Brampton had snorted. "My mother's and Rosalind's choice," he had explained. "Impeccable lineage and reputation and morals and all that."

"I say, though, Bram, you are planning to turn respectable?" his friend had asked anxiously.

"Have I ever been anything but?" Brampton had raised his eyebrows and favored his friend with a haughty glare.

"Oh, say, Bram, don't come the frosty aristocrat with me," Devin had said, unperturbed. "No offense meant. Was referring to Lisa."

"I shall be quite respectable enough for my wife and my mother and my sisters-all three of them, Dev," the earl had said decisively. "What I do privately and discreetly will hurt no one."

"So Lisa stays," Devin had concluded. "Not fair to the little Miss Wells, though, Bram," he had added daringly.

Only a close friend could have got away with such open criticism of the Earl of Brampton.

"I live my own life, Dev," was the stiff reply he received.

And Devin Northcott had devoted himself to seeing that his friend enjoyed his last few weeks of freedom. They had ridden, played cards, drunk, gone to the races and to boxing mills, spent hours at Jackson's boxing saloon, and wandered from club to club at night, very often not returning home until the early hours of the morning.

Lisa had not been too perturbed by his approaching nuptials. She knew that there was no hope of his marrying her, a mere opera dancer. He was a generous and an attentive protector. She had a comfortable home, an adequate number of servants, many expensive clothes and jewels, and a generous allowance of pin money. She knew from research she had done when he had first suggested becoming her protector that he made generous settlements on his ex-mistresses. She also knew from similar research that Miss Margaret Wells was a little mouse of a woman, almost middle-aged-all of twenty-five to Lisa's twenty-and quite unlikely to be a rival in her lover's bed.

Brampton had visited her more frequently than usual in those last few weeks. He had not been sure how frequently he would be able to get away to her for the first weeks of his marriage, and Devin's comment had made him wonder whether his conscience would allow him to enjoy the illicit liaison once he was a married man. He had bedded Lisa with almost desperate passion in those weeks, allowing his body to become satiated with her practiced feminine charms. His mind had constantly made comparisons with his fiancee's body.

Gazing now out of the carriage window without seeing the passing scenery, Brampton acknowledged he felt some relief that the waiting period was finally over, that the knot was tied. Now that he knew there was definitely no way out, perhaps his mind would be less tortured. The only big ordeal ahead was the consummation of the marriage that must take place within the next few hours. Once that was over, they would be able to settle down into some sort of routine. And he would see that he spent much of his time alone. It was a while since he had visited Brampton Court; there would be plenty of estate business to keep him occupied. And his wife would have much to learn about the house and the running of the household. He would feel contented to leave her in the capable hands of Mrs. Foster, the housekeeper.


Margaret was grateful for the long silence, grateful that her husband did not feel the necessity to keep up the meaningless conversation that had occupied them for the first several miles of their journey.

She needed time to compose her mind after the frantic bustle of the last month. Her mother had taken care of all the arrangements for the wedding. She had been whisked through an endless round of visits to dressmakers, milliners, bootmakers, and the like. She had stood through hours of fittings, standing until every muscle ached as Madame Dumont pinned and measured and tucked and snipped. Margaret had thought that she had ample clothes. But it seemed that none was suitable for a bride's trousseau, especially the bride of the Earl of Brampton.

When she was not shopping or at endless fitting sessions, there were the numerous visitors to receive, flocking to congratulate her on capturing one of the greatest prizes on the matrimonial market. All seemed to think that she was incredibly fortunate; no one commented that the earl was the fortune one.

Of the earl himself, Margaret saw almost nothing. It seemed that her schedule was too full to allow of something so unimportant as meetings with her betrothed. Margaret was not sorry; she felt shy to the point of gaucheness before her very handsome fiance.

The only person who helped Margaret keep a firm hold on sanity and apparent serenity during those weeks was Charlotte. She was ecstatic over her sister's engagement.

"Just think, Meg," she had said, clapping her hands and twirling around the drawing room, on that first day after the earl had left, "you have been insisting for the last year or more that you are just a spinster. And you have been wearing those stupid caps for the last year, though I told you and told you that you were far too pretty and had far too much character to do any such thing. And now you are to be married! And to the Earl of Brampton. He's ever so gorgeous, Meg, even though he's so old."

Margaret smiled as Charlotte paused for breath, and quietly folded her embroidery.

"You see, Meg, he must have realized what a diamond you are."

Margaret smiled again. "He is an older son, Lottie," she explained patiently. "He must marry soon. Do not make a grand romance out of this, my love."

"Phooey!" Charlotte commented inelegantly. "You are eminently suited, Meg. You so small and dainty and so pretty; and he so tall and strong and handsome."

Margaret laughed. "You are looking through the eyes of a fond sister," she said. "I fear not many people would agree with you."

"Well, perhaps he is not that strong or that handsome," Charlotte agreed mischievously.

"You know what I meant," Margaret replied, smiling affectionately at her sister.

Charlotte was to be bridesmaid at the wedding and delighted in every moment of the fittings and the shopping sprees. She had not yet made her come-out, and to her, all the activity was magical. Through a complicated set of negotiations that involved mainly the mothers of the bride and groom, it was agreed that Charlotte would live with her sister and brother-in-law for the Season, after they returned from Hampshire, and that Margaret would undertake to chaperone her come-out. Mr. Wells was relieved to have the chance to return to his own estate after the unexpected expense of Margaret's wedding. Both sisters were delighted by the arrangement.

Margaret wished that they were already back in London. Surely life would be easier there, where there would be numerous activities to occupy their time and furnish them with topics of conversation, and where Charlotte's vivacious personality would fill in any awkward silences.

Margaret was dreading the next week. What would they do to occupy the days? Would Richard take it upon himself to entertain her? She wished for and dreaded such intimacy. How would she converse with him without appearing dull or stupid or silly? Would he go about his own business and leave her to her own devices?

And, of course, the biggest ordeal of all was the night ahead. Would he kiss and caress her as he had so long ago in the Hetheringtons' garden? Her breathing quickened at the thought and she made an effort to control it. She opened her eyes for a moment and found herself looking straight into her husband's eyes. She felt dazed with shock until he asked her if she was tired.

A minute later, as Brampton turned away to the window, Margaret bit her lip. She had seen the flash of annoyance in his eyes as she had called him "my lord." She must accustom herself to calling him Richard, though it seemed too great a familiarity. Goodness, this man was now her husband!

What was he going to think of her tonight? Margaret knew that he was experienced with women. His caresses had told her that six years before. But she had also heard of his many affairs and knew that he kept mistresses. Did he have one now? A sharp stab of pain and jealousy hit her. And she really did not know how to please him. She did not even know what came after the stage of love-making they had reached in the garden, though she knew that it had something to do with the bulge of desire she had felt when he had pulled her against him. She must just learn. She drew some comfort from his remembered words. He had called her a "very passionate little innocent." Would it be enough?

Margaret sighed inaudibly, opened her eyes, and turned to gaze sightlessly out of the window on her side of the carriage. No point in teasing herself over something that she could not control.


Margaret sat at the dresser while Kitty brushed her long wavy hair until it shone.

"Braid it, please, Kitty," she instructed.

"Oh, miss-I mean, my lady, it looks so lovely this way. Leave it just for tonight."

"No. The braids, Kitty," Margaret answered firmly. She did not understand herself. She recognized that she looked feminine, almost attractive, with her hair down. And she knew that the braids made her look prim-Charlotte had told her so often enough. She wanted to attract her husband's admiration, but she could not bring herself to cast out deliberate lures. For the same reason, she had chosen a high-necked, long-sleeved nightgown that swept the floor. The only concession she had made to Charlotte's loud protests was the liberal amount of lace that trimmed it. Kitty had unpacked it earlier with the rest of her trousseau that had come in a baggage coach, with Kitty and Stevens.