Alex had never left the closing session of Parliament on a higher note. His final speech had been well-received, both by members of his own party and by those packing the gallery as witnesses. No doubt that was because of the vigor and conviction with which he delivered it. And that was the direct result of the vigor and conviction with which he’d delivered something else just before his speech.

As the heat of passion—quite literally—faded, sheepishness over the risk he and Marigold had taken and doubt as to whether he’d pushed her into something she might not have wanted rushed in. In retrospect, Marigold might have been more alarmed by the suddenness of his lust and the clandestine nature of his means of assuaging them than she was aroused. He promised himself that he would make it up to her, though, and nipped into the jeweler on the way home to purchase a stunning pair of diamond earrings.

“They’re lovely,” Marigold said with a smile, then promptly set them aside to slide her arms around his shoulders. “But you’re the only gift I need.”

“What a charming sentiment,” he replied, bringing her close for a kiss. But a whisper of panic kept him from enjoying the moment entirely. Violetta had always adored jewelry. With her, it had made up for all his many shortcomings. But the rules of the game were different with Marigold, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to play anymore. The thought terrified him.

He tried to justify his choice of gift by saying, “You’ll have quite a bit of opportunity to wear all sorts of jewels while we’re in Wiltshire.”

“Oh?” she asked, taking his hand and leading him deeper into their bedroom, sitting on their bed and gesturing for him to sit with her. She wore a mysterious smile, and her cheeks were a tempting shade of pink.

“I may not be a titled gentleman,” he explained, “but those in Wiltshire who are consider me one of their own. They are forever teasing me that if I play my political cards right, I should be rewarded with a title before too long.”

“That would be splendid.” Marigold brightened, pressing a hand to her stomach. “That would mean your heirs would join the ranks of the high and mighty.”

He smiled, liking the thought of their children being lords and ladies. Although that thought came with the worry over what that would mean to James. The poor boy would have noble half-siblings while he would be normal old Mr.... They hadn't even decided on what his surname should be.

“I’ve already received an invitation from someone called Caruthers for next Friday,” Marigold went on. “I wasn’t sure I should accept it until talking to you about it.”

Her eyes lit up with an eagerness that warmed Alex’s heart. Surely, she was just eager to please him. She couldn’t possibly want to waste her precious time doing something as boring as talking to him.

“Accept whichever invitations you’d like.” He inched closer to her on the bed, circling his arms around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. That was the sort of congress he knew and understood. “I’m sure everyone in Wiltshire, in the entire western part of the country, will be falling all over themselves to see you at their gatherings.”

She laughed and shook her head, but whether out of modesty or because she didn’t believe him, he couldn’t tell. There were so many things about his young, exciting wife that he couldn’t begin to fathom. He wasn’t sure if he’d taken on more than he could handle or if marrying her was the wisest decision of his life. Even if it had been more Katya’s decision than his own. At least there was one thing he could do to recommend himself to Marigold.

He kissed her, reaching for the hem of her skirt and sliding his hand up her stockinged leg. She gasped and shivered in response, threading her fingers through his hair. He was instantly at ease. They worked so well together in a horizontal position that it almost made him forget he had no idea what to do with a wife.

They made love slowly and sweetly, which made them so late for the theater that they decided to forgo the outing all together. But it was worth it. He had so much to make up for after their quick assignation in the closet. Marigold’s sighs of pleasure reassured him that he was good for something where she was concerned, and by the time they fell asleep, sated and content, he was back to feeling triumphant one more.

Although the feeling didn’t last long, considering how early they had to get up the next day in order to catch the first train to Wiltshire from Paddington Station. Phillips knocked on their door early enough to give them a leisurely amount of time to wash and dress, but they both slept right through it. He knocked several more times before boldly sticking his head around the door and saying, “Sir, you have less than an hour before your train departs.”

It was as though he’d fired a cannon into the room. Alex jerked fully awake, rousing Marigold as he did. She was even more alarmed than him at how little time they’d left themselves to prepare for their journey. The two of them flew through their morning routine, cutting corners and helping each other throw on their traveling outfits while Phillips tapped his watch and frowned.

By some miracle, they made it to Paddington with time to spare. Of course, Alex was well aware that that miracle’s name was Gilbert Phillips.

“Your trunks have already been handed over to the porter,” Phillips explained, handing Alex and Marigold their tickets. “Noakes is sending a footman to fetch them from the station in Lanhill.”

“Thank you, Phillips.” Alex thumped his man on the back. “You’ll come along by Thursday?”

Phillips grinned. “Just as soon as I finish sleeping my way through the week.”

Alex chuckled. Phillips so rarely took a holiday that as far as he was concerned, he could spend the week gaming and whoring and Alex wouldn’t blame him one bit. But Phillips was an upright soul and would probably spend his free time staring at landscapes in the National Gallery.

“Do keep an eye on Ruby,” Marigold said, casting a worried look Phillips’s way. “She’s still skittish.”

“I’ll guard her with my life, ma’am,” Phillips replied in a tone that had Alex’s brow rising to his hairline. He’d never suspected Phillips of harboring any special feelings for a woman before. If he were honest, the prospect of his man of business forming an attachment to a woman who had been so badly used by Turpin, and who was vital to any case he might mount against his enemy, was unsettling.

As if thoughts of the case summoned him, Alex glanced across the crowded train platform and spotted Turpin and his wife harassing a porter. Alex narrowed his eyes. Turpin’s home constituency was in Worcester, and as the Parliamentary session had ended the day before, it wasn’t out of the question that their paths would cross at the station, but he wished they hadn’t.

“Is it time to board?” he asked Phillips, taking Marigold’s arm in an attempt to escape Turpin’s notice.

He wasn’t fast enough.

“Croydon,” Turpin boomed. He broke away from his wife and the porter, marching toward them.

Marigold hissed out a breath. “What could that odious man possibly want with us?”

Her question was answered a moment later as Turpin came to a glowering stop in front of them. “Don’t think for a moment I will be cowed by your libelous scheme.”

Alex’s gut clenched. He tugged Marigold protectively closer, regretting that she had to look at the man’s sour face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Turpin.”

Turpin stared at him as if judging how much Alex knew. “If you use that little whore against me, there will be consequences.”

Phillips stiffened, color splashing his cheeks. Marigold glared at Turpin with admirable ferocity.

Alex attempted to remain calm and in command of the situation. “A young woman’s life was ruined.”

“By her own stupidity,” Turpin growled. “If a word of this gets out, all I need do is make public her low character.”

Alex leaned closer to him. “If word of your involvement with the Black Strap Club gets out, along with your mistreatment of Miss Murdoch, voters in Worcester will be made aware of your own low character. And with hints of an election in the air….” He left his threat hanging.

Turpin turned a deep shade of puce. “Consequences, Croydon. Mark my words.”

Alex stood taller and huffed a laugh, shaking his head. He was saved having to draw the confrontation out when the conductor called for first-class passengers to board. He nodded to Turpin with a curt, “Good day,” glanced to Phillips, then led Marigold away to their train.

“That man makes me sick,” Marigold grumbled as they settled into their private compartment. “How can he live with himself, much less walk around in public?”

Alex sighed. “Men like Turpin see themselves as a cut above their fellow men and as an entirely different, superior species to women in general. He most likely thinks of Miss Murdoch as an inhuman object, born to be at his disposal.”

“It’s sickening,” Marigold said, pressing a hand to her stomach. She looked sickened indeed.

“Are you feeling quite all right, my dear?” he asked as the whistle sounded at the front of the train and the whole thing jerked into motion.

“I—” She stopped, her mouth open, a flash in her eyes. For a moment, she seemed to be thinking something over. Then she closed her mouth, shook her head with a smile, and patted his arm. “It’s nothing.”

Alex arched a brow, not quite believing her. But whatever it was, he trusted she would tell him in her own time. Instead, he blew out a breath, finally letting the tension of the whirlwind their morning had been slip away. “At least we have an easy journey ahead of us. We’ll be at Winterberry Park by late this afternoon. I can’t wait for you to see the place and to meet the staff.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it all month,” she replied, her smile as wide as ever.

The way she looked at him and the way she looped her arm through his gave Alex the bolstering feeling that she’d been looking forward to actually spending time with him for a month. The six weeks since their wedding had passed in a parliamentary blur, and only with her sitting there in the train compartment with him did he realize he’d barely spoken more than a few words to his wife since their wedding. No wonder she wanted to talk to him.

“Have you spent much time in the country?” he asked. It was a question that newly acquainted people would have discussed, but in their haste to the altar, they’d left a lot of ground uncovered.

“Not really,” she began, snuggling closer to him. “Papa’s business dealings keep him in London year-round out of necessity. But my younger sisters married men who have country estates, and for these last few years, I’ve spent a fortnight or two visiting each of them during the summer.”

Alex smiled, enjoying the easy way she talked about her sisters and their families. She didn’t stop talking after exhausting the subject of her infant nieces and nephew. In fact, they managed to keep the conversation going through the hours of their journey. All of his concerns about the bill for women’s rights, all of his frustrations about Turpin and his cronies, and all of his anxiety about his shortcomings as a husband faded away. His wife was, surprisingly enough, a brilliant conversationalist. He found himself talking to her as if she were a lifelong friend and not simply the woman who made his blood run hot again at his age.

“So by the time we came down for supper, Lavinia was frozen solid, and I could barely feel my feet.” Marigold laughed, recounting a story from her school days, as they stepped down from the train in Lanhill.

“You stayed up there that whole time?” Alex laughed along with her, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

“What else could we do?” Marigold took his arm, leaning close to him. “We’d made a bet, after all.

“And bets must be honored, of course,” he agreed with a broad grin.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun beamed down from a clear, blue sky. Lanhill’s station was a tiny one, and Mr. Bolton, the stationmaster, spent his time between trains tending the magnificent garden that greeted weary travelers. Benjamin Connors and Robby Deane, two of his footmen, were already receiving their trunks from the train’s porter, and he nodded to them in greeting. The quaintness of the old station was a hallmark of the entire region, and Alex felt right at home in it as he escorted Marigold toward the platform exit.

“Lavinia seemed so much younger than me then,” Marigold went on, smiling at the beauty around her as if she too were coming home. “That difference hardly matters now, since our positions are so—oh.”

“What?” Alex glanced to her as they stepped through the barrier to the street, where one of his larger carriages was waiting for them on the curb.

“Well, Lavinia and I aren’t of the same station anymore,” Marigold went on. “Although her mother is bound and determined to marry her off to the highest, most well-placed gentleman she can. So we will be again soon.”

“Isn’t marrying their daughters to distinguished men the aim of all mothers?” Alex commented as he nodded to his driver.

“Lady Prior is more determined than most,” Marigold said with a sigh. “She has already turned down two suitors who Lavinia rather liked, but who didn’t quite live up to her standards. I’m afraid at this rate, poor Lavinia will end up on the shelf if her mother doesn’t—” She stopped, spotting something farther down the path leading from the station into town and said, “Well, hello. Who are you?”

Alex turned out of mild curiosity. That instantly turned into a burst of overwhelming, conflicted emotion.

James stood at the edge of one of Mr. Bolton’s gardens, his two chubby hands full of freshly turned dirt. His short pants and round-collared shirt were smudged with more dirt, but he wore a broad smile, as though he were the happiest child on earth. The sunlight played off of the highlights in his dark, tousled hair. The whole sight filled Alex with the purest burst of love that he’d ever known.

James spotted him a moment later, and burst into a smile of pure joy. “Macky!” he shouted, throwing his dirt aside and running headlong at Alex.

After all the turmoil of Violetta’s death due to complications from James’s birth, after months of bitter sorrow and regret, and after years of guilt for farming his son out to Arthur and Clara Fallon, Alex had found himself in the uncomfortable position of loving his little bastard more than he’d ever thought it was possible to love. He let go of Marigold’s arm and rushed to meet him.

Though not quite three, and having lived somewhere else for all that time, James understood there was a connection between them, though Alex doubted he knew the truth of what it was, and when he was close enough, James jumped toward him. Alex scooped the boy into his arms, hugging him close.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once James had lifted his head from his shoulder, where it rested during their hug.

“Choo-choo!” he declared, pointing through the garden fence to the train, which was just rolling into motion to move on.

“Are you all by yourself?” Alex looked around, searching for Clara or one of the village children, anyone who could have been minding the boy. Surely someone had to be minding his son.

His glance landed on Marigold, standing stock still where he’d left her. Her eyes had gone round, and the color had drained from her face as she stared at him and James. Alex’s heart sank like a rock into his stomach. She knew. She hadn’t even had to guess. James resembled him so much that there’d been no point even trying to conceal his origins from local people, and apparently the truth was obvious to all. Including Marigold.

An even harder truth was suddenly obvious to Alex. No amount of jewelry would be enough to buy his way out of neglecting to tell his wife about his son.