How could he possibly sleep? But she supposed it had not been nearly as momentous for him as it had been for her. She did not want to think of other women, but she did not doubt there had been many. He was thirty-one years old, and he did not seem like the sort of man who would deny himself anything he wanted. The thought did not trouble her, she realized. Not as it applied to the past, at least.

She had hardly slept last night. Indeed, she would have believed she had not slept at all if she had not kept waking from bizarre dreams. She had been up well before dawn. She had been in Hyde Park with Elizabeth before there was full daylight by which to see. She had lived through all the terror and strangeness of that duel. Then she had returned home and, instead of dropping back into bed, had had an early breakfast with Elizabeth and then written a long letter to Joel. After that there had been her wedding and then the visit of her family and now the consummation of her marriage. Could all that possibly have happened within so short a time?

Exhaustion hit her rather like a soft mallet to the head. And also the knowledge that she was warm and comfortable, that her body was against his, that the soft sound of his breathing was both soothing and lulling, that she was . . . happy.

She slept.

Twenty

“It is good to have you home again, Lizzie,” Alexander said at dinner that evening. “I have missed you. Mama has too.”

“It does feel good,” she admitted, “though I enjoyed my weeks with Anna. I like her exceedingly well.”

Their mother was regarding Alexander with slightly troubled eyes. “Do you mind dreadfully, Alex, that she has married Avery?” she asked. “You more or less offered for her yourself yesterday, and I believe she might have been persuaded to accept if he had not been there.”

“No,” he said, picking up his glass of wine and leaning back in his chair. “I do not mind, Mama. Netherby saved me from the temptation to persuade Anastasia to take the easy way out of both our problems.”

“But you are a little sad anyway?” she asked.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted after hesitating for a moment. “But only for a despicable reason. I could have restored Brambledean to prosperity without having to cudgel my brains further over how it is to be done.”

“You do yourself an injustice,” she said. “You would have been good to Anastasia too. I know you better than to believe you would have cared only for the money and not for the bride who brought it to you.”

“I am going to have to marry for money anyway,” he said. “I have come to that conclusion. Brambledean cannot recover from years of neglect as Riddings Park did, just with some hard work and careful economies. But I have the title and dilapidated property to offer a rich wife in return.”

“Ah,” she said, reaching out to pat his free hand on the table. “I did not expect ever to hear you bitter or cynical, Alex. It hurts my heart.”

“I do beg your pardon, Mama,” he said, setting down his glass in order to cover her hand with his own. “I feel neither bitter nor cynical. I am merely being realistic. I owe prosperity to those who are dependent upon me at Brambledean. If I can offer it through marrying a wealthy bride, then so be it. A bride does not have to be distasteful merely because she is rich, and I would hope that I need not be distasteful to her merely because I have an earl’s title. I will expect to hold her in affection and to work tirelessly to win hers.”

His mother sighed, drew her hand free, and returned her attention to her food.

“Do you resent what Avery has done, Alex?” Elizabeth asked. “I know you have never liked him.”

He frowned in thought. “I believe I have revised my opinion of him recently,” he said. “I— There is more to him than he allows the world to see or chooses to allow the world to believe. Part of me is horrified for Anastasia even so. He cannot possibly value her as he ought or treat her with anything but careless indifference. She will surely regret her impulsive decision to marry him just because he offered to take her to see grandparents who would have nothing to do with her after her mother died. I fear she will soon be very unhappy.”

Elizabeth tipped her head to one side and looked curiously at him. “But—?” she said.

“But I have the strange feeling,” he said, “that I may be completely wrong. I have known Netherby since we were both boys at school. Yet I discovered aspects of him . . . recently that I did not even begin to suspect.” He glanced at their mother. “It is possible, even probable, that I have never known him at all. And yes, I still resent him for that, Lizzie, and could never, I think, call him friend. How can one be a friend to someone who has chosen to make himself unknowable? Yet if I ever needed . . . help, I believe I would not hesitate to turn to him. Beyond my fear for Anastasia lies a certain suspicion that she will be happy after all and that perhaps he will be too. Though one cannot quite imagine Netherby happy, can one?”

“Oh, I can,” their mother said. “His eyes sometimes give him away, Alex, if one looks closely enough. He has a certain way of looking at Anastasia . . . Well, I do believe he is in love with her. And she is in love with him, of course. What woman would not be if he turned his attention on her and informed her in that strange way of his that she could be his duchess if she chose and then whisked her off the very next day with a special license and two witnesses to marry her? Lizzie, was it a very romantic wedding?”

“I believe it was, Mama,” Elizabeth said, her eyes twinkling. “I think it was perhaps the most romantic wedding I have ever attended. Cousin Louise would have had an apoplexy, not to mention Cousin Matilda—Anna wore her plain straw bonnet and forgot her gloves.”