal blow. Catherine had no wish to see him. She regretted ever meeting him.

He could hardly blame her. If he were in her place, he wouldn’t want to remain married to her, either. He would take it to court. Get the marriage annulled, somehow.

Glenarvon clenched his jaw, hoping fervently that it would not come to that. If they just stayed married long enough, he would find some way to make Catherine forgive him.

This feeling–this terrible impotence–made him gasp with newfound emotion. He hid it as best he could: with anger.

Fury rose in his voice, veins pulsing in his neck. "I must see Catherine. I cannot bear this."

For once, Sir William spoke up. "I am afraid that for today, Catherine is under my roof, and if she says that she does not wish to see you, then she shall not." He stepped out of the doorway, taking hold of the handle. "Good day, Lord Glenarvon." Then, he closed the door with a satisfying click, leaving Glenarvon fuming outside in the dying light.

Turning to Anne, Sir William sighed. "I should like to know what this is about, Anne," he said. "It may be nothing more than a marital squabble–goodness knows your mother and I have had more than our fair share–but I worry. I’m a father."

"I'll speak to her, Papa," said Anne.

She made her way back up the stairs, contemplating what she had just seen. It was evident that the marquess was infuriated. There was no question about that. But there had been something else in his face. The turn of his mouth had betrayed a strange sort of sadness. Anne found herself feeling sorry for the man who had helped her so much.

She pushed open the bedroom door, finding Catherine standing by the window, looking out at Glenarvon as he rode away.

"I suppose you heard all that," said Anne.

"I heard enough."

"But you didn’t see his face."

Catherine faced Anne, walking to the bed. With a sigh, she sat. "I had no need to see, Anne," she said. "The situation is perfectly evident to me."

"Enlighten me, then," Anne said, settling down beside her sister.

"It was all a ruse. My marriage, Lord Daventry's friendship. They made a bet and I was the prize. I was their plaything." Catherine's voice wavered.

"Surely not!" exclaimed Anne. "There must have been some sort of misunderstanding."

"I heard it from their own mouths," Catherine said. "First from Daventry. And then I asked Glenarvon if what Daventry said was true. He did not deny it."

“No?”

“No, indeed,” said Catherine. “In fact, he confirmed it.”

"Do not you think," said Anne carefully, "that perhaps his intentions were clouded somehow? You forget that I have met Lord Glenarvon. I have only known him to be a true and honest man, even if he does act a bit rashly from time to time."

Abruptly, Catherine turned her face away from her sister, letting out a huff. "I can see that we shall not agree on this subject," she said. "It gives me great pain to learn that my own sister doesn’t believe me. I don't wish to speak on it anymore."

"It's not that I don't believe you!" cried Anne, her hand flying to her chest. "I merely think–"

"Leave me, please. I need rest."

Catherine's words were severe and final. Her sister could tell that no more talk would be wasted on Lord Glenarvon or the state of Catherine's marriage, at least for the time being. Anne stood, smoothing her skirts.

"If you wish," she said simply. Then, she turned and left the room with little fanfare, leaving Catherine alone in the dark.

* * *

Catherine spent weeks in her room, leaving only to go to the privy. Anne even brought meals up to her, for Catherine refused to come down to eat. Day by day, she sat at her vanity, brushing her red hair and watching it catch the light, as Glenarvon had so loved. Then, she cursed her hair for that same love, and threatened to chop it off. In the end, the only thing that stopped her was a lack of shears and some well-put sisterly advice.

Finally, Anne could stand it no longer. For one, sharing a bed with her slovenly sister was quickly becoming a chore. Mostly, however, Anne hated seeing the person that Catherine had turned into.

One afternoon, whilst Catherine was lying listlessly in bed, Anne stomped into the room and yanked back the curtains. Light streamed in and Catherine threw an arm over her face, squinting.

"Don't!" said Anne, shooing Catherine's arm away. She tugged at the bedclothes, stripping them away from Catherine, ignoring her protests. Then, with some effort, she prodded her sister up and out of the bed and into the next room.

A hot bath awaited Catherine. She groaned, rolling her eyes.

"I am not so weakened that I cannot bathe myself," she said.

"Then you have done a good job pretending that you are," replied Anne. "Get in."

Anne was so forceful that Catherine complied. After much scrubbing, her skin was pink and new. She emerged from the bath feeling surprisingly refreshed. Lighter, somehow.

"Good," said Anne. "Now for a fresh gown." She tugged a pale blue frock from its hanger and helped Catherine slip into it, securing the back.

She flipped Catherine around to face her. "Now," she said, smiling brightly. "Mr. Wynn will come to visit any moment now, for he is come back from Oxford for the week."

"I'd rather not see anyone, if it's all the same to you," Catherine said.

Anne pinched Catherine's cheeks, bringing color to her wan visage. "It's not all the same to me," she said cheerily. "Let’s go down to greet him."

Within minutes, Anne was ushering Mr. Wynn inside the Edmonsons’ house. The farmer had transformed in his short time at Oxford: his dress was decidedly nicer than before and his hands no longer quite betrayed his rough beginnings. Still, there was an artlessness in the way he greeted Catherine, with a clumsy bow and a goofy grin, that let her know that he had not forgotten himself entirely.

"We plan to announce our engagement to your family today," he whispered.

A smile tickled at the corner of Catherine's lips as she curtseyed, but it was stomped out by her parents and Lydia bustling into the foyer.

Lady Edmonson fawned over Mr. Wynn, declaring that he looked quite well indeed since they had met at Lord Glenarvon's ball.

"If you don't mind," Mr. Wynn said, "I should like to ask Miss Edmonson something."

A spark lit in Lady Edmonson's eye. "The parlor is completely free!" she cried, nearly tripping over herself to open the door. "Go right ahead."

A few minutes later, Anne and Peter emerged from the parlor, beaming ear to ear, their hands clasped.

"I have just asked Miss Edmonson to marry me," said Peter.

"And I am pleased to announce that I accepted him," said Anne.

Lady Edmonson nearly leapt into the air with glee, just barely managing to contain herself. Instead, she settled for a small whoop of excitement.

"Both my girls married!" she said. "Oh, this is too wonderful to be true. It shall be you soon, Lydia. Mark my words, we Edmonson women have exceptional luck when it comes to finding a good match."

"Mama," said Anne, trying to temper her mother's glee. "We have decided to keep our engagement quiet for the time being, for we do not expect to marry until Mr. Wynn has finished at Oxford."

Lady Edmonson sighed. "Oh, I suppose you must. Still, knowing that you are secure will fill my heart and keep me from worry. I was thinking that you might never marry at this point and that you would have to prevail upon Catherine's good fortune for a place to live. Well! Now you shall have a house of your own in good time."

Anne looked up at Peter, her face beatific, her fingers entwined with his. "I have never felt more secure in my life," she said.

A small pang shot through Catherine's heart. She had looked at Glenarvon like that once, with all the sweetness and affection in the world. The memory of him standing next to her, clasping his mother's locket, filled her with sadness. She missed him. More than anything, she just wanted to be in his arms again.

"Now!" said Lady Edmonson, breaking Catherine's reverie. "This calls for a little celebration. Shall we adjourn to the parlor for some wine?"

The small group followed her into the room, laughing merrily. Smiles adorned every face... But one.