Henrietta, with shoulders back and chin high, returned to the house with Ronscales and Davids dutifully in tow. With a distinct determination, she set her jaw and marched through the large front doors of Nightingale. Her mother, however, stopped her cold in the foyer before she could enter the dining room and take her appropriate place at table.

“Henny, you are a disgraceful mess. You will retreat to your rooms this instant and dress appropriately before you sit down to dinner.”

“Mother, I don’t have rooms here yet. You will please step aside. I am going into the dining room.”

“I forbid you, Henrietta! Your appearance is atrocious. Running about the countryside like a wild animal. I will not allow you to be seen like this! Go!”

Henrietta cringed before she drew a deep breath. “And I will not allow you to speak to me like a child, Mother. I am, need I remind you, the new Marchioness of Peterborough. And by your design if I recall. Now, please, excuse me as I expect dinner is waiting on me.”

Tabitha drew back in surprise, thus making way for her daughter to pass. “You are making us all fools, Henrietta. This is too much.”

Henrietta chuckled sardonically. “Mother, you could not be more correct.”

A hush fell over the large dining room, and the din of chattering guests fell awkwardly away as Lady Henrietta Maria Oliver Clark, the new Marchioness of Peterborough, stepped into the room. A hasty announcement of her presence was made by a quick-thinking steward and everyone in the room rose to stand. With all the poise she could muster, she walked tall toward the two conspicuously-empty chairs at the head table. She felt a wayward ribbon brush her cheek as it dangled dangerously from her disheveled hair. Blowing at it momentarily from pursed lips, she paid it no more mind. There was no going back now. She knew there was no forgiving her appearance, but it served the Marquess right. Insult to injury, indeed.

When she reached her chair, she faced the crowd of wedding guests, every last one a complete stranger. She noticed her father’s look of complete mortification as her mother sidled up to him with a look of disgust all her own. That look seemed to say, I tried to stop her.

Henrietta forced a nervous, regal smile, as she imagined the finest lady of the realm would do. “Please, everyone sit and enjoy,” she announced boldly. The music started, breaking the tense silence, and the guests resumed their chattering conversations, of which she was quite sure she was the central subject matter.

Henrietta sat down and sighed in relief. Her hands were shaking, which was surely a small victory given that all her insides felt like they were dissolving into useless mush.

It was painfully awkward to be alone at the head table, not least because she apparently had been deserted by her groom. After hearing all the fussing outside the chapel, she was not really surprised. Eventually, a few couples, probably important people she should know, filled in the spots at the outer ends of the long table, but the chairs closest to her remained unoccupied. At last, a friendly voice addressed her, and even better, its owner sat down beside her.

“You’ve had a quite a day, haven’t you, my dear?”

Relief quickly turned to angst as Henrietta turned to look into the dark steady eyes of her new mother-in-law.

“Yes, Your Grace,” came her stilted response.

“You look absolutely dreadful.” There was no insult in her voice, only something strangely reassuring. “But I blame you not for running, and I applaud your return. Well done, even such as you are.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.” Relief returned as Henrietta considered with surprise that the Duchess might prove to be a friend. She certainly hadn’t expected as much.

Large platters of food arrived, and the noise level rose with the clatter and clang of good silver in use. Henrietta found the duck placed before her temptingly glazed to perfection, but her stomach turned over in warning.

“Will the Marquess be joining us for dinner, Your Grace?”

The Duchess smiled. “At this point, your guess is as good as mine, my dear. I feel compelled to apologize for his behavior. It was most untoward and most unlike him.”

“A man is entitled to his opinions, though I warrant few would bestow such enthusiastic disapproval in such public circumstances. I didn’t mean to be so displeasing,” she finished quietly.

“About that, Henrietta,” the Duchess began carefully, “Ewan has been a bit,” she searched for a word, “unstable of late.”

“But why should he be, Your Grace? I mean no disrespect, but I see a man of privilege, with wealth, education, independence, and every creature comfort at his beck and call. Why should he be so unstable as you call it?”

“My, but you speak your mind freely, child.”

“Forgive me. But given the woeful impression I have already made upon your household and your community, Your Grace, have I really much more to lose?”

The Duchess sighed and then forced a weak smile. “We approach the anniversary of his first wife’s death.”

Henrietta gasped. No one had told her anything about this man or his family. She only knew they were of sound reputation, but the particulars had been nil. In truth, she hadn’t bothered to inquire, but given her recent state of house arrest, what of significance could she really have learned anyway?

“Your Grace, I had no idea. I –” she faltered.

“She died in childbirth,” the gracious lady explained. “He loved her very much.”

“And the –?”

“Yes. And his son. It has been a difficult year for him, for all of us.” The Duchess looked at her plate somewhat vacantly before she looked again at Henrietta. She reached over and squeezed her new daughter’s hand affectionately. Another forced smile. “But here you are. And we are hoping for brighter days.”

“Indeed, we are,” the man in question offered as he slipped into the chair on Henrietta’s other side. A shock of surprise jolted through her before she felt herself stiffen self-consciously. Where had he come from? She watched out of the corner of her eye as her new husband fussed with his napkin and motioned to the steward to bring him a plate of food. She then fixed her gaze straight ahead, unwilling to acknowledge him.

I will not look at him. I will not speak to him. I will not. This will be a very long and quiet meal indeed.

Or so she thought.