After the ceremony there had been a cursory wedding breakfast hosted by the Countess of Scarlet, a bossy, sharp-natured woman who had given the impression that Lizzie was creating a vast amount of trouble for her long-suffering relatives. The countess’s gaze had repeatedly flickered over Lizzie’s stomach as though she was trying to assess whether she was enceinte or not. Lizzie had lost her temper and had said sweetly that dear Charlotte should not concern herself because she was sure she was not pregnant, and was that not a mercy since she had only been married for two hours? The countess had hustled her two young daughters away at that point, covering their ears and looking at Lizzie as though she was the source of a major contagion.

Lizzie had found it odd and nostalgic to be back in her old home and yet to feel it was no longer familiar to her, her father’s somewhat risqué paintings and sculptures gone from the walls and everything stifled in dark and somber colors. Nothing could have spelled out more clearly for her how her old life was closed to her once and for all. She had no place at Scarlet Park and now she no longer had a place at Fortune Hall, either, so where did she belong? She was not sure; nor did she know what sort of life she and Nat could forge together.

They had returned to Fortune’s Folly in the afternoon of the wedding and Nat had promptly disappeared without telling Lizzie where he was going. Lizzie had sat alone in the unwelcoming surroundings of the Chevrons drawing room and had wondered what on earth to do with herself now. She had been on the point of going out for a walk simply to banish the blue devils when Nat had returned, carried her up to bed and made love to her, and then equally promptly had informed her that he was spending the evening with Dexter, discussing the latest developments in Sir Montague’s murder case. Apparently he was going to rejoin Miles and Dexter on the investigation. He had been brusque and impersonal and Lizzie’s pleasant feelings of sensual languor had fled and she had sat in the big bed and watched him dress speedily and efficiently. She had felt bewildered and lost. For a moment, lying there with Nat, she had been able to pretend that they were like any other newlywed couple. Nat’s departure with no more than a hurried kiss ripped that illusion apart and left a hole within her for the despair to flood in. Leaving her alone on their wedding night spelled out more clearly than any words the fact that he had married her to fulfil his responsibility and protect her reputation. Now his duty was done.

Was this what marriage was about? Lizzie wondered. Did Dexter habitually leave Laura sitting around on her own whilst he went out to do whatever it was that gentlemen did? Would Miles have abandoned Alice on their wedding day to go out to his Club? She thought not but she was not sure. And what was she supposed to do in the meantime? The house required no running because Nat had hired the servants along with the property and it already functioned like well-regulated clockwork. Was she supposed to sit in the drawing room and read, or, God forbid, embroider something? Suddenly she did not seem to know anything, nor did she have anyone to ask. Laura, Alice and Lydia had all sent messages of congratulation on her marriage and Lizzie fully intended to call on them in the morning, when, no doubt, the rest of Fortune’s Folly society would also call to hear about her wedding to Nat. They would all be expiring with gossip and curiosity. Tonight, though, she was alone and she was bored and she felt neglected and not a little afraid.

I don’t like being married, Lizzie thought, drumming her fingers irritably on the windowsill. I knew it would not work and I was right. My husband is already ignoring me after only twelve hours of married life. He behaves as though he were still a single man. I have no notion what he plans for our future, when we will go to Water House to meet his family, where we will live, what shape my life will take. I should have thought about this before; I should have talked to him.

I should not have married him.

The thoughts, so jumbled and painful, made her realize how distant she was from Nat and how, in the aftermath of Monty’s death and in her desperation to escape Tom, she had allowed Nat to take all the decisions almost unchallenged.

She looked outside at the puddles of water lying on the cobbled street and the sky lightening in the west as the thunderstorm receded. A solitary carriage rumbled past, breaking the silence. A shadowy figure in a black cloak slipped by so quickly that Lizzie wondered if she had imagined seeing it. Who could be out on a night like this?

“I wish mama were here to advise me,” she thought. There was a hot lump in her throat and suddenly she felt very young and very small. “No, perhaps I don’t, because she was not very reliable. But I wish she were here simply to reassure me.”

She sat very still. The ticking of the clock was the only sound in the entire house, the only indication that anything was alive beneath the stifling weight of soft furnishings. Perhaps when we have a house of our own I might decorate it, Lizzie thought. She could not touch Chevrons, despite finding the decoration fussy and ugly, because it was let with the furnishings. The frustration and the fear gripped her again. What was she supposed to do with herself? And why had she not thought about this before? She was trapped, and this time she could not run because she was married and she would not repeat her mother’s pattern. That was the one thing on which she was determined.

She had been married for less than a day and her husband was out carousing with his cronies. It simply was not appropriate for Nat to marry her and then go out and leave her behind as though she was a part of the furniture, just another commodity that he had acquired, a little wife waiting patiently at home for him when he deigned to return.

The anger flamed through Lizzie, hot and reassuring. She preferred it to the cold grip of the fear and panic. This is my wedding day, she thought, fanning the flames of her own indignation. I will not sit at home, alone and disregarded. If Nat wishes to go out that is his affair but I shall do likewise.

She went over to the drawing room door and flung it open. Immediately the door to the servants’ quarters opened, too, and Mrs. Alibone, the housekeeper, emerged, moving smoothly and silently as though she had oiled wheels beneath her prim black gown. There was something a little sinister about Mrs. Alibone, Lizzie thought. For all her apple-pink cheeks and neat white hair and kindly expression she was so efficient she seemed almost mechanical.

“Good evening, madam,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Alibone,” Lizzie said. “Please ask the coachman to have the carriage ready. And please send my maid to me. I am going out.”

Mrs. Alibone’s eyebrows rose smoothly into a gray fringe of hair. “Out?” she said. “But madam, you are in deep mourning! It is not appropriate for you to go out in the evening, least of all without your husband.”

“It is my brother who has lost his life,” Lizzie said sharply. “I don’t see why I should lose mine, as well. And why should I cease to be a person in my own right when I wed?”

“Then I will have your black crepe gown laid out if you insist, madam,” Mrs. Alibone said, her nose twitching with disapproval.

“No, thank you,” Lizzie said. “I require my silver silk evening dress-and the Scarlet Diamonds. I intend to make an impression.”

“I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO be free on your wedding night, old chap,” Dexter commented as Nat joined him in a quiet corner of the Granby’s taproom. “How is Lady Waterhouse?” he added. “I am surprised that you were able to tear yourself away from her.”

“Lizzie is fine,” Nat said. He took a long, appreciative mouthful of ale and settled back on the bench. “She is very tired,” he added. “It has been a long day for her. I left her reading quietly at home.” By the time that he had left the house, Lizzie had been dressed and sitting in the drawing room at Chevrons, flicking through the Lady’s Magazine. It had been a sight that had pleased Nat and had made him feel very content-his demure wife rising from the bed where she had just pleasured him most satisfactorily and then taking up her books or her sewing to sit quietly at home. It seemed that he had tamed his vixen and she would be the perfect wanton in the bedroom but a paragon of wifely virtues out of it. Indeed, Nat had begun to think that perhaps Lizzie had it in her to be the calm, decorous wife that he had desired all along. Perhaps she would surprise him. Maybe their marriage would not be the disaster he had predicted.

Perhaps all Lizzie had needed was a settled home and a secure background. Nat was proud that he had been able to give that to her. She had certainly been a great deal quieter and more malleable in the weeks preceding their wedding. She had accepted his proposal without further argument, she had agreed to all the arrangements he had made and she had been remarkably reserved and quiet.

Dexter was looking at him a little quizzically. “If you say so, old chap,” he said. “It doesn’t sound much like the Lady Elizabeth Scarlet we all knew before, but you must know her best. She is your wife, after all.”

Nat nodded. He reflected that the past couple of weeks had gone exceptionally well. From the moment he had rescued Lizzie from Fortune Hall on the night of Tom’s orgy he had been completely focused on doing what he had to do to protect her, to secure her fortune and to pay off Tom’s blackmail. Today had been the culmination of all his work. He had married Lizzie, thereby saving her reputation, gaining her dowry and in some indefinable but deeply satisfying way, putting matters right. He had paid off her brother with a draft advanced by his bankers. He had been able to keep safe the secret of his sister Celeste’s sexual indiscretions. He had shielded his family from harm, which had been his prime concern from the very first. He was entitled to feel satisfied with his efforts. Everything was safe, everything was ordered again. He had done his duty.