Книга - Playing To Win

Playing To Win
Laurel Ames


Sera Had Always Loved a Challenge, But Tony Was Proving to be Difficult Even For Her Considerable Skills!Despite her bookish exterior, Sera Barclay was an imp with outrageous charm and depths undreamed of by London's stuffy ton. A woman who would risk anything for the sake of the husband who gave her his heart, and denied her everything else… .A man of particular honor and pride, Tony Cainbrooke's inherited debt kept him estranged from his wife. But his distance was getting harder and harder to maintain… for Sera's antics to bring them together grew more outrageous by the day!









Playing to Win

Laurel Ames



















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Acknowledgments


I owe many thanks to Mr. Edward W. Eckman and Dr. John P. Sokol for valuable research material and expert advice.




Contents


Chapter One (#u3a0bad26-f8ea-52e0-a2d2-f0381ae560b5)

Chapter Two (#u9d707e62-eeed-5bc1-97dd-e4cb42b8947a)

Chapter Three (#ubaaca3da-9ea7-5ed1-ade6-14b951829442)

Chapter Four (#u009aa8ea-4fbf-5b02-b7e7-42ec74f0b5f0)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One

London—September 1815


A low fog crept across the clearing, shrouding both men and horses from the knees down. The jingle of harness, and a snort, seemed overloud in the dark stillness. Tony Cairnbrooke’s seconds conferred with Lord Vonne’s men over the pistols. The horses steamed gently. It was damp and cold for this time of year.

“He’s agreed to twenty paces, Tony. One shot each.” Tony’s cousin Winwood looked serious for once.

“Is it light enough yet?” Tony asked numbly, his only concern at this point to get the affair over with. Dueling was so stupid.

“Give it another few minutes,” said Win, scanning the eastern horizon.

“What did Vonne say when you conveyed my apologies to him?” Tony asked tiredly.

“Tony, you made love to his wife. You can’t just apologize and expect that to be an end to it.”

“I know,” said Tony, shaking his head, “but I was drunk— Drunk! I must have been insane.” The only hatless man present, Tony ran an impatient hand through his damp brown hair.

“You can best Vonne. I’ve seen you shoot. You are sober now, aren’t you?” Winwood asked, in some concern.

“Very!”

Winwood left Tony alone and went to talk in whispers to the few other men clustered under the dripping trees. The rain had stopped, and Tony thought that once the fog lifted it might be a fine day...for someone else. It was amazing how fast the sky lightened, and one could say it was now daylight, rather than night, even without a sunrise.

Lord Vonne paced idly, as though this were an everyday matter to him. Indeed, it nearly was. He had fought three other men in the short time he had been married to Madeleine. His black goatee and mustache looked particularly sinister in the dim light.

Vonne caught Tony looking at him, and nodded in a businesslike way. Tony went to stand back-to-back with him. The count went quickly as the two men strode away from each other. But Tony needed no time to decide what to do. He had considered it all night.

When it was time, he turned, brought the pistol up deliberately beside his head and fired into the air. He was, after all, in the wrong.

Vonne waited, as though he had half expected this. He slowly took aim and fired. Tony did no more than sway for a moment, as though he had lost his footing. There was something warm below his collarbone. Strange that it should feel only as though someone had run into him. It was not what he had been expecting. There was an unpleasant roaring in his ears that would have blotted out all talk, if there had been any. Then he couldn’t see.

They all stood motionless, watching him. It seemed a long time. When he tried to take a step, he went down on his knees.

“He’s hit!” yelled Winwood, and ran to catch Tony as he fell forward.

* * *

The sun was streaming into the Barclay drawing room after a night of rain and morning of dreary clouds.

“I hear that young Cairnbrooke has been shot,” Lady Jane Stanley said to her young protégée Serafina Barclay.

“What a pity. I hope he survives,” said Sera, turning her attention from the sunshine to Lady Jane.

Her hazel eyes were quite lovely, Lady Jane thought. The child’s nose could be straighter, but she had a good figure and lovely hair, a delicate brown touched with auburn. All things considered, the nose was not all that noticeable.

“Why are you staring at me?” Sera asked, laughing at her older friend’s myopic regard. Lady Jane always reminded Sera of an inquisitive bird, especially because of the way the ringlets of hair danced above her ears when she cocked her head.

“You know him?”

“I’ve met him...at an assembly. He hardly gave me a second glance, of course. He had eyes only for Lady Vonne.”

“But, my dear, that is the woman he was shot over.”

“She seems such a cruel woman. You would think men would be smart enough to see through her. If she has a dozen lovers, she can’t possibly care about all of them.”

“Men may be smart where money is concerned and quite dense in other matters.” Lady Jane clapped her teacup down in its saucer decisively, causing Sera to look up in inquiry.

“One really feels for such a misguided boy.”

“He’s not a boy. He should have known better,” Sera said.

“Men do lose their heads sometimes, but I imagine Vonne’s bullet has driven all thoughts of Lady Vonne from Cairnbrooke’s head.”

“Will Vonne be prosecuted?” Sera asked as she tried to shake the mental image of Tony Cairnbrooke meeting with a bullet.

“I suppose that is what he is waiting about to find out. He’s sent his wife out of town, though. No one knows where.”

Sera chuckled. “How do you find out all this gossip?”

“I have a great many friends, dear, and I pay many calls. I am invited everywhere. That is why your father enlisted my aid in bringing you into the ton.”

“Yes, I know,” said Sera, with a sigh and a raised eyebrow. “Vonne is a victim, too, then.”

“What did you think of him?”

“Vonne? I’ve only seen him—”

“No, silly, young Cairnbrooke,” Lady Jane said impatiently.

“He’s handsome enough, with the most compelling blue eyes. Although last time I saw him—at the theater—he looked almost...tortured.”

“I suspect that is over losing his brother. At least that is what his mother says.”

“Belgium?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know. Are you one of her intimates? Please convey my sympathies.”

“Would you like to call on her with me, tomorrow?”

“They can scarcely want morning callers,” Sera reasoned, “with one son dead and the other...perhaps— What are you up to?” demanded Sera, suddenly suspicious. “You are plotting something. I can always tell.”

“Perhaps a call would seem a bit forward,” Lady Jane mused as she paced the floor, back and forth, in and out of the bars of sunlight, until she had Sera entranced. “But to invite them here to dine would be perfectly acceptable.”

“Who?” Sera demanded, snapping back to attention.

“The Cairnbrookes, of course, and Anthony. Haven’t you been listening?”

“Ah, I see. Another victim.”

“A prospective husband should not be referred to by a young lady past twenty as a victim.”

“I recommend you not make any plans yet,” said Sera, putting down her cup.

“Why not? You are not averse to him?”

“You don’t even know if the poor fellow will survive.”

“There is no reason to be so cold-blooded about it.”

“I’m a realist, Lady Jane. Besides, if this Anthony has so lately been enthralled enough with Lady Vonne as to die for her love, he is hardly likely to express an interest in me, no matter how much money Father has.”

“Don’t be so mercenary. It won’t be a question of money, in his case.”

Sera shrugged and poured herself more tea. The daughter of a banker, Sera was rather thick-skinned when it came to men. She had been courted so often these past three years for her father’s fortune, she had ceased to place much faith in any men, except those, such as her father’s friends, who were too old for her.

The most sickening feeling was that men pretended to like her. She could wish she was not acute enough to detect this, but it would be worse to be married to someone who lied in such an insidious way. Eventually she got rid of them, but it was not always easy. In Cairnbrooke’s case she did not look forward to the experience because she had a feeling she could like him.

* * *

The next day threatened rain, so Sera passed up her morning ride to pick up some items Marie, her French dresser, assured her were essential to her wardrobe. Marie was invaluable in this way. She took all the work out of dressing for society. She scouted the fashionable shops for just what would suit Sera.

“Mademoiselle has but to try it on to discover that it is perfect,” Marie said in the carriage.

This was almost always the case. Sera admitted to herself that she had no turn for fashion. When complimented on her elegant attire, she merely thanked people and took all the credit for Marie’s talents. Clothes scarcely concerned her, unless they were costumes for one of her beloved plays. Her father had interested her in the theater at a young age, going so far as to invite Armand Travesian, actor turned theater owner, into his circle of friends. Sera had been his devotee ever since, had had more than a hand in this season’s production, Lady Mellefleur’s Boudoir, and was even now putting the finishing touches on the script for next season. She was still mulling over the proper costuming for The Count Recounts when they arrived at the shop.

Today it was a hat to go with her pearl gray riding habit, just such a small one as she wanted, close-fitting, with a point dipping gently over the brow, and with a plume not large enough to carry the thing off her head when she cantered in the park.

They purchased the hat and, upon inquiring after antique clothes, ostensibly for a masquerade, got Madame Lupy to admit that her predecessor had left a number of wigs in a trunk, with a ball gown made thirty years before but never so much as worn. Marie was careful not to exclaim too loudly over the find. Sera bought the lot and had it loaded into the carriage immediately.

“We’ll stop at the theater on the way home. Armand should be rehearsing actors for The Count.”

Sera’s coachman and footman thought nothing of delivering a trunk full of clothes to the Agora Theater. Only Marie knew that Sera’s involvement with Armand Travesian and his theater was less than respectable. But then, Sera had so little fun. In Marie’s opinion, it did no harm.

* * *

The Agora, on Stanhope Street, was not a new theater, but it was newly refurbished and renamed, thanks to Sera. It was tall and narrow, with two tiers of boxes between the pit and the balcony seats. The gold damask hangings between the boxes, and the newly recovered chairs, echoed the richness of the gilt scrollwork. Perhaps it was all paint and illusion, Sera thought as she made her way toward the stage, but the theater fairly glittered by candlelight.

The building gave up a fourth of its precious ground to the front portico and anteroom, above which were Travesian’s office and living apartment. There was no backstage to speak of. Behind the last scenery backdrop was the wall fronting on the next street. All the dressing rooms, and the prop room, were located in the rabbit warren under the raised stage.

Seating four hundred, it was not the smallest theater in the area by any means, but Travesian had frequently to fall back on Sera’s resources for costumes and even salaries when they had not enough patronage. That was mostly a matter of the past now. Since the opening of Lady Mellefleur’s Boudoir, the Agora had been paying its own way.

* * *

“We have to take out the sword fight,” Travesian complained to her in front of the two men who had been practicing on the stage.

“But the fight carries the scene. How can we do without it?”

“I cannot find an actor who can fence.”

“Nonsense. You can fence.”

“I’m too large for the role of DeVries. You could play it better than I could— Now there’s a thought....”

“Don’t be absurd. I have to prompt the actors. I can’t do everything myself.”

“I was joking,” Armand said, with his expansive smile.

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell,” Sera said petulantly. “What about a fencing master who can act?”

“Who do you think they are?” Armand pointed to the men on the stage, who shrugged and waited.

“The villain hasn’t many lines. Hire an actor for the count, and a fencing master for the villain, to make the count look good.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try. You two, wait here for me. Come back to the dressing rooms, Sera. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He led her to the cramped dressing rooms under the stage, which always seemed to her like the cabins on a sailing ship.

A handsome young man with hazel eyes looked up from a script he was studying.

“Count DeVries!” Sera said.

“If you think so, then we had better hire him.”

“Albert Brel,” said the man, with the faintest trace of an accent.

“This is Miss Serafina Barclay, one of my...patrons, but that is to be kept in the strictest confidence.”

“Of course,” said Brel, seeming surprised to be trusted with this secret.

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Sera seated herself and listened to Brel read a scene. He needed some work, but the script was new to him, and he would sound ever so much better onstage, rather than in the cramped dressing room. Sera approved Travesian’s choice on the spot and went contentedly home, feeling the morning had been well spent.

* * *

“And what are you studying today, child?” Barclay asked as he entered his library. The foolishly fond smile that he reserved for his only child masked an acute business mind, but matched his lack of adroitness when it came to women.

“Just the papers. Not much going on just now. Shall we go out to Gott Farm for a week?”

“I must have been neglecting you, if you are that bored with town.” Barclay pulled his waistcoat down over his slight paunch, and Sera smiled at this new habit of her father’s.

“I am never bored.”

“But you scarcely go out, except to the libraries or galleries.”

“Nonsense. I go to the theater several times a week.”

“Always to the Agora—the same play.”

“Travesian does it so nicely, though—I never tire of it. Wait until he tells you about next season’s production,” she teased. “I have asked him to dine with us Sunday.”

“I’m almost sorry I ever invited him here.”

“That’s not true. You find him entertaining, too.”

“As Henry VIII, not always as a dinner guest.”

“But he can enliven the dullest party.”

“Precisely!” Her father began pacing, hands behind his back. “You should not be throwing dull dinner parties for me. You should be going to balls and routs and whatever those other things are.” He fluttered an impatient hand. “You should be meeting people your own age.”

“But I do go to balls and parties with Lady Jane, and I meet a great many people my own age.”

“You do?”

“You know it is insulting of you to be so transparent, Father, dear. You are leading up to something. I can tell. And it must be disagreeable, or you wouldn’t be at it so long.”

“I do underestimate you. I hope what I have in mind will not be disagreeable. A dinner party for some...friends of mine.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? You know I love to entertain your friends. Who is it? Mr. Southey, or Lord Grenville perhaps?”

“No...no, I don’t think that would do,” Barclay said after a moment’s thought. “Why did you—?”

“There are one or two questions I would like to ask them.”

“I thought so. Just such a dull evening as I have been complaining of. No, this will be Lord and Lady Cairnbrooke—and their son, Anthony, to make up even numbers. Lady Jane will be here.”

“Oh.” Sera feigned surprise. “Who else?”

“No one else,” her father said innocently.

“Perhaps I will ask Armand,” she teased, then took pity on him when she saw his terrified look. “Come now, Father, let us leave off with this jousting. This is one of Lady Jane’s arrangements, isn’t it?”

“Well, she did suggest the meeting—and the whole point of her taking you about is to find you a suitable husband.”

“Yes, I know, and poor Cairnbrooke is probably still so weak from his wound he can’t evade the trap.”

“I’m quite sure he comes willingly.”

“Which is why his parents are bringing him, his mother for moral support, while his father holds the gun to his head.”

“It is not like that at all, I assure you.”

Sera sent him one of her penetrating looks.

“All right, I suppose that is a pretty accurate picture, but do you mind so much?”

Sera chuckled. “You are incorrigible. Is there nothing you won’t do to get rid of me?”

“This time it will be different. He’s not marrying for money, but to put a stop to all this talk about him and the Vonnes. It is an excellent family. You will have a title. I have spoken to his father...that is...” Barclay had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Just how far have the arrangements gone?”

“What do you mean? The details of the meal I—”

“I mean, have you only drafted the marriage settlements, or has his mother already written the announcement for The Post?”

“Well,” he said with a paternal smile, “the first is pretty well taken care of, not the second—not to my knowledge, anyway.”

“I suppose I have to marry someday. I just always assumed it would be another dull banker or lawyer, not such a romantic figure as Cairnbrooke.”

“You’re making fun of him. You always make fun of the ton.”

“Well, they do such stupid things sometimes, and other than supporting playwrights and artists, I’m not sure what use some of them are. Although they do sometimes surprise me.”

“You will find Lord Cairnbrooke to be a man of excellent good sense.”

“I’m sure, which is why he wants to rid himself of a troublesome son almost as much as you want rid of me.”

“The truth of the matter is, they want to put an end to the talk as soon as may be.”

“Before he is well enough to be bothersome again, you mean?”

“They feel marriage, especially with a sensible girl, will settle him down, give him responsibilities, an interest in life.” Barclay resumed his methodical pacing.

“But what if he doesn’t care for me?”

“I can’t see why he wouldn’t. You are pretty enough. No one would know to look at you how bookish you are.”

“Why, thank you,” Sera said, with a prim smile.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

Sera laughed her rich laugh. “Very well. I will do it for Lady Jane.”

“I don’t understand.” Her father stopped in front of the desk.

“It’s been obvious to me for some time that she will never marry you until I am settled. She is afraid of interfering in your household.”

“You little fox. I should have known we could not keep that from you.” He lifted her chin up with a finger. “So I will go from one cat’s paw to another. Just as you like.”

“What night shall I invite them for?”

“Saturday next—but I’ve already taken care of that.”

“Father! What if I had refused?”

“I knew I could rely on your good judgment. You have never failed me.”

Sera tried to go back to her perusal of The Times after her father left her, but she found her thoughts interrupted by the memory of a pair of laughing blue eyes that looked like they were lit from within. She knew an uneasy sympathy for this Tony, since she had an inkling of what had driven him to such stupid extremes, but she did not think it would work. If it came to making a push to fascinate him, she could not. Such artifices would cause her to laugh at herself the way she sometimes laughed at other women.

* * *

“Would you like to look over this draft of the marriage settlements? Quite handsome of Barclay, I assure you, but he can afford it.” Lord Cairnbrooke polished off his brandy and raised the paper to close scrutiny again as he sat with Tony in his dim study.

“No, I’m sure they’re fine. You are good at that sort of thing, Father,” Tony said in a lackluster way from the other armchair.

Lord Cairnbrooke eyed him suspiciously, but could detect no insult in the remark. He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Where is your mother?” he demanded rhetorically. “Amanda!” he shouted, without leaving the room or even getting up. “We are going to be late!”

Tony winced and leaned his head back on the chair pillow.

“Here, drink this,” his father commanded, putting a glass of brandy in his hand. “No one will expect you to make her an offer tonight. Simply get acquainted, and make yourself pleasing to her. I have no doubts on that score. If the girl proves impossible, of course, we can still bow out of it.”

“Oh, she’s not impossible. In fact, she’s a good deal more respectable than any of us. If anything, she may be too straitlaced to suit you.”

“Good Lord—not a bluestocking, I hope.”

“No...no,” Tony mused, trying to call up Serafina’s face. “I remember she has quite a nice smile, when she can spare it, and the loveliest hair.”

“I didn’t know you were even acquainted with her. That is well done of you.”

“Unfortunately, she has most likely seen me make a fool of myself on more than one occasion, so that is no advantage to me.”

“Don’t let it prey on your mind— Amanda!” Lord Cairnbrooke shouted again, without even turning his head.

Tony jumped, and the door opened to admit a footman. “Lady Cairnbrooke has been waiting in the carriage, sir.”

“Just like her not to tell us.” Cairnbrooke solicitously helped his son out of the chair, but drew a grunt of surprise from him by clapping him on the shoulder.

* * *

Tony was looking very handsome, Sera thought, in spite of a slight pallor and his arm still being in a sling. The dinner was excellent; the conversation was a compromise. Not for the first time in her career as a hostess, Sera had to bridge the gaps between guests with divergent interests. Her father would have talked of nothing but finance, Lord Cairnbrooke of nothing but horses and the hunt. In politics they might have found common ground, but she decided not to risk it. Besides, that would let out Lady Amanda and Lady Jane, and poor Tony, who seemed to have scant interest in anything. Small wonder. He looked to be turning a little feverish, and it took all his effort to eat one-handed without a disaster.

Under his father’s menacing scrutiny, Tony made one sally at polite conversation and then subsided.

“Is that Belgium lace, my dear?” Lady Amanda asked.

“Yes, it’s very nearly the only thing I brought back with me,” Sera answered.

“You were in Belgium? When?” Tony asked, with a spark of interest.

“In the spring,” Sera said hesitantly, not wanting to remind him. “We thought it was safe to take a house there for the season. I had no idea it would get so exciting.”

“I should never have left you there just to come back and tend to business,” Barclay said with regret.

“But I chose to stay. None of us took Napoleon very seriously then.”

“You were trapped there, during the battle?” Tony asked eagerly.

“No. I suppose I could have left at any time, but I did not want to. The suspense was terrible. I wanted to know the worst as soon as possible. Fortunately, we won, but—”

“The cost was dear,” Tony said, looking away.

“Yes, my maid was scandalized when I ripped up my muslin dresses for bandages,” she said lightly, trying to divert his thoughts from his brother.

“You what?” asked Lady Amanda and Lady Jane in unison.

“We couldn’t sacrifice the sheets. We needed those for the wounded.”

“But you mean they carried wounded into our house?” sputtered her father.

“No, we carried them in, Marie and I. They were lying on every doorstep in Brussels. Not the most hard-hearted person could have shut the door on them. I must say, I never thought much of the ladies of the ton before that day, but I did not see one of them, not the most delicate beauty, refuse to help with the wounded. I was touched with admiration for them, and for the soldiers.”

“I had no idea,” said her father, appalled. “How long did this go on?”

“A few weeks, I think. We were so busy, I don’t perfectly remember.”

“I should have brought you home with me.”

“No, I’m glad I stayed.”

Tony gave her a heart-wrenching smile. It was not as though she had done anything for his brother. But he liked her for staying, all the same.

Lady Jane cleared her throat. Sera tore her eyes away from Tony and said, “Ladies, shall we go in to the drawing room?”

Lady Jane invited Lady Amanda upstairs to freshen up, and in the same sentence recommended Tony to go in and see Sera’s sketches of America. The attempt to throw them together was so blatant as to be embarrassing, but they both pretended not to notice, and Sera led Tony into the drawing room. She picked up a candelabra and carried it to one wall. “Here they are.”

“What?”

“The watercolors. You’d better at least be able to say you looked at them, but don’t feel compelled to compliment them. It was my father’s vanity that had them framed, not mine.”

“But they are remarkably good!” said Tony, in genuine surprise.

“Far better than you expected, in other words,” she taunted.

He laughed. “If you read minds, then you know why I am here.”

“By now I expect the kitchen maids know why you are here. My father wants to be rid of me so he can marry Lady Jane.”

“My father also wants to be rid of me,” he said darkly.

“Then we have something in common after all.”

“Would you dislike it excessively to be married to me?”

“Why, I think I could like it quite well, but I have a confession to make first.”

“You?”

“It’s only that I’m hopelessly bookish,” she said sadly, putting down the candles and seating herself on a sofa. “I have even been known, in the dark of night, to sit writing poetry.”

“Is that all? I suppose I had better tell you the worst about myself.” He sat on the edge of the sofa.

“There’s no need.”

“You mean you have heard all about me already.”

“Just what Lady Jane has told me, but that’s all in the past now. I would wish you to promise not to get shot again.”

“I shall do my best to avoid it in future,” he said shyly, “Do you wish me to delay my proposal, or—?”

“We would probably have to endure another one of these dinners.”

“In that case, will you marry me?” Tony asked with a rush.

“Yes.”

Tony had a little difficulty getting the ring out of his waistcoat pocket. Sera was impressed that he had thought to carry one with him. “This was Grandmother’s,” he said to her hand as he slid it on her finger.

Sera looked at the brilliant stone, and when she raised her head to say “It’s lovely,” he kissed her. She knew then she had not made a mistake. He was the one. She had been kissed by other men, but it had always felt as though they were taking something from her. With Tony she felt that he was giving her something.

“Shall we tell them?” he asked.

“Oh no, I think we should torture them as long as possible. Look what they have put you through.”

When the others came into the room, Tony was chuckling over Sera’s stories of her travels, and they only thought that the two of them were getting on well together. It wasn’t until they were leaving that she flashed the ring at them.

“You little devils! Why didn’t you tell us?” Barclay demanded.




Chapter Two


The wedding was a simple, private affair. There were only Lord and Lady Cairnbrooke attending, with Sarah’s father and Lady Jane. Tony’s cousin Winwood was shaken loose from a country party to come down and stand for him. Sera found him charming, if somewhat foolish.

The entire affair was arranged so fast that when they actually came to say their vows there was a sense of unreality about it for Sera. She had to keep reminding herself that they were not just lines in a play. They were real vows, promises she would have to keep a lifetime. She concentrated on each one, and meant what she said.

“So much nicer than pistols, Tony,” Winwood said of the knife they used to cut the wedding cake. Sera thought it was an unkind reminder, but Tony only smiled at him.

* * *

“Perhaps we should have gone to Europe, as your father suggested,” Tony said unexpectedly as Lord Cairnbrooke’s traveling carriage took them southward.

“But I like Brighton.”

He was a little conscious that Sera had seen so much more of the world than he, and would have been glad to explore Europe with her for the first time, but she was right that it was still too torn up for travel. He would be a fool to lead her into danger or discomfort...when he felt so little able to take care of her. Besides, the Brighton road was hard enough to tolerate in a well-sprung carriage. He turned a little sideways, to get his right shoulder off the seat, and the better to converse with his bride.

He was agreeably surprised by her in many ways. She was witty, for one thing, and sometimes had an uncanny knowledge of what he was thinking. He had seen more beautiful women, but none so distinctive. Once you got to know those hazel eyes, that generous mouth, that ever-so-slightly aquiline nose, they could never be forgotten. And her glorious brown hair, burnished with auburn—he was looking forward to seeing it loose about her shoulders. Compared to Lady Vonne, Sera was not above average, but all in all, he was looking forward to being married to her.

That Vonne thing was a bad business. How he had been led into it, he could not remember. Only that after Charlie’s death he had not cared very much for anything, and Madeleine had listened and sympathized. He was just running over in his mind the course her sympathies had taken when he became conscious of Sera watching him with a look of concern.

He flushed, thinking for a moment she really could read his thoughts, then smiled nervously. “Sorry I am such a morose traveling companion.”

“Will people think badly of you to marry while you are still in mourning for your brother?” She had been about to ask if his shoulder hurt him, but sensed it would have been the wrong thing to say.

“Not since it was a private wedding. Besides, if no one married who was not in mourning for someone, there would be precious few weddings in all of England. Still, it can’t be very pleasant for you. You will miss out on so much.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted a lot of show. A wedding should be a private thing, not a play given before strangers.”

“What an odd thing to say.” Tony flashed a smile that was all the more endearing for its spontaneity.

“Yes, when you consider that, generally speaking, I like the theater very much. That is the place for grand gestures and impassioned speeches. Real life is something quite different.”

“I’m glad one of us has a firm grasp on reality. These past few months have seemed like a nightmare to me—that is, until I met you.”

“Because of your brother.”

“You understand, then. He thought it was a lark. He expected to come back. But not to even know how he died or where he is buried...”

“How would you feel if he had survived?”

“Alive again.”

“Then pretend that you are your brother, live the life he should have had.”

“Pretending doesn’t work for me. Sooner or later I sober up and discover he’s still gone.” A hole in the road jostled Tony’s shoulder and surprised a grunt of pain from him.

“Then tell yourself that the pain of his death will ease when your shoulder does. If it hurts as much as I think, that will be long enough to grieve.”

“The pain of his death will never go away,” Tony said, in despair. “I’ll never forget.”

“No, I didn’t think so,” Sera said in defeat.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone— I’m sorry...your mother...” He looked anxiously at her.

“I never knew her. But I have watched men die.”

“In Brussels?”

“Yes. They were so stoic, uncomplaining even when they knew.”

“You should not have had to go through that.”

She raised her chin. “I’m glad I stayed, even if all I could do for some of them was make them more comfortable. At least they knew someone cared.”

“You were lucky to have had something to do. You didn’t have to endure that waiting.”

“There is something you can do now that I cannot.”

“What is that?”

“Make sure there is not another war like that. We have lost part of an entire generation. The country cannot afford another such sacrifice.”

“A political career? I hope you have no such ambitions for me. Besides, why should you worry over that?”

“Just because I’m a woman does not mean I don’t think of such things.”

“Then you are more unusual than I thought.”

* * *

They reached Brighton to discover that Marie and Stewart, Tony’s valet, had installed their luggage in the Old Ship Hotel and stood ready to see to their comfort. It was not the most fashionable hotel in Brighton, but these were the best accommodations they could get on short notice. Tempting as the close view of the sea was to Sera, she insisted she had to lie down and rest before dinner.

Tony had not thought her so delicate, but was relieved not to be dragged all over town immediately. Indeed, he lay down himself, and fell into a fast sleep.

Sera was just sneaking out of her room for another look at the ocean when she encountered Stewart in the hall.

“I don’t suppose he has managed to fall asleep?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, but I could wake him, if you—”

“Don’t you dare,” Sera whispered, with a chuckle. “It’s what I was hoping for. Even a short trip like this is bad for him. We really should have waited.”

“He’s very strong, generally speaking,” Stewart said, looking rather surprised at Sera’s perception.

“I know, but for a time we must all conspire to see he gets enough rest. You won’t tell him I’ve sneaked out for a short walk?”

“No, of course not.”

“And let him wake of his own accord. I have taken a sudden liking to dining fashionably late.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Steward said with a smile.

Tony did chide Sera for not waking him, but he was so good-humored after his rest that he only did it jokingly. He ordered dinner for them in the dining room of the hotel, quite expertly she thought, checking by an inquiring look if she approved his choices. She asked him about his younger years, and he talked so unreservedly of Oak Park and his boyhood adventures, she thought they were a fair way toward being on intimate terms by the time he suggested an evening stroll along King’s Road and up the Marine Parade.

They had a pleasant walk, with Tony pointing out buildings he knew, and were on the point of returning to the Ship when a young man, lounging with some of his fellows, approached to say, “My name is Wentworth. You don’t know me, but I was wondering if you were in Belgium.”

“No, I was not,” Tony said coldly.

“The Peninsula, then? I only wanted to know because—”

“Ask my wife any questions you might have about the battle. She was in Brussels.” Tony said it as though it were an accusation, then walked off without her.

Sera thought it was not well done of him.

“I’m sorry,” Wentworth said, in obvious confusion. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed—”

“A natural assumption, I’m sure, but you have managed to set his back up. He was wounded in a duel, and it is not a good idea to cross him,” Sera said hastily, as she ran to catch up with Tony.

“Well, did you fill him in on the latest news?” Tony asked.

“No, I scarcely spoke to him. I thought him quite presumptuous.”

Tony did not offer her his good arm again, so she walked in silence beside him. He parted from her in the hallway and went into his own room without a word. Their rooms were joined by a common sitting room, and she did sit there for a time, even trying to write some letters, but Tony did not emerge. She sensed that she had hurt him, not by anything she had done today, but by revealing her own part in the conflict. It had not occurred to her he would be jealous of it. He was a strange man. When she could not figure out what to say to make him feel better, she said nothing. It was no solution, but at least it did not compound the damage.

* * *

“Perhaps his shoulder still hurts him,” Marie volunteered as Sera sat, rather red-eyed, over her tea the next morning.

“Yes, that must be it. No wonder he sat up drinking then—trying to deaden the pain. I suppose it was a stupid idea to come on a honeymoon with him not fit yet. But Lord Cairnbrooke planned it for us. He said it would be good if we got away from London for a while.” Sera wasn’t sure if this was for their benefit, or to give the talk a chance to settle.

Sera was not yet in love with Tony, but she thought that would come in time. She hadn’t been quite sure what to expect on their wedding night, but she had not expected to be completely ignored. He had never come to her, and she had slept only fitfully.

But she had recovered herself, and was calmly drinking her tea when Tony emerged from his bedroom, looking tired and surly, his brown eyebrows furrowed over his troubled blue eyes as though a headache were gnawing at him. It would be amazing if he didn’t have a headache, if he had indeed consumed as much wine as Stewart had reported to Marie. “They have brought coffee, too, if you would like some,” Sera said brightly.

“Nothing, thank you.” He picked up the newspaper from the table and withdrew behind it so as not to face her. They had conversed so easily before they were married, and even in the carriage on the way, and at dinner, that she had no idea it would be difficult to talk to him now. He seemed like nothing so much as a sulking boy, and she instinctively knew that a display of temper or tears on her part would only make him angry.

“What would you like to do today, Tony?”

“Whatever you wish.” He said it grudgingly, as though it were his duty to do what she wished.

“Perhaps we could just take a walk and look around the town by daylight.”

“Yes, of course, whenever you are ready,” he said from the depths of the paper.

She finished her breakfast in silence, but the bites of toast had a hard time getting past the lump in her throat. She felt herself to be in a tense situation, felt that one wrong word would be enough to endanger their future together. When she had eaten a reasonable amount, she went to put on her hat and gloves. She took her time over this, and was somewhat pleased to see, when she returned to the room, that Tony had at least had some coffee.

* * *

They walked down the Marine Parade in silence in the warm September sun. She had remembered from her trip to Belgium how delicious the sea air smelled. She was about to make some such comment to Tony when he remarked out of nowhere, “I suppose Wentworth and his friends will be sniggering about me.”

Sera saw them then, the same few young bloods who had been there the previous evening. Wentworth looked uncertainly at Tony. Sera shook her head no, and the young man went back to disputing with his friends over something. “They don’t look at all like they are sniggering. Most probably he is trying to decide if he should risk apologizing to you or just consider himself well out of a dangerous situation.”

Tony left off his beetling scrutiny of the group of men, and as soon as he glanced toward Sera, they made off. “What are you talking about?” he asked, glaring after the young men, who glanced nervously back at him.

“When I informed him you had been wounded in a duel, Wentworth straightaway became very apologetic. I can only assume he thought your opponent got the worst of the affair.”

“What?” Tony stopped to stare at her.

“He must have assumed you were striding off to get your pistols when you left so hastily last night. He did not stay. I suppose just now he had one friend urging him to do the manly thing and offer you an apology while the other advised him to split and run.”

Tony teetered for a moment on the edge of amazement, wondering if he should be angry with Sera, but the satisfied little smile she gave when she finished this speech tipped him into a laugh. “How could you lead that stupid boy into thinking me a desperate character?” He shook his head and smiled at her.

Sera chuckled then, too. “I assure you I said nothing untruthful. You don’t suppose he will cut short his stay just because he fears to be called out by you?”

“I don’t suppose anything of the kind. What exactly did you say to him?”

Since Tony was still laughing, she answered without hesitation, “Only that it was too late to apologize, or some such thing, since he had already set your back up.”

“Of the two of us, I think you are the more dangerous,” Tony vowed.

“Me? What harm could I do?”

Tony was still chuckling when Sera felt his arm suddenly stiffen in her loose grip and saw him flush as though in pain. He was looking at a gaily dressed young woman walking toward then between two gentleman and laughing at their sallies.

She was blond and strikingly beautiful, Sera had to admit, but only in a theatrical way. Her exaggerated features were distinctive at a distance.

Tony hesitated. They would have to either cross the street or turn around to avoid the trio, who had not noticed them yet. Sera looked at Tony sympathetically. He had now gone somewhat pale.

“It’s Lady Vonne, isn’t it?” Sera asked quietly. He gave a guilty start. “Do you mind so much?” Sera continued. “We shall have to meet her sooner or later. Perhaps it’s best to get it over with.”

“Do you always run at your problems head-on?” Tony asked with a faint smile, as he took her hand more securely.

“It sometimes even works.” She laughed and started to walk on. He could do nothing but go with her. She noticed that Lady Madeleine Vonne, too, blushed at the sight of Tony, and then looked at her angrily, even though she was herself on the arms of two gentlemen, neither of them Lord Vonne. Madeleine stiffened even more as Tony introduced Sera to her, to Lord Meade and to Sir Randall Yates.

Lady Madeleine looked Sera up and down. She was jealous to see this nobody on Tony’s arm, and the thought of his making love to this chit whipped her passionate nature to indiscretion. “I had heard you married the daughter of a cit, Tony. I see it’s true.” Both Lord Meade and Sir Randall gasped. The dumbstruck look had scarcely appeared on Tony’s face when a ripple of laughter from Sera caught them all off guard.

“Tony told me about your sense of humor. But this is wonderful. Such wit is a rare treat.” Lady Madeleine did not appreciate being appreciated, and ground her teeth. “Wait until I tell Lord Grenville that Father has been called a cit. He will get a chuckle out of that.”

“You know Lord Grenville?” Lady Madeleine gasped involuntarily.

Sera had purposely picked the name of the most influential of her father’s intimates to flaunt, and she was satisfied to see a shade of fear color Lady Madeleine’s expression. “We have entertained him at home often. He likes a quiet evening of political talk. I have grown quite tired of it, I confess, having heard it from the cradle.”

“You were your father’s hostess, then?” Sir Randall asked.

“Yes. It was challenging, because I had to keep up with what was going on just to converse intelligently at the dinner table. Do you know he means to marry Lady Jane Stanley? But they are such old friends, I’m sure no one will wonder at it. I suppose she will convince him to run for Parliament after all.” Sera said this last as though she didn’t really care to have her father exert himself in this way. The two gentlemen stared at her in fascination, Madeleine in horror.

“Oh, your father is Barclay, the banker,” Lord Meade said, as though it took an effort of memory.

“He is very nearly retired now, but he likes to keep involved. Well, it was a pleasure to have met you all.” Sera’s dismissal of the three went unquestioned, and she took Tony’s arm again as they passed them by.

He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Madeleine’s behavior was terrible, but you were superb.” He looked at her in genuine admiration.

“I did all right, then, to treat it as a joke? Sometimes it’s the only way to defuse a serious argument at one of Father’s dinners. Lady Jane taught me how to keep people from each other’s throats. I hadn’t expected it would be such a useful skill.”

“I had no idea you were so experienced socially.”

“Only among cits, of course.”

Tony gave one of his rare laughs.

“It will be easier to meet her from now on, won’t it?” Sera asked.

“It will never be easy,” Tony said. “But it will be possible now.”

* * *

If Sera hoped this would release Tony from his reluctance to make love to her, she was disappointed, for he never came to her room. She even checked with Marie to see if she was doing something wrong, but her maid assured her that English ladies did not go to their husband’s rooms. Stewart reported that one or two nights he thought Tony had screwed up enough courage to knock on Sera’s door, but nothing had come of it. Each day it did get easier to converse with him. And, perhaps because she did not lay on him any of the recriminations he expected, Tony began to relax a little and talk to her normally.

They occupied their daylight hours with walking, either through the town or on the beach. Once Sera ordered a gig and drove them into the country for a picnic. Tony was surprised that she drove so well, having lived all her life in the city.

“I drove the gig on the farm.”

“Farm?”

“Gott Farm, Father’s weekend place, near Dorking. It’s generous to call it a farm, I suppose. It cannot be more than thirty acres—enough for him to exercise his passion for fruit trees.”

“I just realized,” said Tony, as he watched her spread a cloth on the ground, “I know nothing about your father, and little more about you.”

“I grew up at Gott Farm until I was sent to school in London. I was a day student, so I got to live at home. Father and I have been unusually close,” she said, laying out their lunch. “Still, I like the farm better than London. I have him all to myself at Gott Farm.”

“And the fruit trees?” Tony asked, seating himself against a convenient beech tree.

“He has some remarkably fine orchards by now. The house itself is small, hardly more than a cottage. But Father has built a series of succession houses that are the envy of his neighbors. They are forever trading vegetables and discussing bugs and other pests. I am hard-pressed to keep up with it.”

“I would never have guessed it of him.”

“He does have other interests than banking—politics, the theater—but I think when he retires he will take up farming.”

“And what are you interested in?”

“Everything and nothing.”

“What?” Tony asked on a laugh. He had propped his left shoulder against the tree, and was managing a sandwich with his right hand. Sera knelt before him on the white cloth, the ribbons from her hat dangling in the breeze. She looked so young to Tony, he imagined that if he had had a sister she would be as free and confiding as Sera.

“By having any amount of books laid out before me like a banquet, I have nibbled at nearly everything from drama to geometry, but have discovered no overwhelming hunger for any subject. Makes me singularly useless, except as a hostess able to converse on almost any topic—well, knowledgeable enough to ask the right questions. Men are very put off to discover you know more than they do about something.”

“But that is exceedingly useful. Think of all the dull parties you enliven.”

“Usually I settle for keeping the peace. Men do get so passionate over money and politics. What about you? What are your interests?”

“Speaking of being singularly useless...” he said with a frown.

“You drive a team, don’t you?” Sera blurted out, to distract him from depressing thoughts. “I think that would be beyond me.”

“Of course not. I can teach you. Do you ride?”

“Yes. My groom taught me. I can keep Chadwick with me, can’t I? Father has little use for him, and Chadwick does know my horses.”

“You have horses?”

“Only two, and nothing like yours. An old hack that Chadwick rides, and a mare, who I regret to say is also showing her years. I suppose I should replace them, but I can’t bring myself to sell them, since they have served me so dutifully all these years.”

“It’s only a matter of time, and if they are no use...”

“But haven’t you got an odd pasture someplace where they could live out their last years in peace? It would be a treat for them to run loose for a change, instead of spending most of their time in a stable.”

“You’re only putting off...” Tony hesitated to condemn the unseen animals, because of the pleading look Sera cast at him. “Oh, very well. You can pension them off on one of Father’s farms, if you like.” For this Tony received an exuberant hug and kiss that caused him to spill his wine. He returned the embrace laughingly, and Sera was beginning to hope that in time she could charm him into loving her in return. Time was the one thing she had, and patience.

* * *

They had idled away most of the two weeks they had planned to be in Brighton, and Tony had suggested extending their stay another week or so, since it looked like the weather would stay warm, when they received a letter from his mother. Lady Amanda had obviously been in a state when she wrote it. Tony could make nothing out of it and gave it to Sera impatiently to decipher over breakfast. “The only thing I can make out for certain is that someone is ill—your father, I think, or else it is he who didn’t want her to write. I think we must go back. If it were not serious, she would never have written us here.”

“You don’t know Mother. She can be very...possessive.”

“No, you are right, I don’t know her, but we can’t take a chance. Suppose she really is ill...”

“Very well, if you wish it, we’ll go home.” He said it so coldly, she began to think she had lost all her progress with him.

“No, I don’t wish it. I have been happier here than I ever thought I could be.”

Tony looked at her in disbelief, realizing how little he had given her. “You’re right, we must go. I’ll tell Stewart to pack.”

* * *

They reached Oak Park late that afternoon, a scant hour after Tony’s father succumbed to a second and fatal stroke. The servants looked to Sera for their orders now, not just because Lady Amanda was prostrate, but because Sera was now the mistress of the house.

Tony was rather lost those first few weeks, and went rambling with his dog and gun, or rode out alone for hours at a time. Sera let him go, and tried not to worry about his absences. He knew the country, and she felt he needed his solitude. It gave her time to establish a regimen in the disordered household.

The unfortunate aspect of the situation was that Sera could hardly expect Tony to be very loving when all of them were in deep mourning, so her campaign to win him had to be put away. She had not the heart for it, anyway, and threw herself into cheering his mother.

Lady Amanda bounced back from her grief much quicker than Tony, filling the breakfast parlor with small talk that charmed Sera but only made Tony sulk. Any time he did spend in the house, he closeted himself in his father’s study with piles of ledgers and accounts. “Father has not been dead a fortnight, and all she talks is trivialities,” Tony complained when Sera came to see if he wanted tea.

“I think it is good for her. She doesn’t mean to annoy you, Tony.”

“How do you find the patience to deal with her?”

“It’s a novel experience for me, having a mother.”

“That can’t have been easy for you, growing up without one.”

“I think it made me more independent.”

“She won’t live with us always, you know.”

“But why not?” Sera was surprised into asking.

“Because I can’t stand her most of the time.” Tony said this so desperately that Sera had to laugh. “Tell me I am an unnatural son,” he challenged, as he stood up.

Sera came and gently hugged him instead. “You are an unnaturally honest son, at any rate.”

“And you are wonderful.” He kissed her hair and stood contentedly holding her for a few minutes, until he heard footsteps coming across the hall, then amused her by releasing her as though they were lovers, and not married at all.

“Sera, there you are. What do you think of this fabric for my bedroom? Tony, I’m surprised you are still in the house. You are usually out riding, even in the foulest weather. I can’t understand why you can’t be still for a moment. You were not always like this.” Tony rolled his eyes at this monologue, and Sera received the fabric swatch with a laugh.

“Too somber for your bedroom, I think. I will order some samples from London.” Tony gave an impatient snort and went back to his ledgers.

* * *

Thrown as Sera was into Lady Amanda’s company more than her husband’s, there was a bond forged between them, an unspoken conspiracy to cheer Tony up and to keep any household annoyances from him. Sera was some use in this, since her liberal allowance provided for any little necessities in the way of servants’ clothing or extra candles. But when the kitchen maid came weeping to her with the confession that she was with child, Sera was nonplussed. She had never dealt with a situation like this before. Except for her personal maid, Marie, her father’s servants were mostly older, and did not get into such scrapes. Instinctively she took the girl to Lady Amanda.

“What are we going to do?” Sera asked her mother-in-law.

“She must be married, and soon,” decided Lady Amanda.

“But he refuses the child!” wailed the maid.

“Then we will have him arrested,” Lady Amanda said confidently.

“Can we do that?” Sera asked.

“It is what Edwin would have done if he could not force the man into marrying her. Joshua is our undergroom, after all. We have some responsibility that young girls are not accosted in our household.”

Kerry and Joshua were married within the month, the groom seeing it as a better alternative than jail. Sera hoped he would be more reconciled to his fate than Tony was to his.

* * *

They spent a somber Christmas. Sera’s father and Lady Jane, now married, had gone to Paris. Their only company were neighbors, mostly Lord Cairnbrooke’s age, who plagued Tony with their advice on estate matters until Sera thought he was ready to bolt. She nodded and listened to the advice of their wives, firmly vowing not to follow any of it. They did raise her consciousness of the poverty of the surrounding hamlets, so she sent a pair of servants one day each week to buy large quantities of bread and vegetables of whatever kind they could find and distribute them to each cottage. Tony got wind of this, and called her into the study to give her a lecture.

“I hear you have been buying food for the poor.”

“You say that like an accusation.”

“You can’t feed them all.”

“But I can feed the closest ones, and hope that our neighbors are embarrassed into doing the same for those closest to them.”

Tony stared at her.

“It might work,” she said defensively.

“They are proud people. They won’t like you for this charity.”

“Why should they like me for a few potatoes and onions? I only want them not to starve.”

“Sera, I can’t afford it,” Tony said regretfully.

“It’s my pin money. I can do with it as I please.”

Tony went rather white about the mouth and said tightly, “Yes, I suppose you can.”

“Unless...unless you need it,” she offered, seeing she had hurt him.

“No! Do as you please. You will anyway.”

Tony realized that, never having been in need or in debt herself, Sera had no inkling what it felt like. As often as she trampled on his feelings in this way, he would manage to overlook it. Whether his tenants would be as generous he had no idea, but he could not bring himself to berate her for her generosity.

He walked out and was gone the whole rest of the day, even though a slicing rain started falling in mid-afternoon.

“He must have taken shelter somewhere, depend on it,” Lady Amanda assured her as she made ready to go up to bed. “He was probably caught miles from home, and is toasting himself in front of a friend’s fire, or at some inn.”

“I’m sure you are right,” Sera said warmly. “But I want to finish this book anyway. I shall come up later.”

It was long past midnight when Tony finally blundered into the hall, rousing a servant to dry and clean his gun. Sera was so glad to know he was alive, she ran to him.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, just fine,” he said with a slur.

“There’s a fire in the drawing room.”

He followed her in and warmed his hands, swaying a little as he stood upright.

“I shall have them heat some food for you.”

“Don’t bother. Most likely I couldn’t keep it down. Too much brandy.”

“But then you should eat something.”

“I don’t want anything, and will you stop trying to run my life?” He collapsed on a chair and tried, unsuccessfully, to pull off his wet boots.

“I’m sorry I’ve ruined your life,” Sera said, coming to tug at the unwilling boots.

“I said run, not ruin, but it amounts to the same thing.”

She stopped her efforts and turned to leave him, hiding the hurt on her face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s I who have ruined your life. You got a bad bargain, my dear, but none of this was my idea.”

“Well, you don’t imagine it was mine!” Sera vowed with a spark of anger.

“What?” Tony asked as he sat up and tried to focus on her face. She looked so blurry to him, he could not decide if she was crying or not. “Whose idea was it, then? I can’t remember.”

“Actually, it was Lady Jane’s,” Sera said, getting control of her voice.

“Who is Lady Jane?” Tony tried to rise, but as he had one boot half-off, he stumbled and hopped most ungracefully until he finally fell over a footstool. Sera came resignedly to help him up, but he waved her away and tugged at the offending boot until it finally came off.

“Father’s new wife. I told you, they have been wanting to marry for years. I was very much in their way.”

“But I thought you wanted to marry.”

“No, not particularly.”

“But why me? Surely you could have done better than this,” he said, looking about him as he struggled to his feet.

Sera smiled at him through her tears. “Lady Jane has a liking for you. She thought I might be able to keep you from getting killed in another duel.”

“I suppose Mother and Father had the same thing in mind. Why ever did you agree?” he asked as he leaned on a table.

“I had no intention of doing so. I thought the whole idea was very silly, until I met you. I liked you so much, and we seemed to get on so well, I thought it just might work.”

Tony stood staring at her in disbelief. “On the strength of one meeting?”

“Yes.”

“You are naive.”

“Why did you agree?”

“I was worn down with hurting and feeling guilty about everything. I wasn’t thinking properly.”

“I see. You were deranged,” she said, disappointed.

“I still am.”

“And still feeling guilty?”

“About you, as well, now.”

“Well, stop it,” she commanded. “Stop feeling guilty about me, for I was not deranged when I married you, and I like you still.” She got under his arm to steady him up the stairs. “And stop feeling guilty about your father. You couldn’t have saved him.”

“It’s not that. I never really cared about him until he died and it was too late.”

“You idiot. Don’t you realize everyone feels that sort of regret? They just have less of a conscience about it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as he gained the door to his room.

“They shake it off and get on with their lives a lot quicker. Don’t you feel you have punished yourself enough?”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“That’s the only thing you are accomplishing.”

“I wish I could see things as clearly as you.”

“I wish you were as easy to talk to sober as you are drunk. Most likely you won’t even remember this conversation in the morning, and I shall be right back where I started.”

Tony laughed weakly and heard a thump from the dressing room that indicated they had awakened his valet. “I shall try to be both more sober and more easy to talk to in the future, and you have my permission to recite this entire conversation to me over breakfast. I know your memory is capable of it.”

“You look suddenly quite pale.”

“That is because I am going to be disastrously sick in a moment, so I wish you would go and leave Stewart to help me.”

“Gladly, and I shall remind you of that, too, if you seem inclined to drink again.”

“You are a heartless woman,” he said as Stewart helped him into his room.

* * *

Tony made a late appearance at breakfast and had weak tea and bread as a palliative for his queasy stomach. “What shall we do today?” he asked Sera.

“If I have not got to recite, I think we should take a drive. Fresh air is good for a headache,” Sera answered.

Lady Amanda looked rather mystified by all this, but declined an invitation to drive. She did wish the children, as she thought of them, would get out from underfoot for a few hours so that she could have the gloomy morning room stripped and get the wallpaper started.

* * *

Lady Amanda was so engrossed in redecorating Oak Park that she might have been content to stay there in February, when Tony began to prepare to return to London. But Lady Amanda felt strongly that all was not right with Tony still, in spite of his somewhat more cheerful manner. When she broached the subject with her new daughter, Sera begged her to come to London with them so sincerely that she could not refuse the girl. If Sera needed her, she must be there to support her.

Tony saw Sera so busy with her cleaning and repairs that he thought she would not have minded staying on the estate through the spring and summer, but one of the things he had determined was that he would not be an absent peer in Parliament. He could scarcely go to town without his wife, when the whole point of their marriage was to lend him some respectability and to bring her into the ton.

It was difficult for him to remember sometimes that they were married. Sera seemed more to him a comfortable sort of sister. What she made of their odd marriage, he had no idea, for they had never so much as discussed it. The longer they went on without consummating their marriage, the more difficult he felt it would be to do so.

He thought perhaps Sera had no idea what to expect, and that it would be all right to wait until his mother could be on her own. He did not realize this was just an excuse, as his wound had been. Why he had held himself back from her in the beginning, he had never bothered to analyze. But when he agreed to marry to please his parents, he had been at the disadvantage of being in disgrace. He had numbly consented to all his father’s arrangements, including the marriage settlements, which he had later found to be greatly in his favor. Now that he had the family finances in his own hands, he discovered he had married Sera for her money, whether he had intended to or not. The only blessing was that she did not know it.

Tony was wrong in thinking Sera would have liked to stay at Oak Park. She was getting tired of pretending to be his wife. She missed her life in London, and was eager to resume it, especially since it did not appear that she was to have a real marriage. Also, she must get away from their cheerfully pregnant maid, who was a reminder of all that Sera was missing.




Chapter Three


The Cairnbrooke town house stood at stiff attention, one in the seemingly endless rows of fashionable houses around Portman Place. It did have a certain stately reserve, like a retired army officer, and side walls of its own, though only the front and back rooms got much light. Most important, it had its own stable in back, so Sera could be reunited with her horses, Casius and Ivy, and her groom, Chadwick.

Tony had just come from an extremely disquieting meeting with his man of business when he drove into the stableyard to discover two strange horses being cosseted by his wife.

“Are these your horses?” he demanded, with more than ordinary force.

“Yes, they have kept well over the winter, don’t you think?”

“You are not keeping those two old screws here.”

Sera looked at him in disbelief, but Tony was not joking.

“But I have had Ivy and Casius since they were young. I can’t sell them.”

“Well, they are not taking up space in my stables.” With that, Tony stormed into the house, leaving her in the company of the grooms, and feeling for the first time in her life as though she would like to burst into tears. Instead, she took a deep breath, raised her chin and requested the undergroom to saddle Casius and put a lead on Ivy. “Chadwick, come with me.”

She led her groom into the breakfast parlor, where there was a small desk Lady Amanda had given her to use. “I want you to take Ivy and Casius to Gott Farm. Father isn’t there right now, but you know everyone. I’m sure they will be willing to take care of my horses. Here is money for the journey, and the trip back by stage.”

“Yes, miss. If His Lordship asks what I’ve done with them...”

“Tell him the truth. If he should get angry enough to dismiss you, I will employ you myself at the farm.”

“I’m not worried about that. I shall be back late tomorrow.”

Sera said nothing to Tony of all this. She pretended, in fact, that nothing had happened. She supposed she could mope about and be tearful, but she strongly suspected that would only make Tony angrier.

Tony, of course, regretted his flash of temper, but he could not have his wife mounted on such old horses. She would like a younger one better once she accustomed herself to it. Since she did not seem upset, he thought no more about it until the next morning. Sera was writing some letters in the breakfast parlor when he came in wearing boots and carrying a riding crop. “I’m sending two horses to Tattersall’s today. Where is Chadwick? I want him to ride one.”

“I sent him on an errand. He won’t be back until late today.”

“I know he is your groom, but you might have consulted with me first. Does he go to sell your horses?”

Sera was astounded that Tony could know so little about her. “Of course not,” she said, rising. “He is taking them someplace safe. I would never sell or otherwise dispose of old friends, just because they are old.”

“Someplace safe? Are you afraid to tell me where?” Tony asked, in rising anger. “What do you imagine I would do? Butcher them?”

“I don’t know anymore what you might do,” Sera said, clasping the back of the chair.

Tony was shocked to realize that she was afraid of him, and yet she faced him down. He sat down, somewhat shaken by his own display of anger. He must not lose control again. He owed her that much.

“If you must know, I sent them to my father’s farm. It’s where we all grew up. I’ll get to see them when—if—I go there for a visit.”

“You—you make them sound like people. Had you no friends when you were little?”

“No,” she said in amazement, as though the lack of them had only just occurred to her. “No one I was allowed to play with. I have a very bad habit of talking to horses as though they can understand me. I have tried not to, but it’s no use.”

Tony stared at her a moment longer, then shook his head. “I had no idea they meant so much to you. But they are only horses.”

“Once something belongs to me, I can never let go of it. I can’t bear not knowing what will happen to it.”

“Fortunate that I do not have your sensitive nature. I shall have to let go of a good few things, if we are to keep this house,” he said, rising and looking around him.

“Tony, why didn’t you tell me?” She walked toward him, wondering if she should offer to help with money. She had plenty of her own that he apparently did not even know about. But she did not want to make him angry again.

“It’s not your worry.”

This upset Sera even more, for if he really regarded her as his wife he might share his troubles with her.

“Some of the servants will have to go, too—at least one groom.”

Her eyes flew to his face.

“No, not your precious Chadwick. The man’s too competent.”

“Is there no other way?”

“We could sell the house, but then we wouldn’t need two upstairs maids.”

“This would be a very bad time for your mother to give this place up.”

“We still have Oak Park. I can’t sell it, anyway.”

“Couldn’t you just lease this house? We could live somewhere else for a few years.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. I have got a smaller house, south of Saint James’s. It never brought much rent, it’s in such an unfashionable neighborhood—near Tothill Fields.”

“Has it got a stable?”

“Actually, it does. It’s on Marsham Street, just off Horseferry Road.”

“I like it better and better,” Sera said with a smile.

“There would be no grand parties. There’s no ballroom.”

“We should not be entertaining much during the mourning period, anyway. Has it got space for my books?”

“I imagine,” Tony replied in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit of a collector. I didn’t like to say anything about it, since the library at Oak Park is full and there is no room for a library here.”

“Just how many books have you got?” he demanded suspiciously.

“I should say there could not be more than seven or eight...hundred.” Sera peeked at him to see what effect this news would have on Tony.

He stood openmouthed for a moment.

“I did warn you I am bookish.”

“I know, but really! I thought that was just an expression.” Suddenly he smiled, and he had to bite his lip not to laugh at Sera’s hopeful look. “I don’t suppose there is anything else I should know about you. You haven’t got an art collection for me to house, or some more livestock?”

“No, I think— Well, there is McDuff.”

“Don’t tell me—an aged family retainer.”

“Some such thing. You may not like him, but Lady Jane and he do not get along, so I thought perhaps...”

“When is he coming?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. He can help us pack.”

“I don’t think he will be much use at that, but I shall contrive to keep him out of the way.”

“No doubt.”

* * *

Sera and Marie were in her dressing room, repacking her gayer clothes. It was tiring, having just packed and unpacked, to be going through it again. “I should have told you not to bother unpacking these. I can only wear grays and mauves for a time, anyway,” Sera said, letting her frayed temper show.

“They get too crushed if they are not hung,” said Marie as she carefully laid a pink silk between layers of silver paper.

“Nevertheless, these two trunks will go directly to the attic in Marsham Street. I don’t need them.”

Marie was protesting this decision in excited French when there was a growl, a muffled oath and angry yapping from the bedroom. Sera stepped back in to see Tony brush McDuff off the settee with enough force to make the little dog yelp when he landed.

“McDuff!” The animal limped to her, pathetically holding up an injured paw.

“Why didn’t you tell me McDuff is a lapdog?” Tony was red in the face and wrapping his handkerchief around his hand.

“I didn’t really know how you would take it,” Sera said, picking up her old pet.

“Your bedroom is no place for him. If you want to keep him, send him to the kitchen.”

A flush rose to Sera’s cheeks. “I don’t see what difference it makes. You never come in here anyway!”

Marie went back into the dressing room, and Sera cursed herself for saying something so stupid.

Tony grew quite white in the face, and she really did fear him for a moment, but he only slammed the door on his way out.

It was the worst thing she could possibly have said, and she regretted it as soon as her temper cooled. She should have known McDuff well enough to know he was only faking an injury. Like Armand, who had given her the dog, McDuff was a consummate actor.

Sera had never previously been aware of having a temper, but then, no one had ever provoked her into losing it before. At moments like this, she regretted ever marrying Tony, but then he did something unexpectedly nice for her. It was never a verbal apology, but she could not resist his efforts at peacemaking. When he wasn’t angry, he looked so much like he expected her to be still shrewish, it was laughable. She wondered where they were drifting—possibly into one of those cool and polite relationships that were more like business deals than marriages. Perhaps that was all Tony had ever wanted.

* * *

As a way of making peace, Tony offered to take Sera for a ride once they were settled in Marsham Street. The house seemed larger to Sera than the town house, but that was because it could get air and light from all four sides. Even better, it was on a corner, so they had easy access to the stables. There was even a small garden. Sera and Lady Amanda talked excitedly about how to refurbish the worn furniture as they selected their rooms. Tony interrupted them ruthlessly, commanding Sera to put on her riding habit even before the garment was unpacked. She could only look wistfully at her crates of books in the empty downstairs room as she was whisked down the hall to the back door.

“What have we for a lady, Chadwick?”

“I fancy this bay mare, myself. She’s very lively, and Jeffers says she can jump.”

“Saddle her up,” Tony commanded.

“What’s her name?” Sera asked, taking off her gloves to stroke the velvety muzzle.

“Tansy,” Jeffers supplied, after he directed the stable boy to fetch Sera’s sidesaddle. The mare gave a playful buck and seemed a little uncertain of her direction, but Sera pulled her in behind Tony’s gray, and she soon quieted.

“That horse is supposed to be broken.”

“Probably not used to being ridden sidesaddle,” Sera commented. “She’s settling down to it already.”

Tony watched Sera jealously through Saint James’s Park, not knowing how well she might ride, considering the slugs she had owned. Sera did not make any grievous errors, except for talking to the mare the entire way, rather than to him. But he recalled she had said she did this and, however annoying it might be, it did seem to keep the young horse distracted enough not to try any dangerous tricks. Even a loose dog did not make her rear, since Sera saw it and calmed Tansy immediately.

It was a wearing ride for Tony, wondering when his wife would be dumped. He had never had charge of a lady on horseback before, and it made him nervous.

Sera, on the other hand, was having a marvelous time, outguessing her new friend, saving the young horse from any serious blunders by anticipating what she would try next. She had not enjoyed herself so much since she had helped Chadwick train Ivy’s colt.

“Tired?” Tony asked as he helped her down at home.

“Not at all. Can we ride every day?”

“If you like, and you can go with Chadwick or Jeffers when I am not about. I don’t know about that mare, though.”

“She is sweet. A little playful, perhaps, but so eager to please, if only she can figure out what I want from her.”

It struck Tony that Sera might be describing herself. He realized that she did everything she could think of to please him. She put up with his surly silences, and sometimes even managed to tease him out of them. He should never have married her. He could not be a real husband to her so long as her money kept them apart.

* * *

It rained for most of a week, which gave them time to settle in to the house off Horseferry Road. The next time Tony and Sera had a chance to ride together, Tony had a gelding brought out for Sera to mount. She supposed the horse was all right, but he did not look as well boned as old Casius, in her estimation.

“Can’t I ride Tansy, instead?”

“What?”

“Your little bay mare.”

“I sold that one, with some of my other stock.”

“Sold her? But why? I liked her so much.”

“She was not well trained, and sooner or later would have given you a crashing fall.”

“Your selling her—it wasn’t an accident,” Sera said accusingly. “You sold her on purpose. Why?”

Tony had already told her why. He did not want to tell Sera to her face that he did not trust her horsemanship.

“You don’t have to answer me,” Sera said bitterly, turning away. “You sold her because I liked her.”

“Don’t be stupid. Just get on the horse.”

“I don’t care to ride today—or ever—with you.” Sera walked deliberately back to the house, wondering if she had said too much. She did want to ride with Tony, very much, but he made it so plain this bored him, it was probably best she put a stop to it now. Everything she tried to do to get close to him seemed to put more barriers between them. She was so angry with him at that moment that if there had been an easy way to divorce him, she would have done it. Whether she still loved him or not was dangerous to think about.

He knew how she felt about horses, how she became attached to them, yet he sold the very one she liked the most. Did he do it on purpose, to put her in her place, or did he not even think about her wishes? This was a much more depressing thought than believing he had done it to spite her.

She did not have the heart to face Marie. If she had to tell her why she was not riding, she might very well cry, and she had too much pride for that. She went to the downstairs room she had chosen as her library, where by now some of her books had been unpacked and ranged along the available shelves like old friends. She leaned against them, and had a sudden black vision of Tony pulling them down and tearing their pages. She really was being silly. He never did anything violent. She almost thought it would be better if he did break something. Always he pushed down his anger, as though there were something keeping him from saying what he really thought.

She heard Tony running up the stairs, three at a time. It had to be him. She knew a cowardly impulse to lock the door. Instead, she took down a volume she knew by heart, carried it to the desk and sat down to read. It was ten minutes before he ran her to ground, and she had regained much of her composure by then. When he threw open the door, he was seething.

“I should drag you out there and make you ride that horse.”

“I suppose you could. But you don’t like to ride with me, anyway. It was a stupid idea to try at all. You don’t like to do anything with me. Why would you like to ride with me?”

“You are still my wife. I won’t have you throwing a fit over something as stupid as a horse.”

“If anyone made a scene, it was you. And horses are not stupid. At least Tansy was not. Now I shall never know what has become of her. She might be beaten or misused. You really don’t care.” Sera was very nearly in tears, in spite of her viselike grip on the old book.

“If you cared about her, you should have said something.”

“So it’s my fault she was sold, then?” Sera asked, in shock.

“I’m only saying it wouldn’t have happened—”

“I’m not a child, Tony. I wish you would stop playing these stupid games. If you don’t like me, there’s nothing I can do about that. But don’t pretend. It’s much more cruel than hating me outright.”

Tony looked as though she had dashed cold water over him. Sera walked past him, out of the room, and he stood a moment wondering what had given her the idea he hated her. Women took such stupid notions. All over a damn horse. He supposed he would have to buy the thing back now. He had only been trying to protect her. But hate her? Never!

A man with a little more experience with women would have gone after her, would have stopped making excuses and tried to explain himself. That would have meant apologizing, and Tony truly did not think he had done anything wrong, at least not on purpose. He went instead back to the stable. He found Chadwick alone and was thankful for that at least.

“Find out from Tattersall’s where that mare went, and buy her back.”

“How much should I pay?” Chadwick asked impassively.

“Whatever you have to,” Tony said, giving him the roll of money he had just received for the sale of four horses at Tatt’s. “Don’t come back without her.”

“Yes, sir.”

As with many of their arguments, there was no real reconciliation. They simply did not speak of it again. By now there were dozens of things Sera was afraid to speak of again. Lady Amanda feared that she was in the way, and went to Sera after breakfast to offer to return to Oak Park.

“Oh, please don’t leave us now. I shall have no one to talk to when Tony is angry.”

“I don’t know what is wrong with him. He used to be so gay—never irritable like this.”

“He has so much on his mind now. I expect he will get over it. But it is nothing to do with you. It is a relief for me to have you here.”

Eventually Lady Amanda believed her, and to cheer them both up, Sera took her shopping. She ordered a hackney for the expedition, since she did not like to leave Tony’s coach horses standing in the street, nor to tie up one of the grooms for hours on end.

There were only Jeffers, Chadwick and an undergroom to look after the stables. Their household staff was similarly reduced. They were fortunate in being able to leave the kitchen staff and most of the underservants at the town house, for the lessors to pay.

Rayburn, the butler, when queried by Sera on his preferences, said he would like a change of scene. It was he who had supervised their move to Marsham Street, with so much dignity that it could not be thought to be a financial rout, but rather a planned temporary retreat into a quieter neighborhood. Rayburn achieved all with no loss of face for himself or the family, and had been instrumental in engaging the new kitchen staff.

Tony frankly admired the man’s loyalty. But Rayburn was also inspired by a lively sympathy for his new mistress. From some few things Marie had let fall, and Rayburn’s own observations, he could see that things were not as they should be between the new Lord and Lady Cairnbrooke. He resolved to do all in his power to smooth any difficulties between them.

Marie thought Rayburn had been an easy ally for Sera to enlist, almost no challenge compared to the reserved Stewart, whose first loyalty should have been to Tony. With his whole staff conspiring against him, Lord Cairnbrooke should not be too difficult to bring into line. Sera had been vaguely aware of these subtle shifts in loyalty, but thought it only natural, since she was responsible for the household staff.

On the way to the shops, Marie’s droll comments on the state of dress or undress of the ladies they passed had both Sera and Lady Amanda giggling until they went by a fashionable phaeton halted before a hat shop in Oxford Street. They were just getting down from the hackney to enter the shop when an irritating trill of laughter caused them to look at the occupant. It was Madeleine Vonne, which would not have been so upsetting, except that it was Tony who was gazing up at her and causing her laughter.

Sera stood frozen on the pavement for a moment. How could he look at her so, as though she still had him bewitched, when she had come so close to getting him killed? Lady Amanda gaped, and had just opened her mouth to say something, when Sera grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shop. Marie paid off the driver.

Sera composed herself for her mother-in-law’s sake and refused to speak of the incident, even when the shop girls were not bustling about them. She secretly prayed Madeleine and Tony would have gone when they left.

Up until she saw Tony with Madeleine, Sera had thought him so beaten down with grief over his brother and father that he could never be happy. That was why she did not push him for a more normal marriage. Yet there he was, laughing and chatting in public to the jade who had nearly ruined him. Sera could not recall ever feeling so hurt in her life. Tony was not, to her way of thinking, a very wise man, but she had never before had reason to doubt his sanity. What if Lord Vonne should see them? What if he should hear of the incident? It was just the sort of nasty gossip that got carried right where it would do the most harm.

When they returned home, she came to regret not letting Lady Amanda vent her wrath in the shop in Oxford Street, for she attacked Tony about it at dinner. There was a blazing argument between those two, in which Tony accused his mother of meddling and Sera of spying on him. “I cannot very well ignore Lady Vonne, can I?” he demanded of Sera’s downcast face. “Can I?” he persisted.

“No,” she said, wondering what he wanted of her. So often what he shouted about had nothing to do with why he was angry, and there was no point in arguing with him. It only made them both ridiculous. He slammed out of the house with no dinner, which stole Sera’s appetite, as well.

“I must leave now,” vowed Lady Amanda.

“Certainly not,” said Sera, shaky, but more composed than either Tony or Lady Amanda. “To be sure, he will have forgotten all about it by tomorrow. He is most angry when he knows he is in the wrong, and he will do something nice for us by way of apology.”

“But that is just what Edwin was like.”

“Perhaps Tony is only imitating him, then.”

“I hope not,” Lady Amanda said, and Sera was afraid to ask her what she meant. But if his mother was outraged at Tony’s behavior, then it was not her imagination that their marriage was a strange one. Others might think so, too, especially if Tony seemed once again on intimate terms with Madeleine Vonne. Sera could abandon him, of course. She had enough money to live by herself wherever she chose, even to take Lady Amanda with her. It was the thought of this, rather than Tony’s sad lapse, that left her sobbing into her pillow that night. She did love him. Reso- lutely she dried her eyes. She must make a push to win him, then, or at least keep him so distracted he had no time for Madeleine.

* * *

Sera did not miss Chadwick for a day or two. If she had asked Tony where her groom had gone, he might have shyly said that he had sent him after Tansy. But she did not ask, and Tony did not volunteer the information. If Chadwick could not get the horse back, there was no point in getting Sera’s hopes up.

Sera had returned to her calm and normal self the next day. She was not at all like Lady Vonne, who would never have let such a quarrel die until she had Tony at her feet. Moreover, Sera seemed to have forgotten all about the horse, and Tony had begun to wonder if he had been hasty in sending Chadwick off after it.

Tony had from the first morning read The Times at breakfast, Sera suspected to avoid conversation. In the absence of Lady Amanda, who lately preferred to breakfast in bed, Sera carried on a monologue that frequently tried the reserve of the butler, Rayburn, who was not supposed to be attending to the conversation.

“It says here that Lord Haye spoke in Parliament yesterday,” she pretended to read from the Morning Post, “on the abolition of war...and the prohibition of all hunting in Hampshire...and the Midlands,” she added, failing to get a rise out of Tony.

Rayburn overset a teacup, which did make Tony look up.

“That’s where you hunted last year, isn’t it? In the Midlands?”

“Mmm...” Tony grunted.

Sera smiled sweetly at Rayburn, who staunchly froze his face.

“In the society news,” she continued, “it seems that lapdogs are on the decline. At least three well-bred ladies of fashion have taken monkeys as pets. Do you think I should get one too, Tony?”

“Yes, if you like.” The Times trembled, but Sera only thought Tony was turning a page.

Rayburn ineffectually tried to cover a guffaw with a cough.

“Are you ill?” Tony inquired acidly of the dignified, gray-haired retainer.

“No, m’lord.”

“Yes, I do think a monkey would be so particularly entertaining at the breakfast table, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Tony said, as deadpan as he could manage.

“Although one really can’t do much with a monkey other than feed him. Perhaps I shall buy myself a horse instead. If you do not have time to go to the sales with me, Chadwick can go. He’s a good judge of horses, isn’t he?”

“What? Yes, of course,” Tony returned.

“Good. That’s all settled, then.” Sera smiled triumphantly at Rayburn, who beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Without giving it much thought, Tony had supposed when he got married that he would be allowed to read his Times undisturbed at the breakfast table, as his father had done. He wondered now if perhaps his father’s predilection for solitary reading was what had encouraged his mother to babble.

After a late night of cards, Tony was not much in the mood for conversation, anyway. But when he discovered one day that his monosyllabic replies to Sera’s breakfast sallies had given her permission to turn the largest downstairs room into her personal library, he began to listen with a little more attention, even though he was too proud to let her know this.

If only she asked for something as simple as a new hat. He had frequently to bite his lip to keep from laughing outright at some of her more ridiculous flights of fantasy. Behind his paper, he could exercise more control than Rayburn, who had to face Sera and voice an occasional reply.

Fortunately, Sera talked herself out of her sillier proposals, like the monkey, for she was not really a spoiled child, as he had once supposed. She was an inordinately inventive young woman who only wanted the smallest part of his attention. That he could not give her even that disturbed him more than he liked to admit. But he had to keep her at arm’s length until he was free of his debt to her. Once she no longer owned him, he could be a proper husband to her. It was only after Sera had gotten bored with her game and left on her errands for the day that Tony actually ate or studied the financial news for the day.

He knew that Rayburn no longer looked kindly on him, because of his supposed mistreatment of Sera, and he did not blame the man. He did not like himself much for how he had chosen to handle his problem. But he was making some small progress toward his goal of financial independence, and Sera seemed patient enough in most other matters.

If she truly had no female friends her own age, it might not occur to her what an odd marriage they had. But then he thought of Marie and those sharp French eyes looking daggers at him. No telling what she might confide to Sera.




Chapter Four


Not finding Chadwick about, Sera knew a chilling fear that Tony had dismissed him, and for a moment she forgot all about her plan. Jeffers merely said that Chadwick had been sent on an errand, and Sera was miffed. Tattersall’s sales were only held on Mondays at this time of year. If she did not get a horse today, she would have to wait a whole week.

“I know. You can go with me to buy a horse.”

“Me?” Jeffers asked.

“You’re the head groom. Tony said I could take Chadwick, but you must know as much about horses as him, perhaps more.”

“But Lord Cairnbrooke usually buys his own horses—”

“But this horse is for me. I feel sure you will be able to help me. Now saddle that ugly bay for me, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Where are we going?” asked Jeffers suspiciously as he sent the undergroom scurrying to saddle two horses.

“Tattersall’s.”

“But ladies don’t go there!” he blurted out.

“Well, I’m not going, of course—you are.”

“Why are you riding with me, then?”

“I want to try the horse out straightaway. We shall be near Hyde Park, anyway.”

When they reached Tattersall’s, Sera rode boldly into the courtyard and commanded a lounging groom to take her horse.

“But you said you were not coming,” Jeffers protested.

“Not to the sale, silly. That won’t start for an hour or more. I must at least look at what they have to know what I want.” She strode past the line of carriages under the portico and into the stables themselves. Jeffers looked about nervously, but there was no one to be seen except a few stable boys, who merely gawked at Sera as she wandered from one stall to another. She gave a blood chestnut a good deal of attention, commanding Jeffers to check the animal’s feet. This nearly got him kicked, and Sera spoke threateningly to the horse in a low, menacing voice that Jeffers could hardly credit as coming from her.

She had learned a trick or two in the theater, and was not above using them. The beast snapped to attention, as though he were trying to see where the new voice came from.

“Well?” she demanded.

“He looks sound enough, but you can’t be thinking about buying this one. Lord Cairnbrooke would have my head if I bought this beast for you to ride.”

“Let’s see what else they have.”

But Sera was not much interested in the rest of the stock, now that the chestnut had taken her fancy. She could remember Casius being so cresty and snorting proud in his youth. Ivy’s colt had possessed just such a temperament, she thought sadly. Tony was right about one thing. She did need a younger horse. She had forgotten what it was like to be challenged by a beast to a contest of wills.

“How long before he comes up to auction?”

“I don’t know. We could be here all day.”

“I told you, I don’t intend to stay. Here’s the money. You bid on him. Go up to two hundred. After that, use your own judgment. I’m going to trot around the park until you’ve done.”

“M’lady, I can’t leave you to ride alone!”

“What can possibly happen to me on this horse?” Sera demanded as he gave her a leg up. “Either you stay and bid on the chestnut, or I will. Those are your choices.”

Jeffers looked miserably torn and Sera took pity on him.

“Trust me, Jeffers. I know what I’m about.” Somehow this did not steady Jeffers’s nerves.

It was little more than an hour later when Sera saw Jeffers leading the chestnut toward the park.

“You got him! Switch my saddle over onto him.”

“I think I had best lead him home. You can try him tomorrow,” Jeffers suggested, knowing full well Lord Cairnbrooke would prevent such a disaster.

“Nonsense,” said Sera, guessing exactly what Jeffers was thinking. “That would give him another day to rest. Now is the time to best him, when he’s still tired from his travels. I do know how to saddle a horse myself, and I can get on one alone if I have to.” Sera said this in such a threatening way, Jeffers led the horses to a more secluded part of Hyde Park to make the switch.

“Lead the bay. I won’t get too far ahead of you,” she said, as he helped her mount the chestnut.

“But m’lady—” Jeffers gave up all hope then. The young Lady Cairnbrooke would surely be killed, and he would be to blame. It was not himself he was worried about. Even though he had served in the Cairnbrooke household since his youth, Sera’s pathetic situation had won over his sympathies, as well. He could see young Lord Cairnbrooke turning into just such a tyrant as his father had been, and he did not like it.

Sera kept the chestnut at a controlled canter to show Jeffers she could. “Now for a bit of a gallop to see what he’ll do,” she said over her shoulder.

“No, I beg of you!”

Sera let the horse gallop for a few minutes, until they were approaching a line of trees, then pulled him in with a series of determined tugs. The beast tried to grab the bit and wrestle control from her, but she persisted and, despite some head-thrashing and a few choppy bucks, she brought him to a halt that reassured Jeffers to some extent. He had not seen Sera ride before, and now wondered how his master could ever have thought a mare would be too much for her.

“Safe enough in the open,” Sera commented. “I wonder what he’ll do among the trees. We used to play hunt-the-squirrel in the woods around the farm.”

Sera let the chestnut trot, then canter, as they twisted and turned among the trees. The beast changed leads naturally, and had a certain military grace to him. That was when it hit Jeffers where he had seen the animal before. He was one of Major Kurtland’s war-horses. At least he shouldn’t spook over nothing, but who could guess what bad habits he had picked up in the cavalry?

Still, the horse seemed to be following Sera’s commands until they came to a straight stretch of trail and the beast appeared to miscalculate. He would surely carry the girl right into a tree! Just as Jeffers was about to yell a warning, Sera gave the left rein a yank and caught the beast a rap across the left ear with her whip. The chestnut went down on his right shoulder, and Sera hopped off before he could recover himself. When the horse stood, he looked around suspiciously.

“Yes, it was me, you fool. That’s the oldest trick a horse has ever invented. Don’t try it again.”

That strange voice, low and penetrating, was now surely coming from Sera. The horse regarded her with new respect, as did Jeffers. “Are you hurt, m’lady?” he asked, dismounting.

“No, of course not. I do not think I have hurt his mouth too badly. I would never do that to a young horse, and a cut across the ears could ruin a novice, but he had it coming. I think we shall give him one more go at this stretch and then call it quits for today.”

“You don’t mean to get back on? I just remembered who he is. They call him Satan at Kurtland’s stable.”

“No, I think Satin would be better, Red Satin. And of course I will ride him home.”

“You will scare Lord Cairnbrooke to death if he sees you on this horse.”

“Do you think so? Then we have bought the right one. Now give me a leg up.”

Jeffers complied and trotted after his mistress, beginning to be a little afraid of what she had in mind. She turned the horse and rode him straight at the same tree, as Jeffers looked on.

A shout of “Don’t even think about it!” made Satin’s ears prick back, but his eyes did not again stray to the tempting limb. Sera praised him fulsomely for not trying to kill her again and let him walk to cool down a little.

“This does not make him safe, you know,” Jeffers warned.

“I expect he will try it at least once more.”

“Where did you learn that trick?”

“From Chadwick. You are sure he is coming back?”

“I know he has not been dismissed, but he did not say where he was going. You could ask Lord Cairnbrooke.”

“Without knowing the answer, it’s not a safe question. So few of them are,” Sera confided. “Tony is a man of deeds, not words. Makes it very hard to communicate with him sometimes. I never really know what’s eating at him.”

Jeffers looked bleak at this news, and he followed Sera, leading the bay and hoping his employer would not see them until he could prepare him for the news.

* * *

When Sera came in, glowing from her ride and full of plans for worrying Tony, she found Armand Travesian sitting with Lady Amanda, and Lady Amanda laughing. Sera had never before seen her mother-in-law blush, but Armand could charm anyone.

“You have been so busy getting married and moving about, you have been neglecting me,” he complained as he hugged her and kissed her cheek.

“How is your wretched play coming?” she asked as she sat in a chair, leaving him with Lady Amanda on the sofa.

“Tolerably. It could use a woman’s touch. We are having a bit of trouble with the costumes.”

“I will bring Marie to you. She will soon put things right.”

“Armand tells me you have an interest in the theater.”

Sera did not know quite how to interpret this. She did indeed own half of the Agora—it was an arrangement not even her father knew about—but she did not think Armand would be so indiscreet as to say so.

“We should all take an interest in good theater, ma’am, if we expect there to be any,” Sera countered.

“The world of the theater must be so exciting,” Lady Amanda gushed. “What is your favorite role? You are an actor yourself, are you not, Armand?”

“It’s so difficult to say. I must in my lifetime have played fifty leads.”

“Which one does he do the best?” Lady Amanda appealed to Sera, who had poured herself a cup of tea.

“Without question, the role he plays best of all is that of Armand Travesian,” she said with a twinkle. “The others are pale shadows compared to the force of that character.”

“A compliment?” Travesian asked.

“I’m sure you will twist it into one if it is not,” Sera said blithely.

“You are in rare form today, dear Sera, and, if I may say so, nearly as lovely with that bloom in your cheeks as Lady Amanda.”

Lady Amanda blushed becomingly, and Sera smiled at Travesian. No other man could bring out the best in a woman as he could.

Lady Amanda sobered herself. “I am not so flustered as to forget that you are an actor, sir, and such compliments trip easily from your tongue,” said Lady Amanda with mock dignity.

“Not so, dear ma’am. I am a very constant fellow. Ask this lady, who knows me well.”

“True,” Sera said with a wink. “He has been forever telling me how much he loves me.”

Lady Amanda giggled.

“That is a fatherly-brotherly love, not the mature affection that I feel for—”

Tony entered just then, and Sera hastened to make introductions. Armand did not stay long under Tony’s withering gaze, but Tony’s mother scarcely noticed this. Lady Amanda saw Travesian to the door, then tripped up the stairs, humming to herself.

“Who is that fellow, anyway?”

“A friend of my father’s. I have known him since I was fifteen.”

“That is no excuse for inviting him here.”

“He only paid a morning call. If you have decided to dislike him on two minutes’ acquaintance, I certainly will not invite him to dinner.”

“I didn’t say I disliked him.”

“No, but you showed it. A man with a less generous nature would have been offended.”

“I don’t think a man like Travesian can be offended.”

“I wonder if you may be right,” Sera said, quite unexpectedly. She could feel a fight brewing, and she saw no point in it, for she could see Armand any time she wanted to at the Agora. “Now that I think of it, I have seen him turn the most blatant of insults into a joke. I believe I learned the trick of it from him.”

This called to Tony’s mind Sera’s besting of Madeleine in Brighton, and his own more recent encounter with the woman. His simple greeting had gone beyond what he had intended, and he could now see how someone might have interpreted it as dalliance, just as he might have misinterpreted Sera’s laughter at Travesian’s wit.

“You don’t particularly like him, then?” Tony asked uncertainly.

“I respect him for what he is good at, producing plays. I will not invite him here, if you have no taste for such joviality. Many people see it as forced. But you have to remember, he was an actor once himself. He tends to overplay every scene.”

“If he calls, I suppose there is nothing you can do about that,” Tony conceded.

“It would be rude to deny I am home, and it probably would not work. Besides, your mother likes him, and he makes her laugh. I see little enough of that from her. If Armand wants to entertain her by playing the clown, I think we should let him.”

“How did your father ever come to know him?” asked Tony, by now completely mollified.

“He backed one of his plays—quite successfully, I might add.” Sera toyed with the idea of telling Tony she had done the same, time and again, and had now more than a monetary interest in Travesian’s latest production. But having once calmed Tony, she could not bear to throw him into another fit of annoyance. She liked him too well when he was in a good mood.

She almost put aside completely her plan to make him very angry indeed. All would have come to naught, anyway, if Jeffers had got at Tony before she took Satin out again. As it turned out, Tony went out after dinner, as usual, not saying where. She imagined him meeting Lady Vonne somewhere, dancing with her, even going to bed with her. Such irrational dreams haunted her through the night, long after she had heard Tony come in and go to bed. Where did he go at night, if not to be with Lady Vonne? If it were an innocent pastime, why did he not tell her what it was?

By morning, she was so angry with herself for letting such mistrustful thoughts plague her, she needed to fight something other than shadows. She determined to take Satin out and not worry whether Tony saw her or not. She put on her riding habit and, undeterred by finding Chadwick still absent, commanded Jeffers to saddle Satin for her.

“Perhaps Lord Cairnbrooke will ride with you today,” Jeffers said hopefully.

“No chance. He came in late. I don’t think he will even be up before noon.” Sera looked wistfully at Tony’s bedroom window as she said this and waited for them to bring out the horses. If she wanted noise enough to wake the soundest sleeper, she got it without even asking. Satin whinnied at sight of her and, when Jeffers handed her up, danced around the small courtyard, his metal shoes ringing as they struck the cobbles, to the endangerment of the undergroom, Dillon.

A window was thrown up, and Tony, his head delightfully tousled, squinted down at the scene. “What the devil?” he asked, trying to clear his vision of his docile wife mounted on the most dangerous-looking horse he had ever seen.

“Good morning, Tony,” Sera called.

“Where the devil did that horse come from?” Tony sputtered.

“I just bought him,” Sera said, letting the pawing Satin rear a little. It was enough of a display to make Tony bump his head on the window frame.

Then she gave Satin his head, and they burst into the street, with Jeffers looking hopelessly back at his employer. Tony yelled for Stewart and began to throw on his riding clothes. “Don’t help me! Go tell that groom to saddle my horse. I think my wife has gone mad. I know Jeffers has. Move!”

By the time Tony clattered down the stairs, his horse was saddled and the undergroom was biting his lip at how Lady Cairnbrooke had bested her husband. For his money, she was as game a rider as any woman he had ever seen, and should have been trusted with Tansy in the first place. He passed up breakfast to wait in the stables for the outcome of the morning’s ride.

* * *

Sera kept Satin to a canter through the streets, for safety’s sake, but let him have a good long gallop through Saint James’s Park. Two gentlemen out exercising their mounts thought they were witnessing a runaway, and actually started in pursuit of her, since she had such a lead on her groom. But as she came to the line of trees, Sera pulled Satin down to a canter and kept him circling while she waited for Jeffers. The men did not know what to do with themselves then, but could not resist the temptation of meeting such a dashing beauty.

“I don’t believe we have met—William Falcrest,” the older man said to Sera, tipping his hat.

“And I’m Clive Falcrest. Isn’t that Kurtland’s horse?”

“Not anymore. I’m Lady Cairnbrooke. Sorry, but I can’t leave him standing, and I’m pretty sure you can’t keep up with me.”

Sera was off again, down the same stretch of trail, with Jeffers after her, but Satin did not so much as think of losing his rider, so glad was he to have a playmate who enjoyed a good gallop. Jeffers breathed a sigh of relief.

Thus challenged, the Falcrests rode after her and kept up with her around the lake and on into Green Park. They pulled up when they saw she meant to canter on toward Hyde Park without so much as breaking her stride. “So that is Tony’s wife. I shall have to contrive to meet Lady Cairnbrooke someplace where I can keep up with her,” Clive vowed, rubbing his stiff leg and easing it in the stirrup.

“Thank God Marissa was not with us. Don’t you tell my wife we were outrun by a woman. We will never hear the end of it,” William warned.

They were walking their mounts back when Tony came up with them, open-shirted and looking as though he had leapt from a bedroom window.

“Hyde Park,” they said in unison, and laughed at Tony’s familiar scowl.

Sera trotted Satin, or cantered him on some of the more open walks, in deference to Jeffers’s hack, which was beginning to blow. When she could make out Tony’s approaching form, she made for the woods. Jeffers, now used to the game of tag between the trees and shrubs, managed to keep her in sight, but it was the last they saw of Tony. Sera brought them out again on Park Lane and trotted quite sedately the whole way home to Marsham Street.

Their mounts were quite cool by the time they returned, and the undergroom received them into his charge with satisfaction. He had thought Lady Cairnbrooke would be a match for the red brute. Of his master he saw nothing for half an hour. When Lord Cairnbrooke did dash into the yard, his gray was flecked with foam, and Dillon looked on his master with disfavor when he realized how long it would take him to properly cool the animal.

“My wife and Jeffers?”

“Back this half hour, m’lord.”

“And safe?”

“Of course,” Dillon said matter-of-factly.





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