“I would not have…done what I did with him if I had not felt a very deep affection for him,” she said. “There was no seduction involved, Claudia, and certainly no rape. Please, you must believe that. There was affection on both sides.”

“But you refused his marriage offer.” Claudia stood back, but she still held Anne’s arms. “Are you simply daft, or am I missing something?”

“Marrying him seemed the wrong thing to do at the time,” Anne said, “for both of us and for reasons that might be difficult to put into words. But now there is to be a third person, and a marriage between us is the only right thing to do.”

Claudia sighed again.

“Sit down,” she said, pulling on the bell rope that hung beside the desk. “I will have a pot of tea brought in. All matters can be seen more clearly-and more calmly-over a cup of tea. If my ears do not deceive me, I believe the girls are returning from their games-ah, look, it is raining outside. That would explain it. I’ll invite Susanna to join us if I may. We are a little like sisters, are we not? I still miss Frances quite dreadfully. And how I will miss you, Anne, my dear.”

She gave instructions to the maid who answered the bell.

“There is actually a fourth person involved in all this, Anne, is there not?” she said while they waited for Susanna to join them. “Will Mr. Butler be a good father for David? I will forgive him a multitude of sins if the answer is yes.”

It was a question that worried Anne more than any other. David desperately wanted a father. But his idea of a desirable father figure was the physically perfect and athletic Joshua or Lord Alleyne or Lord Aidan. However, David had met Sydnam and recognized in him a fellow artist. He did not appear to hold him in any particular aversion.

But how would he feel about Sydnam as a father? As her husband?

“He will be kind to David,” she said.

Of that, at least, she was quite sure.


There had been heavy rains for several weeks, making travel on the main roads slow and hazardous, even impossible at times. Sydnam had been watching with some impatience for the arrival of a letter from the Duke of Bewcastle and his solicitors, the final formality to be gone through before he could call T*** Gwyn officially his own.

He was delighted when it finally arrived and opened it before he looked at the rest of the mail, though he could see that there was a letter from his mother at the top of the pile.

He stood in the middle of his office looking down at the official papers and tried to feel the expected euphoria over knowing that his dream had finally come true. He was a landowner in his own right. He owned a home and land in Wales, a country he had come to love deeply. He now belonged. He fully belonged. He must call on Tudor Rhys later so that they could celebrate together.