Vanessa

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Vanessa By

Lynne Connolly Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen www.awe-struck.net

Vanessa A Phaeton Regency Romance By Lynne Connolly Published by Awe-Struck E-Books www.awe-struck.net Copyright ©2003 ISBN: 1-58749-355-1 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Chapter One

1815 Vanessa Marriott looked up at the large clock in Bath's main pump room and sighed. Bored didn't begin to describe the way she felt. Her mother, sitting next to her with a glass of restorative water in her hand, glanced at her irritably. "Sit up straight, Vanessa! For goodness' sake, look more interested!"

Vanessa sighed again. Why should she? What good would it do? As the eldest daughter of a flock of six she'd seen ten seasons, and had no wish to see any more. Old news on the marriage market, she wearied of the way young mens' regard slid over her and on to the next girl. At twenty-eight, she no longer considered herself marriageable, and prayed her mother would allow her to stay in the country next year, instead of trailing around after her pretty sisters in Bath and London. She was far too old for this kind of thing. There was only one reason she continued to allow her mother to drag her on the social round, and that was Emery Graham, at present staring at her from across the room. She wished he wouldn't stare at her so, it made their interest in each other so much more conspicuous, and her mother refused to consider the attachment. She took some solace from his presence, and smiled back at him for a brief moment. A polite commotion at the far end of the Pump Room made Vanessa look up with curiosity. Her only brother George entered the elegant room, dressed in full regimentals. His entrance caused young hearts to flutter and set up a murmur of surprise. If he appeared handsome in civilian wear, the glittering regimental coat and tight breeches only served to increase the effect. Vanessa gasped when she saw him and leapt to her feet. She ignored Mrs. Marriott's, "Vanessa! Do sit down!" Propriety prevented her running, but she moved as quickly as possible to greet her beloved younger brother. "George!" she cried in distress. "What have you done!" "Like it?" George moved his arms away from his sides so his sister could see him in his full military glory. The red and gold of his new uniform became his young, strong figure admirably, but in her mind's eye Vanessa only saw blood and dirt stain the bright tunic and George prone in some foreign battlefield. "George you mustn't do this!" "Why not? Already done it," he said with a grin. He positively preened, and pushed one leg slightly forward to show off the fine musculature beneath the new cloth. Vanessa knew he drew the admiring glances of all the young ladies present in the room, but he ignored them all in favour of his sister. For now, at least. Vanessa had no doubt he'd give his full attention to them later. "You've seen the papers? Don't you know what that means?" Vanessa cried, deeply distressed and angered by her brother's sudden decision. He'd consulted no one. "About Boney? Yes, he's escaped Elba and he's on his way to make more mischief," George replied with equanimity. "Don't you see old girl? Now's the time to make my fortune! The prize money will come in very useful, and you know I always looked good in red!" Vanessa knew he only added the last, flippant remark to try to cheer her up, but she still felt distraught. "Oh, George!" George took Vanessa's hand and placed it on his arm. "Walk with me," he commanded. They strolled up the large room, just fast enough to deter anyone who might try to join them. "Truth is old girl," said George quietly, "All the equity's gone and it's this or the Fleet prison." "You're in debt?" "We're in debt, Vessa."

She didn't try to hide from his searching gaze. She was tense with worry for his safety; angry at his high handed decision. "When we brought you girls out the expense nearly did for us. Agriculture's not what it used to be, so the estate won't support you all, and I never fancied the maritime life. So it's the army for me, old girl!" "Are we bankrupt?" she said. She tried hard to keep face in this public area, but she felt herself frown. He should have told her before. She wasn't stupid, or some dewy-eyed miss fresh from the schoolroom. "Not that bad. Your dowries are still there, and the estate's not mortgaged. But it's getting that way and Newmarket last week —" he drew a sharp breath between his teeth, looking away for a moment then he gazed back at her and smiled reassuringly. "We'll come about, never fear." "George, you're only two and twenty!" Vanessa was only six years older than George, but felt like much more. Perhaps George's more optimistic nature made it seem that way. Vanessa always tended to see the worst of things; she saw disaster, where he saw opportunities. She was rarely wrong. "You'd better sort out your preferences as well," George said. "You won't want to dwindle into an old maid, and live with Mama for the rest of your days. Any offers on the cards? Apart from Graham, I mean? You won't be able to afford him now." Vanessa thought about what this meant, and tried to control the thoughts circling uselessly in her head. She'd hoped to retire to an independence in a few years, a small establishment of her own, while she waited for Emery to make his fortune. That had always been her dream. It didn't seem possible any more. She pushed her hopes firmly aside. Luxuries, not to be thought of any more. "One," she answered reluctantly. "I'd like to see you settled before I go to France," George told her. "Who is it?" Really, Vanessa thought, anyone would think he was responsible! "Lord Vesey." "Vesey? That pill?" "Pilgarlic," she corrected him. She discovered the word in a book in the circulating library the other day, and taken a fancy to it. "Eh?" "Pill's short for pilgarlic." "Is it? Never knew that! Well, it don't signify. Which is it to be? Vesey or the country with Mama?" Vanessa felt herself flush hotly. "How do you expect me to decide now?" George turned his head and studied Vanessa seriously, his usual expression of cheerful carelessness replaced by grave concern. "You've spent ten years being chased by sundry men, and turned them all down, except that Graham chap, and you can't have him. You've got to make up your mind now. Especially now," he added in an undertone. They continued to walk. "Four isn't sundry," she replied. "There was Emery, then one was sixty, one was idiotic, and the other is —" she broke off when she saw the man in question. Lord Vesey strolled towards them, his unhurried pace not disguising his object. His imposing figure created quite a stir amongst the young females present. He'd asked Vanessa to consider his proposal

three days ago, and Vanessa had been surprised, even shocked by it. Her mother knew of it, and was putting her under increasing pressure to accept, but Vanessa was determined to make up her own mind. She would face the inevitable consequences of her refusal later - if she refused him. She'd never considered Lord Vesey a possibility before his surprising proposal, thought him not the marrying kind. He was thirty-two and never gave any woman hopes before. Vanessa couldn't imagine why he'd offered for her. His proposal had been perfectly proper, with no hint of passion, or the regard Vanessa considered necessary to a successful union. Vanessa released George's arm while they made their bows, and then reclaimed it, not willing to let go of him for longer than she needed to. "Had the courage of your convictions, Marriott?" asked his lordship. Not the hint of a smile marred his stern features. "Something like that," said George. "Leaving for France this month." Vanessa paled and would have clutched her brother in alarm, had she not been so well schooled in correct behaviour. "This month! Oh George!" She feared for her little brother, her deepest point of vulnerability. "I too must take my leave sooner than I thought," his lordship said smoothly. His glance passed over Vanessa, who tried to keep her face calm. She didn't know why his presence disturbed her so, made her mildly agitated inside. Perhaps it was his undeniable good looks, or his excellent address. Or the proposal. "I have to leave for Vienna shortly. Castlereagh wants me back." "Espionage?" said George, a gleam in his eye that Vanessa mistrusted. "Let's say diplomatic," his lordship replied with an enigmatic smile. While her brother and her suitor talked, Vanessa finally made up her mind. She couldn't let her little brother face Boney on his own; she must go with him. Moreover, she couldn't bear to live immured in the country with her mother. If she didn't take this alternative course there seemed no other path for her. She loved Emery deeply but there seemed as much chance of him making his fortune this year as there was last year: none. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "My lord," she said quietly, "may I have a private word with you?" His head whipped round to stare at her; a light dawned in his eyes, instantly controlled again. "Of course, Miss Marriott," Lord Vesey replied at once. "Please, walk with me." Vanessa transferred her hand from her brother's arm to his without hesitation. George frowned at his sister doubtfully. She smiled blandly back to show him her complete satisfaction with the bargain she was about to make. Now it came to the sticking point she was the calm one, George the doubter. They bowed and left George Marriott to his many female admirers, who approached him in a playful way, all of them smiling flirtatiously. Even Vanessa had to admit he struck a very fine figure in his new regimentals. "Seal fishing," Vanessa commented dryly. Lord Vesey stared at her in blank astonishment. She explained. "I went up to Scotland once, to my aunt's house there, on a visit. I saw some men seal fishing. They trail the bait behind the boat, and the seals

follow, with every expectation of treats to come. George's uniform is the bait." His amusement showed in a flash of white teeth. "You should have been a novelist, Miss Marriott. A descriptive passage Monk Lewis himself couldn't have bettered." "I did think of it," she said brightly. "But I didn't think I could make my living at it, so I put the idea aside. I like to render an account of my experiences, just for myself, you understand. I keep an extensive journal." "I should like to see some of those descriptions," he said. "I thought of the young ladies as kittens. The seal analogy has so much more to it than that." Slowly, inexorably, he led her out the crowded Pump Room, away from the excitements of the rich at play. She nodded to one of her erstwhile admirers, a Mr. Taylor, on the way out, and remembered why she'd refused his flattering offer of marriage last season. He wasn't an idiot, as she had described him to George a moment ago, but any temptation to accept him had been killed by her vivid imagination. The thought of his short, chubby figure dressed in a nightshirt, holding a candelabrum by her bedside, his pale blue pop-eyes gazing at her in lascivious delectation killed her acceptance stone dead. Vanessa stole a glance at Lord Vesey and tried to imagine him in the same situation. She felt sure he wouldn't gloat, as she was sure Mr. Taylor would have done, but he might stare at her in that deep, thoughtful way of his. His tall, well-muscled figure was certainly more attractive than Mr. Taylor's. She found it hard to go any further with that thought when her breath caught in her throat. She hurriedly pushed it away from her. She felt the strong muscles of his arm under the fine cloth of his well-cut coat. She deliberately stopped herself thinking about what was underneath. She was determined to do this, for George more than for herself. If Vesey were going abroad and she were his wife, she'd go too, and then she'd be closer to her brother. The only son of Mrs. Marriott, George was the hope of the house, and besides that, she loved him dearly. Once out in the open, Lord Vesey led her away from the crowds. They walked at a comfortable pace, and exchanged small talk until they approached a pleasant house not far from the Pump Room, set in a small side street; one of many in a long line of fashionable residences. His lordship produced a key and they went in. A footman, surprised to see his master home at this time of day, stood up from his seat on one of the hard hall chairs. He took Lord Vesey's coat, hat and gloves. Then he accepted Vanessa's hat, gloves, and the thin shawl that was all she had in the way of protection against the sharp wind coming in from the hills that day. Vanessa repressed an urge to rub her hands against her chilled arms. She knew the goose pimples stood up on them. "Is the fire lit in the drawing room?" his lordship asked, and Vanessa wondered if he'd noticed her discomfort. He hadn't seemed to. "Yes my lord, but Ecarte is in there." Vanessa lifted an eyebrow in silent query. "My chef," explained his lordship with a wry grin. "He cooks divinely but his tantrums are devilish." "The small front parlour is warm and empty, my lord," the footman said helpfully. Lord Vesey gave his servant a small, courteous nod. "Thank you." He led Vanessa into the room at the front of the house. It was quiet here. Vanessa heard the hooves of

the occasional horse when it passed by the house, and the crackle of the welcome fire, but nothing else. The room was filled with the kind of furniture that at once proclaimed it as a hired house, one of the many procured for a few weeks in the season when Bath became fashionable, though Brighton had long since overtaken it as the place to go. Good quality, not the best, and with no particular style, no personal preference. Of course, his lordship might take no interest in his surroundings, might be one of those men who never noticed, much as her father had been, but for some reason she couldn't define, she doubted it. The silence fell heavier while she marshalled her words. "My lord," she said suddenly, "Your offer - the other day —" "I remember it," he said evenly. He stood a few steps away from her and watched her steadily, no expression in his dark eyes. He wasn't making this any easier. Vanessa swallowed. "I have thought about it, and… and if you please, I would like to accept." There, It was done! Not the most elegant acceptance, she knew she'd rushed the last few words, but she'd done it. Unhurriedly he came forward, took her hand and kissed it softly. She shivered, and wondered why, since physically she felt a lot warmer, thanks to the fire. "Thank you," he said. "You make me the happiest of men." Vanessa stared at him wonderingly. Did he know why she'd changed her mind? Did he think she had more than an ordinary regard for him? She didn't know. She knew she liked him; even his sternest mien was a welcome change to some of the vacuous young men who'd approached her in recent years. She knew she could stick to the bargain she made with him. It was one of her reasons for choosing him. She also knew that if he gave his word to her, he would keep it. His reputation was for straight dealing, and if he promised something, it inevitably came to pass. He didn't make too many promises. He was going abroad, and so was her beloved George. Would Vesey take her? She didn't yet know what kind of wife Vesey was looking for; the complacent type who had babies and lived in the country, or a partner for his diplomatic activities. She hoped for the latter, but either would be better than what she had now. Vanessa loved George so much, and the action she was about to take both removed the financial burden from her brother's shoulders, and gave Vanessa a valid excuse to follow him. If his lordship wanted a diplomatic wife. Somewhere deep inside she felt it was wrong, to marry a man for the financial security he brought to her, but this was the way her society operated, and she only followed its dictates. If Society didn't want her to do that, she thought savagely, they should have given women more security of their own. She hated herself at that moment, and then she studied Lord Vesey, and pushed her venal thoughts aside. Perhaps there was something else. At least she liked him, although she didn't know him very well. "Can it be soon?" she said. "As soon as you wish," he replied, and at last moved to her, and drew her to him. Mrs. Marriott had told the butler she was not at home to anyone but his lordship. When she saw the crested, luxurious carriage come up the street she'd dispatched all Vanessa's sisters upstairs to their rooms and waited for the news. When she heard the slam of the front door she waited expectantly in the drawing room until the door opened to admit her eldest daughter

"Vanessa, at last!" she cried. "I didn't dare hope when I saw you leave with him, but I thought you were merely furthering your acquaintance - allowing him a few liberties —" Vanessa blushed scarlet. "Mama! I wouldn't dream of leading a man on in that way!" For a woman of her age, Vanessa had been kept innocent of all but the basic facts of life. Her mother had seen to that. Virgins were virgins, and should come to their husbands' beds ready to be taught. "Well, my dear, you've been on the town an age, so long, in fact, that I presumed you would never marry!" Mrs. Marriott threw her light shawl over a nearby chair. She never felt the cold. At least fashion was beginning to veer away from the gauzy nothings of ten years ago towards slightly more substantial garments, but short sleeves were still de rigeur for young girls. The lady was nothing if not a dedicated fashionable. She walked towards Vanessa, both arms outstretched to take her in her arms. "Tell me all about it! Does he love you?" "He says he holds me in warm regard, Mama, and he repeated his proposal." "And?" "I accepted him," Vanessa said colourlessly. "Oh Vanessa! Just what I always hoped for you! Money, address, town polish…" she clapped her hands together in delight. Vanessa appeared strangely flat for a young lady who had accepted one of the most eligible bachelors on the town. "He says he's had me in his eye for some time." "Then why didn't he come forward before?" her mother demanded in an exasperated tone. "Had you in his eye? That makes you sound like some kind of bird! Do you remember our old curate, Mr. Thorpe?" she went on seamlessly. Once Mrs. Marriott had started, she was hard to stop. Vanessa knew better than to stop her. "He loved birds, spent hours in the fields with his spying-glass and that little book he used to carry! Such a charming man! But too old, and no family," she added regretfully. Mrs. Marriott was accustomed to thinking of every man as either eligible for one of her daughters, and therefore interesting, or ineligible and uninteresting. "He wants us to be married soon," Vanessa told her. "He has to go to Vienna. We needn't go through France, he says." "France!" her lady mother exclaimed in horror. "That dreadful country! To be sure, in my parents' time it was the place to go, but nobody goes there any more!" "Only soldiers and diplomats." Vanessa sipped again, watching her mother over the rim of her dish. Mrs. Marriott met her cool regard with one of her own. "Oh…oh yes!" she said, remembering. "He does do something for the government from time to time, doesn't he? He wants to take you?" "It seems so." Mrs. Marriott felt exasperated at Vanessa's coolness and lack of interest. "It must be for him to say. You must do as he bids you." This was such a wonderful opportunity, quite making up for Jane! She'd almost cast off Vanessa's sister Jane when she married for love last year. The man was a lowly clergyman, only just given his first living, but their happiness in each other was plain to see, and it was only the knowledge

that she had lost one of her burdens that kept Mrs. Marriott on speaking terms with her daughter. She liked to think her control over her children was absolute. She would never admit for a minute that she hadn't known about George's decision to join the army, but there would be a rumpus when she confronted him. Her son had beaten a hasty retreat from the Pump room before his mother caught up with and confronted him. The doorbell rang. After a few moments, Fisher, the butler, came in with a small card on a silver tray. "He has gone, madam," he said. "I told him you were not at home, as you instructed." Mrs. Marriott took up the piece of pasteboard, and after only one glance at it, threw it into the fire. The white card fluttered on to the cold, black coal. "Mr. Emery Graham," she said with disdain. "We won't be needing his friendship any more. Whatever made you encourage him, I can't imagine!" "I like him, Mama," Vanessa said calmly. "He makes me laugh." Her mother made a small sound, indicative of dismissal. "He has no money. He'll never look after you as Lord Vesey can." "He has expectations." Vanessa's voice was calm, Mrs. Marriott was pleased to note. Perhaps her daughter had got over her ridiculous tendre. She put Graham to the back of her mind. He didn't matter any more. "Pish! Most of the well-dressed young men in Bath have expectations, but only half will ever receive anything! Most have frittered away their inheritances before they receive them on —" "Chasing young ladies?" Vanessa enquired mildly. She stared at the card in the grate. Her mother threw up her hands. "Who cares! It's becoming harder and harder to get a girl respectably settled these days, but thank the Lord I only have four left now!" "Mama?" ventured her daughter, animation returning to her face. "Why did you never marry again?" Her mother regarded her daughter with disbelief and laughed in derision. She was in her late forties, widowed for ten years now. Despite her hair owing more to artifice than to nature, and the lines on her face increasing more than they used to, she thought she might have made an older man a very good wife. Many women her age had given up, let their figures spread, their clothes date, but Mrs. Marriott still made the effort. She glanced complacently at her reflection in the mirror, and then remembered where her efforts had got her and suppressed a sigh. "I tried," she admitted. "But what man in his right mind is going to consider a woman with six daughters to settle? I have nothing to bring to a marriage, nothing except myself, and these days, Vanessa, that's not enough! You've made a very good match here, and don't ever forget it!" The front door slammed and a male voice in the hall announced George's return. Mrs. Marriott carefully set her face into lines of disapproval. Vanessa put her tea dish down and stood up, ready to leave the room. George came in beaming from ear to ear, his new uniform gleaming bravely in the late afternoon sun that streamed through the windows of the small parlour. Mrs. Marriott cried out "George!" and carefully collapsed into a dead faint on to the sofa behind her. She'd perfected her technique over years. It never let her down. "What have you been saying?" George demanded at once of his sister.

Vanessa knelt down at her mother's feet, lifted them on to the sofa. "Nothing!" she replied. "She's very pleased with me, I've accepted a flattering offer of marriage this morning! Look at yourself, George!" George glanced down at the elaborate gold froggings on his tunic. "Oh Lord!" he exclaimed. "I forgot I hadn't told her! She saw me in the Pump Room!" "You think she would have fainted then? She might be angry and upset with you George but Mama has never lost sight of the proprieties!" Vanessa left the room. Her mother had recovered, and immediately began to berate George for his stupidity and rashness. Heartlessly, she left him to his fate. She wanted to go upstairs to see her sisters and tell them the news, but she heard a sound from the small office on the ground floor and turned her head to see what it was. "Vanessa!" A voice she knew well. The footman stationed in the hall gave no sign of hearing. Vanessa blinked in surprise at the open door of the bookroom. Looking more closely at the footman she realised it was Pearce, one of the older family retainers. He always had a soft spot for Vanessa. She smiled at him in silent gratitude and went into the bookroom, closing the door quietly behind her. Emery seized her and kissed her. Two men in one day! However this kiss held all the passion Lord Vesey's had lacked, and held the savour of familiarity. He didn't let her go when he'd done, but held her tenderly, gazing down at her face. "Oh Vanessa!" She met Emery's loving gaze gravely. "Emery!" Emery Graham was a younger son. His family was good, his credentials excellent. The only thing that had prevented him from formally offering for Vanessa was his poverty. For years, he'd tried various professions, but none suited, and now he was pursuing a seat in Parliament. Vanessa loved him, but she would never do what her sister Jane had done, defy her formidable mother to marry the man she loved. Besides, Jane's husband had a living, could look after her and had prospects of better things to come. Emery had nothing. His expectations were too nebulous for any confidence to be placed on them. Vanessa was astute enough to realise that a couple must have something to build on, apart from love. She enjoyed his attentions. Even the clandestine meetings had the warmth of familiarity. Vanessa reached her hand up to touch Emery's cheek. He caught it and held it there. His warm, blue gaze never left her face. "My love! I have something to tell you, something which might help us, but you must promise to wait." "Emery, I have news too." She broke the potent spell, looked down at his chest. She couldn't meet his eyes. "I am to be married." "Dear God!" he exclaimed, releasing her. His accusing stare was in such contrast to his loving gaze of a moment ago, she couldn't meet it. She stood there, feeling unprotected, completely alone. "I've accepted Lord Vesey's offer." "I thought you said you'd never think of him in that way!" Emery was angry, distressed, his bitter disappointment scorched her spirit. She tried to explain. "I have to. We're near bankruptcy, Emery. I can't let the family down."

"The family! Why should you be beholden to them?" His voice filled with scorn. "Just because they are my family," she said. "George used the last of our ready money to buy a commission, and kit himself out for the army. He's ready to go to France and make his fortune." "There's a coincidence," Emery spat, his mouth twisting. "I'm going abroad too." "Not the army!" Despite her determination to give Emery up, Vanessa ached at the thought of both the men she loved putting themselves in danger. He stood a little apart from her, not offering to hold her any more. "No, not the army. I have a message to deliver to someone. Lord Hareton has said that if I undertake this commission successfully, he'll put me up for the House at a future date." "Oh Emery!" her heart went out to him, she couldn't bear it. "You might be killed!" "I doubt that," he said wryly. "It might come as a welcome release if I am after what you've just told me." They stared at each other for a few moments in silence, both beyond words, until her beloved managed; "Can't you change your mind? Tell your mother you want to wait for me?" "I could," she said, "But it wouldn't help very much." She turned away, unable to bear the hurt she saw in his face. They'd waited for six years now, ever since the first night they had met at Almack's, and she had fallen for a handsome face and a pair of guileless blue eyes. Her mother accepted him as a hanger-on, a handsome accessory for her daughter, but she never took his proposal seriously. "You won't be salaried, or not enough," Vanessa pointed out. "It might be years before you can afford to support a wife. Oh, Emery, I can't wait any longer!" She blinked back the tears. Now was not the time. There, it was out. All the waiting, all the hoping was turning her sour. She was sure of it. Not for one minute did she doubt Emery's devotion to her, but she couldn't wait any longer. If the Marriotts had come to the end of their fortune, and the opportunity to help repair them was thrown in her way, she had to take it. To hope for love was foolish, not for her to pursue any further. There were other things. Security, a family of her own, something to work for. She saw the desperation, the hunger in his eyes. "Marry me now," he urged. "Come away with me, now, tonight. Let them all go hang!" She loved that romantic side to him, but she knew it wouldn't do. "I can't live like that, dependent on the kindness of better-off relatives and friends!" she cried. "We'd be at each other's throats before too long, would never be happy!" "No, no," he protested. "I'll always love you, Vanessa, always!" He held out his arms, and heedless of anything else, she went to him. They closed tight around her and once more, she lifted her face for his kiss. That was when the door opened. They broke apart, but not soon enough. Lord Vesey stood in the doorway, a cynical eyebrow raised. "Am I disturbing you at all?" he said.

Chapter Two

Vanessa flushed bright red, and Emery stammered for a moment before he finally bowed and hastily left, closing the door behind him. Vanessa thought it was cowardly of him to leave her like that, but when she considered the alternative, she realised he might be right. Vesey had the right to call him out, and that action created scandals many a woman had found hard to live down. She had to stay and face whatever was to come. She folded her hands neatly before her and waited. "I thought there was something wrong," his lordship said, his voice clear and emotionless, "when your footman objected most strongly to my waiting in here, and almost barred my way. Didn't you hear him raise his voice?" Vanessa shook her head, mutely, head bowed. After that first stony stare, she didn't think she could face her betrothed. His voice reached her, clear as cut glass. "He was trying to warn you, my dear girl. I came to pursue the matter we discussed earlier, but perhaps there is no need. Can this…affecting scene I just witnessed indicate that you would rather bestow your affections elsewhere?" Vanessa took a few deep breaths and then met his eyes. She hadn't realised that brown eyes could be so cold before that moment. "No sir," she said quietly. "We made a bargain, and I will stick to it. If you will allow me to. I was merely saying goodbye to Mr. Graham." "Someone told me Graham's been hanging around you for the last few years," Vesey said, still stiff, still cold. "I hope you realise I won't allow that, if you marry me. Not, at least, until an heir has been produced." She shivered. "Is that why you proposed to me?" His regarded her, insultingly assessing. "For an heir? Partly." He moved farther into the little room. She stood her ground, but she felt his powerful presence, his strong shoulders only emphasised by the superb fit of his blue superfine coat. "If I'd wanted a brood mare, I would have asked one of your younger sisters." She flinched at this cruel reminder of her age. "I also want a creditable wife. You have breeding, countenance, all the things a successful politician's wife must possess. When we have settled the matter of the nursery, you may go your own way, but until then… If you wish to proceed, you must be pure, cleave - as the marriage service says - only to me. Is that understood?" Now Vanessa was angry. She knew she was more than that, a suitable wife, a prospective mother. Perhaps not to him. "Perfectly," she answered. Her chill now matched his; two could play at that game. "Emery has been devoted to me for years, but he has nothing. He's never have enough to make me a respectable offer. Not one my mother would accept, anyway." "No prospects? So you're accepting my offer for venal reasons?" his expression was perfectly still. Vanessa couldn't tell what he thought, or what he would think of her answer. "Partly." She wanted to pay him back for his insults of a moment earlier. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, neither revealing anything of the turmoil inside, and then Vanessa's innate honesty took over. "Partly because I'm bored." Suddenly his gravity broke and he let out a crack of laughter. "Ha! Bored?" Recklessly she decided to be frank with him. Somehow, she thought he might prefer it to all the dissimulation he must cope with day after day. "I've waited for Emery," she told him, "and been good for years and years and years. You have no idea what it's like. I'm berated day after day for refusing perfectly good offers for capricious reasons. I've watched my sisters come into their own. I've read improving texts, been good, and done good works. I've done everything expected of me, and if I have to do any more I'll go mad. Yes, my lord, I'm bored."

"Well," he said in a warmer tone. "I think I can offer you a little more than that! Boredom will leave you if you marry me!" "Then you will forgive me my lapse of a moment ago?" She hated calling it that, but in honesty, that's what it was. She had betrothed herself to this man, and then seen another privately. Many men would repudiate her for that. Not, it seemed, Lord Vesey. "If," he replied slowly, "it is as you say, and you were saying goodbye, then it's reasonable. I myself had to bid someone goodbye, for much the same reason." "You have a mistress?" She wasn't surprised. Most men had a mistress. "Had," he said. "Until a couple of days ago. She'll be taken care of, but we have parted. Did you expect me to come to you celibate?" "I have to come to you that way," she said without thinking. He laughed again, delighted by her honesty. "That, as you very well know, is for an entirely different reason. Good God, imagine if unmarried women behave as men do!" "It might be better," she said. "It might be an improvement!" "Certainly a challenge," he replied. "But I can't really imagine it, nor the sort of society that would condone it. We are as we are, my dear, and we have to cope with things as we find them." "A diplomat's answer!" "Very much so." He studied her through narrowed eyes for a moment in silence, which she bore with fortitude, and seemed to come to a decision. "I'll go and sort things out with your brother, and send a notice to the Post for the morning. It's the end of the Season, but I think we'll muster a fair wedding breakfast between us." He paused. "They didn't want to let me in to see your mother right away. Do you know why?" "Mama fainted when George confronted her in his army uniform." She would let him make what he liked of that. "I see. Do you think she has recovered by now?" "I'm sure of it, once she discovers you're in the house. She'll be graciousness personified." "I thought that was her daughter." He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on the back of it. "Or perhaps that's simply grace." He bowed to her and went to find George. Left on her own, Vanessa sat down to think. She didn't know what to make of him. The last flash of amusement seemed to belie her previous judgement of him as a humourless man, something she was glad of, but she still didn't know him at all. Lord Vesey had appeared last year, taken London by storm after spending so long abroad, had driven hopeful mamas crazy when he made it obvious he was actively seeking a bride, but then seemed unable to make up his mind. His standards were exacting, and he hadn't made a choice before Christmas. It seemed he was playing with the idea, not entirely serious, and many put him down as a dangerous flirt. Now the Season was in full swing, and either he'd tired of the game, or his summons back to Vienna had given him the impetus he needed to make his selection.

Vanessa had no idea why he chose her, when he could have had anyone it pleased him to ask. Perhaps her age counted for her, giving her the maturity other, younger girls lacked, or perhaps he wanted someone of little influence, someone to mould. This was the biggest chance Vanessa had ever taken, and she was only just beginning to understand what she had started, by impulsively accepting his lordship's offer. The future course of her life was now set, for better or for worse, by an impulsive decision taken in Bath's Pump Room. That night at the Assembly Rooms, Mrs. Marriott was in her element. Even though Lord Vesey was absent, the thing was settled and Mrs. Marriott felt justified in letting the whole of her acquaintance into the good news, aware it would rapidly spread across Bath, and from there through the whole of fashionable society. The rumours would probably spread so fast they'd beat the announcement in the "Post." Vanessa felt strangely detached. She accepted the congratulations of her mother's friends with perfect composure, and watched her contemporaries' reactions with a more jaundiced eye. Many didn't hide their chagrin when they heard Vanessa had finally made up her mind to ditch the attractive but penniless Emery Graham, in favour of the richer, and equally attractive, Lord Vesey. Many had aspirations in that direction themselves. Most shrugged, congratulated Vanessa and turned aside to pursue more promising quarry, but one or two did not. Miss Agatha Thirske was particularly put out, as she'd thought she'd almost brought his lordship up to scratch. Vanessa heard her tell her particular friend, Miss Evensby; "I don't know what made Lord Vesey offer for Vanessa Marriott. She's quite a fright these days, in those white gowns her mother insists she wears, just as though she is eighteen and fresh out of the nursery! I didn't know anyone took her seriously any more! I was quite expecting to see her in puce next season, sitting with the rest of the spinsters in the card room!" Since she was quite close to Vanessa at the time, and didn't bother to lower her voice, no one had to relay the information to the subject of Miss Thirske's displeasure. Miss Thirske was a stately blonde girl, fully four years younger than Vanessa, and an accredited beauty. Vanessa's rain straight dark hair and pale face did not fit the conventional style, although, as Miss Thirske had been heard to admit, "her skin is good and she has all her teeth." Vanessa wasn't used to the kind of attention she received this evening. She spent a great deal of her time seated next to her sister Lydia, a plump, pretty damsel of twenty six, but to Vanessa's surprise she was solicited to dance several times, mainly by married men. She soon realised why. She was fair game, if willing. By her simple acceptance of Lord Vesey's hand that morning, she had moved into a new world, one where fidelity (after, as his lordship had been kind enough to explain that afternoon, the nursery had been filled) was an optional extra. Although not flirtatious by nature, the subtle innuendo and unspoken promise of this new game enchanted her, and she felt in control as never before. She had no intention of taking any offers up, she'd promised her betrothed and meant to keep to it, but the power such flirtation gave her new to her, and very welcome. Two of her past suitors, who had left her for pastures new and wed other ladies, approached her and paid her flattering attention which she was not naïve enough to misunderstand. They had, with gentlemanly consideration, previously left her to pursue available men, but they were quick to stake their claims on her now. Sir Digby Ollerenshaw brought her a glass of orgeat, and sat down by her side. Vanessa smiled mechanically. "I hope marriage suits you, sir?" "Tremendously," came the ready response. "I might have done it years ago, had you accepted my offer. I

thought you were waiting for that Graham fellow? That's the only reason I gave up." His darkling glance at Mrs. Marriott, taking the floor with an elderly gentleman, spoke of another reason. "I waited long enough," Vanessa replied. True enough, as far as it went, but her heart ached when she said it. "So I should have persisted." "How do you know I haven't developed a tendre for Lord Vesey?" she demanded. He wasn't in the least put out. His polite smile became knowing. "That cold fish? I can't see what the ladies see in him, really I can't! He's wealthy enough, although he didn't start that way, and he has a figure to be envied, but he's never shown anything more than cold regard and equally cold flirting." "How can you flirt coldly?" Vanessa demanded. It sounded impossible to her, and his lordship had never made her the object of a flirtation. "Blessed if I know," Sir Digby confessed. "But he manages it. Is it the challenge, do you think?" His gaze became sharper, and he moved closer to whisper in her ear. "Is it any chance with you?" "No!" Vanessa drew back, appalled by the blatantly crude question. She didn't want to draw attention to herself but determined to leave in a moment or two, as soon as her unfortunately loud negative had been overlooked. Sir Digby patted her hand in a consoling manner, his hand accidentally straying to her thigh, on which her hand lay. "Never mind, dear. Sure, your life is bound to improve." His attention strayed, on to the dance floor. "They're striking up for a waltz," he observed. "Will you do me the honour, dear lady?" "Certainly not sir," Vanessa replied, glad of the excuse to avoid more pawing. "My mother would never permit it. I'm not married yet, and it would be deeply improper for me to dance the waltz with you." A voice behind her made her start. "Quite right too," Lord Vesey said approvingly. She had not heard or seen his entry into the room. "May I, with my new status, see if you will take a turn with me?" Not at all put out, her admirer bowed and withdrew, leaving the field clear for her new betrothed. He held his hand out to help her to her feet. "He's quick on the uptake," he remarked. She stood up. "I knew Sir Digby before," she said, "but he's married now." "I know," he said. He put her hand on his arm. She knew people stared at them but they were bound to, she reasoned, if only to assess what kind of couple they made. It didn't concern her. He led her on to the floor. "I'm afraid I've only waltzed in private before," she confessed. "I wasn't sure you could do it," he said. "I prepared myself to carry you round the floor. I can't recall seeing you dance the waltz before." "Mama doesn't consider it proper for unmarried ladies to waltz," Vanessa said. "I've practised it, and I think I'll manage." She forgot to mention that the only man she'd danced the waltz with before was her brother George. She flinched slightly when Vesey put his arm about her waist and placed his hand in hers, but he held her perfectly correctly. He gave her a quizzical look and she managed a small smile. She must get over her dislike of being touched by anyone she didn't know well, and quickly at that. Besides, she thought, she would know him well enough soon.

She was pleased to find she danced well with him, and knew she would do better with practice. After they circled the floor once, he spoke to her, assured this wouldn't ruin her concentration. "You'll need to dance well, where I want to take you." "Sir?" she looked up at him, surprised. "I had word this afternoon that I'm to proceed to Vienna at my earliest convenience," he told her. "I'm sorry for it, but I didn't plan for the Bonaparte's escape from Elba." "No, of course not," she said mechanically, still concentrating on her steps. The words reached her, but not their implication. "They're continuing with the Congress," he told her. "Officially, Bonaparte's escape is a setback, no more. Things will continue much as before, but I think there may be more to it than that." There was a pause, while Vanessa thought about it. She still didn't know what he wanted to do about her. Could this be one of the shortest betrothals in history? "This means," he continued evenly, "We can be married immediately, and then you may come with me, or you can wait. It's up to you, Vanessa." Her name on his lips still sounded strange. "Which would you prefer?" The corner of his mouth quirked up, but he gave her no other clue to his preference. "It's up to you," he repeated. "I can't deny your presence in Vienna would be welcome, but if you'd rather wait for my return, you're perfectly at liberty to do so." "No," she said. "No. I've read about Vienna. Is it as lovely as they say?" He didn't reply immediately, but took the opportunity of a tricky turn at the end of the room to keep silent. The turn negotiated, he said; "It's a beautiful city, sure enough, and half Europe is there at present. Would you like to go?" "Very much," she said, and then realised what else went with it. So soon! When she glanced at his face, she thought he was pleased with her response. Certainly his usual cold expression seemed softened a little, his mouth quirked up at the corners very slightly, his dark eyes more friendly than before. George, she was forgetting George. One of the reasons she'd decided to accept Lord Vesey's offer was because he had some influence with the War Office. He might be able to make things easier for George, if she pleased him. She couldn't abandon George. She'd helped him take his first steps, shared the measles with him, and shared the heartbreak of losing his first love. Mind, she had told him that fifteen was too early to think of settling down. She knew that with Napoleon's escape, the army needed to mobilise all available troops, and George would be sent abroad soon. The dance over, Lord Vesey led her back to her seat, where her mother was now ensconced, preening visibly. "You make a striking couple, my lord," she remarked after he bowed over her hand. He accepted her compliment with equanimity. "I trust others will think so," he said. He was striking on his own, taller than many men, and with a powerful physique that betrayed his fondness for athletic sport, a well known trait since he'd taken to frequenting Jackson's in Bond Street. His dark colouring marked him out in company, an emphatic statement next to the more insipid browns of most of his contemporaries, and his confidence, gained from spending the last ten years in the company of great men, was apparent to

all in his bearing. Vanessa almost felt proud to be seen with him. If it wasn't for what she'd been forced to give up! With an effort, she stopped herself from thinking about that. Vanessa sat next to her mother while Lord Vesey stood to one side. He told Mrs. Marriott what he'd just told his intended. "So, ma'am, I fear the wedding must be a hasty one. Vanessa has kindly indicated that she is willing to marry me before I leave, but I can't delay for long." "Certainly not with That Man at large!" commented Mrs. Marriott. In common with every patriotic Englishwoman she considered Bonaparte the devil incarnate, and didn't mind saying so. "It's a wonder we can all sleep soundly in our beds! It is a pity, and Vanessa won't be able to find time to collect a full trousseau, but I daresay we'll manage." It was the first Vanessa heard of a trousseau, and she realised the haste gave her mother the excuse of foregoing that expense. "Thank you ma'am," Vesey replied, and then added; "I planned to proceed to the nearest port and take ship, but I think we can spare a few days in London, if Vanessa would care to buy a few things there." "Yes that — that is — I don't want to discommode you, sir," she replied, startled into a stammer she'd overcome as a child. "My dear, you will be required to dress appropriately," he said. "Vienna is a great social round, as well as the centre of European politics, and I want to show you off." Acutely conscious of her bare arms, little puffed sleeves and white gown, more appropriate to a younger woman, Vanessa murmured, "Yes, sir, of course." "I hope," he went on relentlessly, "That you would enjoy it - a little?" "Yes," she replied, suddenly, untypically shy. Her mother's brain had been ticking over, evident to Vanessa by the distracted way she flicked her fan open and shut. "Vienna!" she said. Her eyes shone as she turned them up to gaze at Lord Vesey. "My goodness, Vienna!" "Indeed, ma'am. Lord Castlereagh has asked for me, and I'm bound to go." "Everybody is in Vienna!" Mrs. Marriott said. After a short pause, she added, "my poor little Vanessa has never been anywhere like that without her mother before!" 'Poor little Vanessa' couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was her mother really trying to invite herself on the bride-trip? She should have known her scheming mother better. "I have always yearned to see that city!" the older lady went on rapturously. "Such a shame Paris has had such a setback! The new fashions were just arriving, the city opening for visitors again, and then that horrible little man upsets everyone by escaping! How did they let it happen?" "I wasn't there, ma'am, so I can't say," Lord Vesey said, not without a touch of amusement. Mrs. Marriott didn't see it. "I doubt they did it on purpose! I'm sure this is only a temporary setback. He'll be returned soon. Or worse," he added after a moment's reflection. "Perhaps he wants the glory of dying in battle," Vanessa suggested. His lordship's face grew more serious. "There is no glory in dying in battle," he said. "I saw the aftermath of a battle once. There was no glory there."

Vanessa bowed her head, ashamed at her foolish comment, but Lord Vesey went on, "However, the fallacy still remains, and I daresay will remain for a long time to come. Napoleon may consider it preferable to die quickly than by stages." Vanessa smiled her thanks for his generous acceptance of her faux pas. "Nevertheless, if you wish to come, we must be married quickly. I'll obtain a Special Licence; there's no problem with that. What do you say to the end of next week?" Today was Thursday. Vanessa felt stunned at such a speedy turn of events, but once she'd made her decision. There was no turning back. Mrs. Marriott filled the silence; there was no need for Vanessa to say anything. "Oh, my lord, such a rush! Still, I'm sure Vanessa will understand, under the circumstances, the need for haste! You have no idea when you might return, I suppose?" "That," his lordship said grimly, "Depends on Bonaparte."

Chapter Three

Vanessa had time to bespeak only three new gowns, and since her mother had the ordering of them, and would pay the bill, they were modest ones. At least, Vanessa reflected, they had long sleeves. She stood in the parlour of their hired house, one arm stiffly outstretched, while the dressmaker altered, pinned and tucked. The gowns weren't precisely made to measure, they had bought them ready made from a little place Mrs. Marriott knew, but the dressmaker undertook to alter them so no one would know they hadn't been designed and made for her. Her mother walked critically around her eldest daughter while three of Vanessa's younger siblings sat and watched the process. "Does this mean I won't get my new ball gown?" Anthea asked. Her mouth turned down at the corners. "Not at all, dear," Mrs. Marriott replied. "This hasty wedding has saved us a great deal of expense. Of course, it's not what we would wish for, but with Vanessa gone, there will be a little more for the rest of you." "Oh, goody!" Anthea clapped her hands. "Can I have a pink gown, Mama?" "Only if it's the very palest pink," replied her mother, sternly. Mrs. Marriott had a very clear idea how unmarried girls should dress, and it didn't include strong colours. Or long sleeves, Vanessa reflected dourly, at least not in ball gowns and daywear. She only owned one pelisse, and that was growing thin, and her spencer was so out of date as to be positively shaming. She'd had all her clothes made over at least twice. She knew it couldn't be helped, given the family's precarious fortunes, but it would have been nice to be warm once in a while. One winter she knitted a large, shapeless shawl for herself. She told her mother it was for the poor, but she kept it for herself, and on cold nights, it gave her some comfort. Vanessa was to marry in one of these new gowns; the pale green one. Pale green suited her more than some other pale colours, but Vanessa had always been aware that pale colours didn't best serve her fair skin. She looked forward to ordering gowns in the new, fashionably darker colours, and hoped her new husband wouldn't have the ordering of them, like her mother did. Her new husband! She wished with all her heart that it was Emery, but firmly put the thought aside. She couldn't be the second daughter to marry modestly. It would reflect badly on her sisters, for one thing. She studied her three sisters, seated side by side on the large sofa. Dorinda, at twenty-one, was the real beauty of the family. Her dark hair curled beautifully, cut into a fashionable crop, and her skin hadn't a

trace of sallowness about it. Anthea and Lydia were pretty too, and given the right kind of chances, could do well. Mrs. Marriott had drilled deportment and dancing into her children, so they all stood up well and danced with confidence (except for the waltz). Thanks to the tutor Mrs. Marriott begrudgingly obtained for George when expenses at his public school became too much, they had all learned a smattering of academic subjects as well. Poor Mr. Wright! He'd cast sheep's eyes at Vanessa all the time he'd been with them, and all the time she ignored the looks and sighs and took advantage of his partiality to obtain extra tutoring! He even tried to kiss her once, she recalled with a slight shudder. She wondered idly what had become of him. He'd taken Holy Orders, so perhaps he'd obtained a living somewhere, and was by now married with a young family. Her thoughts kept turning back to marriage. She didn't know what was wrong with her. "Turn, please miss," the seamstress mumbled through a mouthful of pins, and Vanessa obediently turned around. She stared down at the new gown, but took no pleasure in it. It was an insipid green chosen, as usual by her mother. Strange that such an intelligent woman had such a blind spot in regard to colours where her daughters were concerned! Other than that, Mrs. Marriott's taste was excellent. She always dressed well, and knew what was fashionable. "My dear, I've quite decided," Mrs. Marriott said, coming round to where she could see her daughter's face. "I shall come to Vienna." Vanessa gasped. "Mama, you can't!" "Why not?" "It's my bride trip!" Mrs. Marriott shook her head. "Not with you, foolish girl! It occurs to me that half the fashionable world is there at present. London will be a waste of time this season, what with the Congress in Vienna and the army away! Too expensive, and with no result! Carrie doesn't make her come-out until the autumn, so she can have a nice quiet time with her sister in the country, and these three will come with me and see what they can do there!" Vanessa's heart sank. She had enough to do, getting used to a new way of life, without her interfering mother trying to manage it for her. At the seamstress's urging, she put her arms down and climbed up on the stool put there for that purpose, so the woman could kneel and mark the hem. "Where will you stay? Vienna can't have many houses vacant!" "No, and don't you see, that works in our favour?" Her mother beamed in delight. "I can hire somewhere quite out of the way and say that all the fashionable houses were taken!" It was as though the seamstress didn't exist, Vanessa thought. She hated the way her mother made no secret of their poverty with underlings, but did everything she could to give the impression of genteel competence in company, but she had never said anything, concerned it might be taken as snobbishness. "I think," said Mrs. Marriott, "We'll do very well there. I shall make arrangements to leave as soon as possible after your wedding, and then we'll together again very soon!" Vanessa managed to meet Emery in secret a couple of times over the next week; once when she was supposed to be resting in the afternoon. Her mother wanted her to look her best for her wedding, and so she made Vanessa rest just before dinner, while she took the girls out visiting, or shopping (which really involved looking in the shops, and meeting one's acquaintances but buying nothing).

The butler, Fisher was sympathetic to her cause, and seemed to trust Vanessa more than her mother did. Mrs. Marriott had refused Emery the house since Vanessa's engagement was announced, but Fisher let him in if everyone else was out. His position was secure enough. As the oldest family employee he would probably never leave them now. The bookroom was the safest place to meet, as was at the back of the house, and her mother never set foot there, so if she did come back unexpectedly, Emery had the opportunity of letting himself out discreetly and going out through the garden. As soon as Vanessa was told of his arrival, she hurried down there. "Emery!" She said very little for a while after that, being engaged in returning his kisses, and murmured endearments. They'd met like this for five years now, nearly six, and it had become familiar to Vanessa. She couldn't imagine kissing anyone else the same way, being held so close by anyone else, but she knew she had to begin to face the probability of it. There were two hard chairs in the room. They pushed them together and sat down, his arm around her shoulders. "Is there nothing I can do or say to deter you?" he asked. "Are you set on this?" "Someone has to do something to repair our fortunes," she replied. She took his hand, and gazed seriously into his sweet face. "We can't go on as we are. Not any more. George showed me the accounts, and they don't make comfortable reading." "Why does it have to be you? Oh my angel, can't you put it off a little? Something might turn up between now and the day!" "It's gone too far for that," she told him. "I've promised, and I have to go through with it now." He let go of her hand and traced a line on her face, down her cheek to her jaw. "How can I bear it?" he asked, his voice soft. "When he saw us - the other day I mean - I thought he might call it off then." Vanessa was suddenly suspicious. "Is that why you did it?" He shook his head. "No, but I wasn't sorry when he caught us. What did you tell him?" "That we were saying goodbye." He was silent for a moment, watching her face. "Are we?" "What do you mean?" "When you marry - is it over between us? Do we have to say goodbye?" She was appalled. "What do you mean? That I marry Vesey and continue to see you clandestinely?" "Why not? If it's the only way…." Vanessa knew she was being naïve, by the standards of her society. Many people managed their lives that way. Vanessa saw it as the breaking of a promise, one made before God, and it had never crossed her mind to cheat like that. She felt guilty seeing Emery like this, never mind a true affair. Besides, there was something else. "I promised him," she said. "Vesey wants you to himself?" Emery seemed surprised. "I didn't think he cared."

She had to tell him. "He wants the nursery filled." His face cleared of its puzzlement, and he looked relieved, the furrows on his brow replaced by a sigh of relief. "Oh is that all! We can take care of that! We don't have to - produce progeny, as his lordship no doubt put it!" She flushed, and he was quick to apologise. "I'm sorry, sweetness, I didn't mean to upset you." He kissed her gently. "It can be done, you know." "I promised him," she repeated, a little less firmly, and then, struck by another thought, "won't you object to - to sharing? I wouldn't be able to bear it!" He shook his head. "If it's the only way —" he began, and then said, hopelessly, "Of course I mind, all I ever wanted was to have you for myself! I'm sure he won't ask much of you, and if I try, I can manage. It's better than the alternative, anyway!" She laid a hand over his, feeling his agony. "You must want me very much." "More than anything else," he confessed. She always thought that was what she wanted too, but she'd made the move, taken the step that might take her away from Emery forever, and although it made her sad, she could bear to think of a future without him. Perhaps women were just more practical, she concluded. "It's no use," she said. "He wants to take me to Vienna after the wedding." "Vienna!" he cried, dismayed. "Oh, I see! The Congress!" "Yes," she confirmed. "I'm to join the diplomatic service." He studied her face as though he was never to see it again, the hungry look matched by the sadness in her own. "You'll be back," he said. "A married woman," she reminded him. "I gave Lord Vesey a promise, and I mean to keep it." "I mean to persuade you to break it." She shook her head, troubled he should want to, but she knew Emery's love for her was exceptional. He'd devoted himself totally to her since they'd first met, at a ball a few years after her come-out. At first flattered, then swept up by his passion, Vanessa couldn't imagine loving anyone else, spending the rest of her life with another, but she couldn't think of spending it alone and of no use to anyone. "If Jane hadn't married her Paul when she did, perhaps -." With five other girls to establish, and the eldest a drag on her finances, Mrs. Marriott might just have given her blessing to Vanessa's choice, but then her sister insisted on marrying her indigent clergyman, and destroyed Vanessa's carefully laid plans. She'd decided to tell her mother at the end of that season, and then Emery would join up, or seek his fortune in America, where he had some investments, but it was not to be. First Jane's marriage, then the 1812 war with America had put paid to her plans, and here they were, still waiting. "Your mama still has four to settle!" he cried. "Surely she can spare one of you!" She laid her hand over his to still its agitation, restlessly drumming on his knee. "You see Mama cares for us, in her own way. She wants to see us creditably settled, comfortable at least. She works very hard for us all!"

"In her own way," he admitted. "I cannot think it is right just to look for wealth in a husband!" "Oh she doesn't," Vanessa declared blithely. "She looks for social standing and influence, as well! Now, with George in the army -" "Yes," he said grimly. "With your brother in the army, and at such a time, he might - God forbid - be killed, and then where will you all go, who will you turn to? I heard her at the Assembly rooms the other night!" he looked from their hands to her face, the strain apparent in every beloved line. "All her schemes are for herself, Vanessa, all her plans for her own aggrandisement!" "No -!" Vanessa protested. Her mother schemed, but with a wastrel for a husband and a young family, there had been very little choice. She was sure her mother loved her, in her own way. "If she wants you to be happy, why won't she entertain my suit? Why accept with alacrity the first wealthy man to get past your guard, and why —" he turned to her, despair etched on his features, his agitation turned to grief at the prospect of losing her clear for her to see. "Why did you accept him?" She twined her fingers with his. "Because, my love, I'm eight and twenty and not likely to get any younger. Because there is no real prospect for us. It's been six years, Emery, and I want a home of my own, perhaps a family to rear!" she saw his wince at this reference. She was sorry for it, and wished she could be less honest with herself or him. "If I can't have the man I fell in love with, then I'll take second best. I'll take what I can!" "Vanessa! I thought you would wait!" She dropped his hands, stood up and went to stare in the mirror above the fireplace. She looked tired, she thought. "I'm weary of it all," she said. She watched her lips move as though she was watching a different person there. "Year after year waiting, hoping, thinking 'this year it's going to be different.'" She turned round to gaze at Emery, sitting watching, her expression as bleak as her heart. "Well, this year it will be different. I'm sorry, Emery, I can't give you any hope. Perhaps you'd better not come here again." He stood up, wouldn't release her from his hard gaze. "Very well. I won't come again, if you wish it. I won't give up." He came towards her. "May I have one last kiss, one kiss to remember you by?" "Of course." She went to his arms and lifted her face for his kiss. It was long and loving, and his mouth trembled slightly when it left hers, but his expression was firm enough when she opened her eyes to see his face. "You're set on it, then?" "Yes," she said. He released her, bowed, and with that crooked smile that always made her yearn to touch him, he left. Nobody knew Vanessa wept for fully half an hour afterwards, because she went to her room first, closed the door firmly and made sure she had a cloth and a bowl full of warm water with her first.

Chapter Four

Vanessa's wedding day to Lord Vesey arrived so soon she felt she must have slept the intervening days

away, but as soon as she opened her eyes that morning, she knew exactly what day it was. Lydia, who shared Vanessa's bed in this modest house, opened her eyes and looked blearily at her sister. "What time is it?" Vanessa reached over to the battered nightstand and consulted the large watch that used to belong to her father. "Almost nine," she said. "I'm to be married at eleven." "My goodness, so you are!" cried Lydia, suddenly fully awake. She sat up quickly, and threw back the bedcovers, exposing both of them to the chill, March morning. Vanessa moaned slightly. "Cold!" "Don't be such a namby-pamby miss!" Lydia cried, springing out of bed. "We have to make you beautiful! I wish it were me!" she cried, enraptured, turning back to her older sister. Vanessa, who had covered herself up again, hoping to suck up a little more warmth before she had to get up, felt surprise at Lydia's remark. "I thought you didn't like the idea of marriage!" "Not in general, no," Lydia said. "Since we've got to know Lord Vesey, I've grown to like him. He's a sensible man, and very intelligent." "He wouldn't be in the diplomatic, if he wasn't." "Of course not! And his physique is remarkable!" "Really, Lydia!" "What, aren't single girls supposed to notice such things? That's foolish, it's all some of them look at!" cried Lydia. "In general that kind of ogling puts me out of all patience, but, well, it's not something you expect in a man of his profession, is it, and he really is most attractive! Is that why you accepted him?" That made Vanessa laugh. "You mean his physique? Don't be foolish, Lydia, of course not!" She sat up in bed, careful to keep the covers high up her body, and watched Lydia where she stood at the wash stand, busy at her ablutions. "No, I like the life I can have with him, and he's acceptable to Mama…" "Unlike poor Mr. Graham," Lydia said. "Unlike poor Mr. Graham," Vanessa agreed with hardly a tremor, "while I don't love Lord Vesey, I do like him." She paused, struck by this truth which she had never consciously thought of before. It was true. Lord Vesey was formidable, but approachable, a sensible man. If he had not been, he wouldn't have coped with the situation with Emery so matter-of-factly. She still wondered why he wanted her, though. Lydia finished at the washstand, and reluctantly, Vanessa had to get up and take her turn. At least Lydia threw her dirty water away in the slop bowl, she reflected. She had shared a room at home with Jane, who had never done so, and it always annoyed her. She poured out a basin full of fresh water and picked up a wash cloth. Then she slipped her night rail down over her shoulders, shivering anew at the cold air when it hit her skin, watching her shoulders crinkle into goose pimples. The water was lukewarm. She quickly washed herself, and cleaned her teeth, then turned to help Lydia fasten her stays at the back. Ladies only wore soft stays these days. Some wore none at all, but her Mama always insisted on what she considered decent underpinnings. When her Mama had been a girl, boned stays were compulsory. Vanessa was glad she didn't have those to cope with.

A maid came in. This was unusual, as they employed the minimum of staff, and the girls usually saw to themselves in the morning, but Vanessa was to have the felicity of her own attendant this morning, her last morning under her mother's roof. She pulled on her drawers and petticoat, and attired in her robe, sat at the little dressing table where the maid proceeded to dress her hair. Vanessa had given up on curl papers years ago, instead, relying on smooth, Grecian styles of coils, with the occasional hair ornament to add a little variety. Her mother had been against her abandoning the fight for curls, but she saw the sense in it after a time. The tiniest drop of rain or even a damp atmosphere, such as that frequently found in Bath, made every curl turn into a limp loop on Vanessa's head. Today was no different. The maid brushed out Vanessa's dark hair into a shining sheet, and then pinned it into a neat, coiled knot at the back of the head, retaining a couple of side pieces to coil over and around. It didn't take long. Then she helped Vanessa into the green gown her mother considered suitable for her daughter's wedding day, and buttoned it at the back. With a string of small pearls around her neck, Vanessa was ready. Or she thought she was. The door opened to admit Mrs. Marriott, bearing a couple of little pots and the instruction, "Go away everyone, I want to be alone with my daughter." As though Lydia was nothing to do with her! Lydia, who had dressed herself, left in the wake of the maid, and closed the door behind her. "Now," said Mrs. Marriott." A little rouge, I think." Her mother had never offered Vanessa paint before. "A married woman is allowed a certain amount of discreet colour. If you don't like it, you can wash it off." Mrs. Marriott put the little pots on the table, produced a couple of brushes and a hares' foot from her pocket, and proceeded to show her daughter what discreet colour meant. A little rouge on her cheeks, a little shading to the eyelid and then she stood back. "Do you like it?" Vanessa regarded herself critically. She turned her face one way and then the other. "Yes," she said, eventually. Her mother had applied the paint cleverly, so that Vanessa just looked healthier, more alert. Prettier. "It's quite simple," Mrs. Marriott said. "You can keep these. This amount of paint is quite acceptable." She studied at her daughter's reflection in the mirror, standing back a little to gauge the effect. "Don't overdo it, though. We've both seen the results." Despite her growing tension, Vanessa laughed. They had both seen ladies at balls and assemblies who looked more like clowns than beautiful women by the time they had finished with the paint pot. "Come, that's better!" said Mrs. Marriott encouragingly. She cast around her for a chair and found one. Sitting down next to her daughter and taking her hands, she said, "Tell me truly, Vanessa, are you worried about anything?" "Anything?" Vanessa was puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. "Oh! No, mama, not really, I hadn't really thought about it!" That wasn't strictly true, she was very worried about that aspect of her married life, but the last person she wanted to talk it over with was her mother. She'd been told what would happen on her wedding night years ago, so she would be ready, and had time to accustomed herself to the idea in theory. Now the reality was almost upon her, she felt almost sick with apprehension.

Her mother smiled wryly, only one corner of her mouth going up. "Yes you have, my love, yes you have. Every bride does, either with worry or eagerness, depending upon how she feels about her groom. I won't press you if you don't want me to, but promise me one thing." "Yes Mama," said her dutiful daughter. "If anything goes wrong, if it shouldn't be right in any way, come and tell me will you?" Now Vanessa was truly puzzled. Her life had never included problems of the bedchamber. Due to her mother's early widowhood, Vanessa hadn't been exposed to a married relationship on a day to day basis. She didn't know quite what to expect, how Lord Vesey expected her to treat him in private. She had no idea how married couples behaved in private. Not just in the bedchamber, but out of it too, but it wasn't something she wanted to talk to her mother about. Vanessa tended to keep her deepest fears to herself; she didn't like to show weakness outwardly. Mrs. Marriott pressed her daughter's hands. "In any case," she said, "We'll come to Vienna soon enough. We might even be there before you!" "When do you set out?" Vanessa asked, anxious to change the subject. "As soon as possible," her mother replied. "Well, I was planning to give up the house this weekend in any case, and go back home. I didn't want to spend above a few weeks in London this season." She sighed. "There was no one worth pursuing, apart from Lord Vesey for you my dear, and I thought his regard was casual, not too serious yet." The thought of the day ahead cheered her considerably. "I think it might have been your indifference which drew him to you, my love. Did you do it on purpose?" "No!" she certainly hadn't done it on purpose. "I don't know why he chose me!" Since attaining his majority Lord Vesey had lived abroad for the most part, attending to his duties, but returned when Napoleon was caught and imprisoned, thinking to deal with his own life for a change. The graceful, serene Vanessa had caught his attention, but she didn't give him the attention the other young women around him lavished on him. His curiosity had been piqued, together with a desire to know more, and by the end of the season he'd formed a firm resolve to ask for her hand. Her graceful manners, her elegance and her maturity made her far more suitable for a diplomat's wife than the young, giggling debutantes. Consequently, Lord Vesey followed the Marriotts when they went to Bath in February. Bath was very thin of company that time of year, but contained a few notables, there ostensibly for their health. Vesey found it dull. Most of the fashionable world had abandoned Bath for Brighton years before. His lordship had set the world there as much on fire as it ever got these days. He set himself to woo Vanessa, resulting in his proposal of marriage. Bath watched, and marvelled. How could this wealthy, distinguished gentleman want this girl, past her first youth, who seemed to have no taste whatsoever? Who, moreover, encouraged the attentions of a penniless man who would never have the wherewithal to marry creditably? Bath was even more astonished when a speedy marriage was arranged, but mollified when it heard of Napoleon's escape from Elba, and his lordship's subsequent need to return to his duties. No one was quite sure what he did, but everyone knew that Lord Vesey was something important in the government, or the Foreign Service. So some of the more eminent inhabitants and visitors to Bath were glad to accept an invitation to the select wedding breakfast held to celebrate the wedding of Miss Vanessa Marriott to Lord Christopher Vesey. Notable for his absence was Mr. Emery Graham, gone up to London on some unspecified

errand. Vesey was surprised to see his sister, who hastened down from her home in Warwickshire expressly for the purpose of seeing her younger brother leg shackled at last. "I thought you were engaged at some house party?" he said, after giving her a dutiful kiss. "Not for a week or so," she replied. "I couldn't miss this!" Vesey saw her settled in a pew before taking his place at the front of the church. Mrs. Marriott and her daughters were already there, including the bride. Mrs. Hervey wondered a little at this, but on reflection she remembered Mrs. Marriott was a widow, and there was probably no one to give the bride away. She tried to keep her regard indifferent as she speculated which one it would be. None of them were particularly striking, and she wondered, not for the first time, why Chris had suddenly decided to take the plunge. When the tallest of the girls joined her brother at the altar, Mrs. Hervey wasn't too surprised. She seemed as cool and distant as Chris himself, and would probably suit him admirably. Mrs. Hervey, of a much warmer disposition than her brother, sighed when she remembered her hopes for him, that he would fall madly in love with someone. It might have been the making of him, break the cool reserve he always showed to the world. Now it was too late. Bath had come to goggle, and when they left the church to the cold sunshine of an early spring day, Chris immediately brought his bride over to meet his only sister. "My husband would have come," she said, "but he's abroad with Wellington." "Bonaparte has spoiled everyone's plans," said the new Lady Vesey. Was it her imagination, or did Lady Hervey detect a trace of humour about the girl? She sincerely hoped so. Lady Hervey thought she might like Vanessa, as her brother's new wife insisted she call her. "Do you mind all this haste?" she asked. "My brother is much put out by Bonaparte's escape you know, and won't rest until he's back in his prison." "Oh no," Vanessa replied. "I quite see that. I haven't known Lord Vesey very long, but he takes his work very seriously, doesn't he? I'm determined to help him all I can. I just hope I do him justice." This was said with a determined line to her mouth, one that spoke to her ladyship of firmness of character. "I'm sure you will, my dear," Lady Hervey said, taking her hand for a moment. "I hope, when you return from abroad, you will come and stay with me for a while. I would very much like to join my husband, but he won't hear of it! Unlike Chris, his work takes him into very dangerous places!" Lord Vesey, approaching his new wife, heard this last remark. "I'm in perfect safety, am I Amanda? Thank you for that!" "Well," Lady Hervey replied with some spirit, "You must admit you don't take up a gun yourself!" "It has been known," he answered her, smiling. "Not, I admit, in the conference chamber." Vanessa returned his smile, and it occurred to Lady Hervey how much prettier she would look if she didn't insist on dressing as a young girl fresh out of the schoolroom.

The same thought had occurred to Vanessa's new husband. When he finally managed to extricate them both from the fashionable gathering for the wedding breakfast, and they were alone in the carriage on the way to his house, he asked her, almost carelessly, "Did you choose your gown yourself?" He leant in the corner of the carriage, not offering to touch her more than was necessary, and Vanessa began to feel more at ease for the first time that day. His easy manner, as though this was a normal state of affairs between them, helped to relax her and encouraged her to give him a natural answer. "Dear me, no! My mama chose all my gowns herself, since they would have to do for more than one season." "What sort of gown would you have chosen for yourself?" he asked then. She considered for a moment. "Darker green," she said. "No pattern. Velvet ribbon trim, perhaps." He breathed a long sigh. Vanessa guessed the reason for it. "You thought I chose them myself, didn't you?" With a rueful laugh, he admitted it. "My gowns might have to do for another of my sisters," she explained, "so they couldn't be more idiosyncratic." That was not the only reason, she suspected, but not sure about it, she kept the thought to herself. "These colours are really too insipid for me," she said. "I'd be much better in something darker." Did he think her taste was as bad as that? She was glad to correct that misapprehension, at least. "If you're agreeable," he said, "we'll set out for London in the morning. That will give us a little extra time there, and you can order some gowns of your own choosing." Delighted, she smiled at him. That went a long way towards putting her in charity with him. "I should add," he continued, "that I will need you to acquire a fairly extensive wardrobe." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, so he explained. "Much of my business is conducted over the dinner table, or in quiet corners of ballrooms, in the intervals at the theatre, that kind of thing. You'll need to bear that in mind when you buy your wardrobe. Should you like to scrap everything you've brought with you and start again?" "Oh, yes!" she breathed. She regarded him, doubtingly. The kind of wardrobe she was thinking of wouldn't come cheap. "You don't mean it, though? It would be dreadfully expensive!" He laughed at her response. "Yes, I mean it. For the last ten years I have racketed around Europe after Bonaparte and his trail of destruction, earning money, making it from my estates, totally unable to spend any of it to any good purpose. I started on this enterprise as a man of modest means, looking for something to do with my life and I seem to have accumulated far more than I meant to. It would be a pleasure to see you benefit from some of it. I'm only sorry the war started up again. It wasn't what I intended when I proposed to you." She listened, nodded. "I know. It's not your fault that dreadful little man has escaped. Besides —" She paused. "Yes?" "I think I might like the excitement of it all." His response was a smile.

Vanessa liked his smile; it seemed genuinely friendly. He was a diplomat; he probably practised it in the mirror, she thought. "I've been with Mama all my life," she explained. "I've read about everything. The nearest I ever got to the war was to dance with a military man at some ball or other. Now I'm going to be at the centre of it, seeing events as they happen." She couldn't tell from the expression on his face whether she'd pleased him or not. "You'll certainly be in the centre of it," he said, "I hope you're not a gossip!" "No!" To have a gossip as a wife would be a liability for him. Vanessa was surprised he could even think it. "You'll hear things it's vital you keep to yourself," he explained. "You'll not only host large dinners, you'll be present at smaller ones, and it's these where the real matters of the day are usually discussed. Sometimes with an openness which may surprise you. You can't tell anyone what you've heard." "Except you," she suggested. "Except me," he agreed. They had reached his house; the one he had hired for his stay in Bath. They waited until the steps were let down, then Lord Vesey helped his bride to alight, and took her in. On the whole, Vanessa was pleased with her bargain. She liked Lord Vesey, or she would never have entertained his proposal in the first place. With Emery gone, she felt she could concentrate on the matter at hand with fewer distractions, and ever a practical person, she proceeded to do so. When she'd met Lord Vesey the previous year, they had got to know that they liked each other, but now there was so much more she must learn about him and his household. She needn't concern herself with this house, or any of the places she stayed in for the foreseeable future, as none of them were hers, but there were certain servants who remained with them, the core of the household. She asked her new husband to introduce her. The butler, Meredith, was a tall, cadaverous man, of middle years and stately demeanour, but Vanessa liked his smile, when she persuaded him to part with one. Her husband's valet, Cardew, a clever little man, more extravagantly dressed than his master, but with a quick wit was not, she thought, entirely trustworthy. Vesey was happy with him. The housekeeper, sternly dressed in a plain gown with no frills and a visage to match, balanced the character of the head housemaid Robbins, who seemed a happy-go-lucky girl, but must be efficient at her duties, or his lordship would never have employed her. These, together with Lord Vesey's secretary, his groom and her maid, formed the core of their household. The other servants were hired as and when they were needed. Vesey expressed his astonishment that Vanessa brought no maid with her in no uncertain terms. "We'll go to Thompson's the minute we get to London and find one for you," he said. "I'm an old customer of theirs. There should be no problem. Why on earth haven't you got a maid? How do you manage?" She laughed to see his blank amazement. "I'm not entirely helpless, my lord. I can struggle into most gowns on my own, and my hair is easy to do. Of course, I should have thought, but with all the haste…" She broke off, unwilling to criticise him on her wedding day. "Yes, of course," he said, quick to mollify her. "Can you manage until we get to London, or should I find someone for you here? Robbins can always oblige for a few days, if you wish."

"That would be nice," she agreed, and so it was decided upon. Although the duties of a head housemaid were totally different to those of a ladies' maid, Robbins proved quite capable of brushing and braiding Vanessa's hair, and helping her to prepare for bed. Although Vanessa tried to draw her out, she seemed reluctant to reveal anything of her private life. Vanessa respected the maid's desire for privacy and desisted in her questions. Maids had precious little privacy. So it was that Vanessa had reached the moment she most dreaded, the moment she didn't want to discuss with anyone. Just to get it over with. She sat up in the large bed, her best night-cap carefully arranged over neatly braided hair; her night rail buttoned up to the neck, waiting for her lord to claim his conjugal rights. He came in, arrayed in a red silk dressing gown. He must have seen her tension, for he came over to where she sat, and sat on the bed, instead of joining her in it. He took one of her hands, which lay on the covers. "We don't have to do this now, if you don't want to," he said gently. "Would you rather wait? It's been an exhausting day, and you must be tired." "No," she said firmly. "It's your right." He made as if to say something, but then changed his mind and went to throw his dressing gown over a chair. Then, to her surprise, he left the room for a moment, returning with a soft towel over his arm. "Put this underneath you," he instructed her. She did as she was told and then lay down. When he got into bed with her, she tensed, and he turned to her again. "Vanessa," he said. "Right or not, I don't want to frighten you or upset you. I can stay here or go, but I'm not an ogre. We can wait." "No," she said firmly, then explained a little more. "Best to face your worries." Fear would have been a closer word, if she was going to be honest, but she wouldn't admit to that. "Bravery," he said. "I like that." He leant up on one elbow, reaching the other arm across to touch her shoulder and bent down to kiss her. It felt strange, kissing a man in this way, when the only one she had kissed like that before had been Emery. Firmly, she put the thought of her lost love aside. She had made a bargain, and this was part of it. She softened in his embrace, and enjoyed what he gave her. When he touched her body over her night rail it didn't seem so bad any more, but he didn't venture to touch her breasts, just her waist. After a time, he reached one hand down and drew up her night rail, but only as far as her waist. She stared at him, but then closed her eyes when she felt him move over her. "This may hurt," he said. "I promise, only this once. You know what I need to do, don't you?" She opened her eyes again and nodded. She knew the mechanics of it, but this felt so very strange. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she went quite dizzy when she sensed his closeness. No one, not Emery, nor anyone else, had been this close before; so close she felt the hard muscles of his chest under the thin lawn of his nightshirt, and his breath on her neck. He reached down and touched her. She thought she might die with embarrassment, but let him touch places even she avoided when she bathed. "I'm sorry," he said when she blushed. "If I don't do this, it will hurt even more. If you let me touch you, I can make it better for you."

Beyond words, she nodded. Moisture began to flow, and she understood what he meant. She returned his kiss, warmer this time. Carefully keeping his weight off her, he lowered himself into her, letting her feel him there first. Vanessa bit her lip, caught her breath, but she knew he was being as gentle as he could and she kept still for him. When he pushed she gasped and her eyes flew open, to see him watching her anxiously, but she held his gaze when he pushed again and finally broke through. She couldn't help crying out, but he held her close, and kept perfectly still. "I'm sorry," he said. "Don't be silly," she quavered, relief flooding through her. "I should thank you for being so considerate." She heard his small laugh, and felt him begin to move. She watched, as he closed his eyes and brought himself to fulfilment inside her, knowing she could after all, bear this. It wasn't unpleasant, just very, very strange. She heard his gasp when he reached his apogee, then let him rest on her, before he withdrew and rolled away. After a moment he propped himself on his elbow again and restored her night rail to its proper position. "All right?" he said. Vanessa thought he looked a little unsure himself, but pushed the thought aside. He was a man, so he must know all about these things. She nodded. Before she could stop herself, she said something she probably shouldn't have done. "That's it?" He stared at her in blank astonishment for a moment, and then burst into laughter. She had expected displeasure from such a tactless remark, not amusement, but he didn't seem to mind. "That's it," he said, mopping his streaming eyes on his sleeve. "That's all there is to it. Making love is like most things in life, my dear - it's what you do with it that counts." "Oh," she digested the information in silence. "Making love can be the most wonderful thing in the world, although I'm afraid I've never seen it as much more than a pleasant pastime, but I'm told it can be so. It can also be a dreadful thing, the source of terror and pain." "I don't see that," she replied, her practical nature coming to the fore. "I was worried, but only because I didn't know what it was like." "Now?" he said softly, studying her face. "I'm not worried any more," she said. "At least not with you." "I'll count that as a compliment," he said, taking her hand. He kissed it, and tucked it under the sheets. "Would you like me to leave you in peace now?" he said. "If that's what you want to do," she said. "I've never slept on my own before." This arresting piece of information seemed to interest him. He turned in the act of throwing back the sheets and quirked a heavy black eyebrow at her. "Never? How so?"

"Being in a big family," she explained. "I've always slept with one or another of my sisters. It used to be Jane, but since her marriage, I've shared with Lydia. We help each other dress in the mornings - helped, I mean." "Well, I'm afraid you can't look to me for that," he said, smiling. "Come, you must be tired. Close your eyes and I'll stay until you sleep." Vanessa had heard of girls who cried themselves to sleep on their wedding nights. She felt so relieved that she merely fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Chapter Five

When Vanessa awoke in the morning, she found herself alone. The towel had been removed from underneath her. When she investigated, she was relieved to find there wasn't much other evidence of her lost virginity for her maid to clear up. She lay and thought about the strange experience for a while, wondering if she would ever get used to it and deciding that she would have to, as other women did. Some even enjoyed it. Certainly, she felt more of a wife, and if the process resulted in children of her own, she would gladly invite her husband to her bed again. It hadn't been without its pleasures. She enjoyed his kisses, and it hadn't hurt too much, although she'd been too surprised by the animal nature of the experience to find a great deal of pleasure in it. No one had touched her so intimately, and she understood why the experience put so many new brides off a repetition of it. What she didn't yet understand was why some women couldn't get enough of sex, why it seemed to form the centre of their existence. Sensible enough to know it wouldn't come all at once, she decided to wait and see. She touched herself gingerly. It felt no different than when she washed herself, but it was. There was a soreness, not too bad, but enough to remind her of what they had done. Robbins entered the room, bearing a tray. Vanessa sat up in bed, and saw that someone had been in earlier and lit the fire, which now blazed away merrily. "My lord says he hopes you're well, and would you care to leave at around ten," said the maid briskly. "What's the time now?" she asked. "Nine, my lady." Vanessa stared to hear her new title. Something else to get used to. "Very well," she said. "I should be ready by then." The maid searched for something to cover her mistress' shoulders and Vanessa blushed when she remembered, but determined to use it. "In my trunk," she said, "Is a large, shapeless shawl. It should be towards the top. I'll use that." Robbins left the room, only to return holding the garment loosely and doubtfully. "This?" she said. Vanessa sat up, smiling. "That," she confirmed. "I made it myself many years ago. It's been like a talisman ever since."

Although she still frowned doubtfully, Robbins threw the comforting garment around Vanessa's shoulders, and watched as Vanessa sank into it gratefully. Robbins busied herself placing the tray where Vanessa could reach it, and pouring her a dish of tea. Vanessa would have liked to linger over such a treat. Breakfast in bed. She was aware that it was probably easier and quicker for the cook than setting a table and clearing up afterwards. There might be more of this to come, she thought complacently. Breakfast done, she brought a second dish of tea over to the dressing table to sip while Robbins dressed her hair. The brush caught in a tangle. "Merde!" Vanessa heard the maid mutter. Vanessa's French was excellent. "I beg your pardon?" She slewed round in surprise to see her maid's cheeks redden. "I'm so sorry, milady," she muttered. "Sometimes I forget." "How did you learn such idiosyncratic French?" "My mother was French," the maid told her. "An émigré?" "Something of the kind." Vanessa thought the reply sounded enigmatic, but let it go for the time being. After that, Vanessa's hairstyle was achieved quickly, the shining, dark tresses neatly coiled up at the back. Then Vanessa washed in the dressing room, insisting on being on her own for this. Washing eased the slight discomfort. She made sure she was thoroughly clean before she went back to the bedroom and allowed Robbins to help her to dress. The maid seemed friendly and cheerful, something Vanessa was glad of, for something else had occurred to her. She was alone here. Vanessa had never felt so alone before, and if she displeased her husband, there would be no one to turn to, no one to talk to. She'd made no close friends while she had been on the town, being content to let her confidences rest with her sisters. For the first time, Vanessa was glad her mother planned to come to Vienna. She still wasn't sure how she felt about her new husband, or what he thought of her. His society manner was so cool; she knew little of him before he proposed. Although she liked what she knew of him, there was a long way to go before she could be sure of his friendship. She asked for no more than that. When Vanessa met her husband in the hall, at first it was as though nothing had happened between them. He took her hand and asked her kindly, "Are you ready to leave? Quite rested?" "Yes, sir, quite," she said. Then she met his eyes, and saw a new spark there. Either she hadn't been aware of it before or it was newly planted, by what they had done last night. It looked like warmth, and approval. To her relief, he didn't offer to kiss her, a private intimacy she wasn't ready to let anyone else see yet, even servants. He studied her for a moment, brown eyes keen with concern and she smiled back. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he took her out to the coach. Vanessa caught her breath when she saw the magnificent equipage they were to travel in, a chaise drawn by six horses, upholstered inside in soft, dark green leather, Vesey's crest blazoned on the doors. He chuckled when he saw her delight. "I spend a deal of time on the road," he explained. "I might as well

do it in comfort." She had never travelled in such style before. Vanessa, in her old pelisse and year-old, modestly trimmed bonnet, felt uncomfortable, as though she didn't belong there. Her husband handed her in. Her trunk was already strapped to the outside, as were several other interesting looking cases and boxes. Inside the coach, she saw something that made her turn back to Lord Vesey, now settling himself next to her, and watching her with some amusement. "Sir, these furs?" "A bride gift," he said. "I thought they might keep you warmer than jewellery." She ran her hand over the soft, dark sables. "For me?" she said, thrilled by the gift. "Who else?" he was definitely amused now. "I've noticed how decidedly underdressed for the season you were, and how much you shivered, so I thought these might come in useful." "Ohhh!" she breathed. She wrapped herself in the furs, snuggled into the warmth. "Thank you!" "It will be a pleasure to see you warm, at last." "My mother said unmarried girls should have short sleeves. She said my arms were one of my best features, and I should strive to show them off," she explained. Certainly, nothing of her arms could be seen now. The coach jerked as it set off. "Not when they're covered in goose bumps," he remarked. "You know that afternoon, when you accepted me, I wanted nothing more than to take you in my arms and rub away the cold. As though you were a little girl!" That made her laugh. "It was very fresh that afternoon," she answered. "I do feel the cold more than most, it seems." "No more," he said firmly. "I can't have my wife looking like a frozen waif, can I? Who would take me seriously then?" Although Vanessa had made the journey from Bath to London before, she had never accomplished it in such luxury. They stayed at the best inns, her every desire was seen to, but she was too overwhelmed to desire much. Despite her delight in the luxury, Vanessa's apprehension grew when nighttime approached and they racked up at an inn. Although she waited, he didn't come to her bed. She began to think she hadn't pleased him in some way, and didn't know whether to be happy or sad because of it. Neither of them mentioned his absence when they met for an early breakfast in a private parlour. They might as well be merely travelling companions. Later, when they were again back in the chaise, she ventured to ask him. "Do you…am I…" He looked up from the pile of dispatches he was studying, a frown between his brows. That didn't give her any courage, but she tried again. "Did I do something wrong?" "Nothing, why?" was his automatic response, then his face cleared. "You mean the other night? Did you do something wrong on our wedding night?"

Vanessa wished she'd never begun on the topic. "Yes." He shook his head. "Nothing, my dear," he said. "Nothing at all. You were delightful." She puzzled over this. She hadn't been aware of delighting him. Seeing her frown, he tried to explain. "After the first night, I expected you needed to recover. It would be very ungentlemanly of me to continue to force my attentions on you." "Oh." Her face clearing, Vanessa digested this in silence. He leaned back and attended to his work once more, as though it was merely another topic of conversation, but she thought she saw him glance up at her a couple of times. So it was consideration, not disappointment that had kept him from her bed. It pleased Vanessa to think that she hadn't let him down this early in their relationship. On the last night before they arrived in London, he came to her again. She welcomed him as well as she could but didn't know what to do, and didn't want to do anything he wouldn't like. She still found no pleasure for herself in the act, but she was pleased to bring him some enjoyment. She found some pleasure, when, afterwards, he put his arm around her and she fell asleep there. He was gone again in the morning. Lord Vesey had borrowed his sister's town house for the short time he was to stay in London. Vanessa liked the neat, modern house in a small street in the fashionable end of town. They arrived at noon. When she got out of the carriage, Vanessa noticed many of the adjoining houses still lacked their knockers, indicating the owners were not yet in residence. Theirs sported a shiny brass lion. Tea was served to them in the elegant drawing room on the first floor. They sat in isolated splendour in a room obviously meant for much larger gatherings, but Vanessa didn't care. The tea was hot, and she would have drunk it in the kitchen, had she been required to. "We need to be out of London by the end of the week," her husband told her. His voice echoed around the empty room. She nodded, and put her tea dish down in its deep saucer. "I understand. How long will it take us to get to Vienna?" "A week or two," he said. "If you can manage it, I want to make as much speed as possible, in order to be in Vienna by the middle of April. Events are gathering apace, and I'm told I'm needed there. If you can't travel at some speed, I can always leave you behind, and you may take your time. I don't want you too tired when we arrive." "I'm sure I can keep up," she said, and received a warm smile for her trouble. She liked his smiles. Sincere or not, they seemed to convey some of the warmth she had seen in him from time to time. "I need to go to the Admiralty, and some other places," he told her. "Can you shift for yourself, while we're here? I'm truly sorry I can't squire you to more amusements, but I promise I'll make up for it when this thing is over." "It would be foolish of me to expect you to," she said. "To put my interests before the country's? No, sir, I think I'll do very well. I shall spend most of the time shopping. I've had time to think about what I'll need, and I've made a list." She eyed at him doubtfully. "It's a very long list, but I can make do with much less. It's only that you told me to write down everything I wanted, not just what I needed. Are you sure

you want me to spend so much? It will be dreadfully expensive." "I'd rather you spent the money and enjoyed it than to leave it languishing in some vault somewhere." He picked up his rapidly cooling tea. "Which reminds me. There are some family jewels in a vault. I'll have them brought to you. I'm not sure what there is. I'll try and find time to look them over myself." Vanessa, not immune to the promise of glittering baubles, opened her eyes wide in delight at the thought of owning more than a simple string of pearls. "I wouldn't get your hopes up," he said, smiling at the expression on her face, "The jewels are most likely hopelessly old fashioned. My mother died fifteen years ago, and none of them have seen the light of day since then. My sister rejected the use of them, preferring what her husband gave her. I guess you haven't got much jewellery." Vanessa admitted he was right. "We might be able to have some of it the stones re-set." "That would be kind," she said, numb at the thought of it still. Day by day she was becoming the great lady, the diplomatic wife her husband required her to be. She determined not to let him down. He laid his papers on a small table at his side and sighed, frowning. "No it's not kind," he said. "Listen to me, Vanessa. You're my wife, and as such, you're entitled to expect certain things. In return, I expect you to act as my hostess, learn what you need to of the people we're going to meet, and take an active part in my life. If you can't do these things, we'll think again about how we're to go on, but from what I've seen of you, you're quite capable of that. My treatment of you isn't kindness. I expect you to achieve certain standards, which I know you can do. I believe you've been allowed to fall short of them up to now." At last, she'd been given an idea of what he expected of her. Up to now Vanessa hadn't been sure if he'd wanted an acquiescent, obedient wife or a partner in his work, one who could support and compliment him. Vanessa had been prepared to try her hand at either, though she wasn't sure how successful she'd be at the first option. She was glad he was inclining towards the latter. She swore to herself she would try her best, hold nothing back, do everything she could to be the kind of wife he wanted her to be. "I'd like that, I want to be useful to you," she said. "If we're to travel for two weeks, I'll have time to do a lot of reading, won't I? I'll buy some books, try to find some essays. Will you help me? Will you give me your opinion of the people I'm going to meet? I'll need to know where these people fit in, what they mean to you and to our country." His face relaxed into his charming smile. "I think that will be a pleasure." She smiled back in cordial amity with him. Then he asked her, "Do you know where you're going today? Where to find the best dressmakers? Shall I find someone to help you?" "No," she said happily, reminded of her onerous duty that week. "I shall take a maid and a footman and go to Madame Francombe's, in Bond Street. I shall show her my list and she will send a girl with me to a silk warehouse. Jenner's is the best. When I return with the fabric, we'll discuss the trims and styles. I can leave everything to her then. If there's any time left, I'll walk up Bond Street and into other fashionable areas to look for reticules, scarves, ornaments, that kind of thing. I shall have to bespeak some hats also, so I shall have samples of the fabrics I've chosen. I shall need shoes, shan't I? Perhaps some dress jewellery, and…

"Why sir, what can I have said to amuse you? Is it wrong? Should I curtail my spending?" "By no means," he managed to get out, still laughing. He made an effort and quelled his amusement. "I need you well tricked out. You've done this before, haven't you? In your head?" "Was it that obvious?" He nodded, still smiling. She blushed a little, the rosy pink heating her cheeks. "We - my sisters and I - used to parade around the fashionable shops, buying nothing but being seen. We used to imagine how we would go on if we had all the money we needed. Where we'd go and what we'd order." "It seems I'm fulfilling a dream," he said. "Like a fairy godmother," she suggested, and was rewarded by a genuine crack of laughter. "Serves me right!" he declared. "Well enjoy it, my dear. I only wish I could be there to see you enjoy it, but I'm afraid I can't." They parted in good spirits. Vanessa lost no time in going to Madame Francombe's. With an order such as the one she was about to receive, Madame would need all the notice she could get. Vanessa still wore her old pelisse, and the gown she had been married in, far inferior to the confections on offer here. Nonetheless, she walked straight in, chin up, pretending that she had every right to be there. She saw this as her first public appearance as Lady Vesey. For her husband's sake, as well as her own, she was determined to make a good showing. With that in mind, she'd thrown her new sables over the shabby pelisse. It improved her appearance, but not enough. Not yet, at any rate. Madame Francombe sat in state at one end of the room, her chief assistant behind her. Both were better dressed than Vanessa. Several fashionable ladies relaxed in the elegant chairs dotted about the large room, all with their personal assistants. Vanessa had been through the hallowed doors before, but only in the company of more fortunate girls, who sometimes asked for her advice when choosing a new gown. Now it was her turn. A minion approached Vanessa doubtfully. "I wish to see Madame," Vanessa told him. She hardly looked at him, and lifted her chin arrogantly as she spoke, although inside she quaked. She hadn't any visiting cards yet. Another item to be seen to. "I'm sorry, miss, but Madame only sees her special customers," the man said regretfully. Vanessa had no doubt of the insincerity of the regret. "I have a substantial order to place," Vanessa persisted. "Tell her Lady Vesey wishes to speak to her." The man bowed and took the message. Vanessa waited and watched. Madame Francombe snapped at the man who gave her the card, but then put one finger to her lip when she read it. News of Vanessa's marriage must have reached London by this time. It had been announced last week, plenty of time for the gossips to get busy. She didn't miss Madame's speculative glance before she got to her feet. Vanessa didn't move. She watched Francombe's approach, but also noticed the slight stir in the room.

Vendeuses lifted their heads. Eminent customers stopped their careful perusal of the latest drawings and stared at her. Some had stared when she had come in, but now speculation entered their gazes. Inwardly Vanessa rejoiced. Hopefully, her appearance here would be all over London by nightfall. "Lady Vesey!" Francombe said, loud enough for the nearest people to hear. "How may I help you?" "I have a list," Vanessa said, delving in her reticule. "I'm afraid I haven't much time to spare. We leave for Vienna at the end of the week." "I see," Francombe said, smiling broadly. "Will you come this way, my lady? I have a private room where we may be comfortable." Vanessa nodded graciously and followed the lady and her chief vendeuse, who silently bowed to Vanessa and then followed her mistress. Vanessa took her time, and tried a trick she'd seen Mrs. Drummond Burrell use once. When she felt someone staring at her she turned her head and stared back, letting her lids droop over her eyes. The lady looked away, and Vanessa felt like crowing in triumph at the success of her tactic. The small room was almost empty, except for some comfortable chairs and a large table containing drawing materials. Vanessa sat down first, then Madame sat next to her. Vanessa produced her list. Madame's smile broadened as she read it in silence. "Basically, my lady, you need all the accoutrements for this visit?" Vanessa replied in the affirmative. "You have so little time! Husbands really have no idea, have they?" She gave Vanessa a conspiratorial smile. Vanessa said nothing, outwardly keeping cool and unimpressed, but inside she felt like cheering. Her triumph after so many years of being ignored, condescended to. At last her victory. Not everyone got through the hallowed portals of Francombe's Holy of Holies, and now everyone would know she had done it. "May I venture to make a suggestion?" Vanessa inclined her head in graceful acceptance. "I have some gowns that, for one reason or another, have not been collected. Normally, I wouldn't suggest such a thing, but with so little time, may I suggest you view some of these and see if we can adjust them to your figure?" Vanessa raised a haughty eyebrow in feigned surprise. "As long as someone doesn't see me and say, 'I'm sure I rejected that gown at Francombe's last week!" Madame's eyes open wide in shock. Vanessa was sure that Madame might have tried to palm less successful gowns off on her if she had said nothing. "My husband is a diplomat, and I will need gowns for most occasions, but particularly for social gatherings. I cannot afford his standing to be compromised in any way." She was careful to ensure Madame understood the implication that if her gowns were a success, plenty of people would know about it. Vanessa knew she didn't need to be more specific. The lady would be awake to that aspect of

Lady Vesey's custom. "Of course, my lady!" Francombe cried, holding up her hands in horror. She nodded to the vendeuse. "Fetch what we have." Robbins took the chance to excuse herself. Thinking the maid needed the necessary and knowing she would be engaged here for some time, Vanessa gave her leave to return in an hour or two. Vanessa's excitement grew when the vendeuse returned, bearing an armful of the sort of creations she used to dream about possessing. She tried not to show it, but she was afraid her eyes sparkled a little too enthusiastically. "If you decide that one or two of these items might suit," Madame explained, "I can have them altered in a very short space of time, and deliver them later tonight or early in the morning." Vanessa took a deep breath and deliberately pushed her requirements to the front of her mind. It would be so easy to buy some of these gowns because they were beautiful, and not because they became her, or they were what was needed. The vendeuse held each item up separately, and Vanessa discussed them with Madame. A pale blue ball gown was first. Vanessa thought it exquisite, but considered the colour too insipid for her colouring. The rejection was enough to convince Madame the new Lady Vesey had some taste of her own. Vanessa felt every inch the haughty Lady Vesey this morning. What a difference money made! Madame proceeded to wave away several gowns as not suitable, reducing the selection considerably. That was the last hurdle. After that, Madame Francombe and her minions couldn't do enough to please their new customer. Vanessa relaxed, enjoying a thoroughly sybaritic afternoon choosing and rejecting gowns she would once have wept over, they were so beautiful. To her taste, not her mothers'. After a long time, Vanessa lifted her head from contemplation of yet another sketch and took in her surroundings. Discarded pieces of paper littered the floor. Scraps of silk, velvet and muslin covered the once pristine table, and trims filled in the spaces in between. Vanessa couldn't believe that someone took dressing so seriously they devoted their whole life to it, that every day consisted of this. She wouldn't admit to being bored, but she was getting tired. Tea had been brought, but by an increasing hollowness in her stomach she knew dinnertime couldn't be far away. She was shocked when she consulted her watch. Could she really have spent three and a half hours here, discussing nothing but gowns? She hastily stood up, and said she would return the next day. Madame suggested instead that she send her vendeuse round to "dear Lady Vesey's" lodgings, and then they could go direct to the silk warehouse. She had suggested providing the fabric herself, but Vanessa turned her kind offer down. With the footman bearing a very exciting parcel, she left the shop. She was gloriously happy. Outside she couldn't, for the moment, see her maid waiting for her. Vanessa felt irritated, but saw the girl speaking to someone farther up the street. Robbins saw her and hurriedly excused herself. "Mon cousin, milady," Robbins explained, lapsing into French as she tended to do when agitated. "I thought you said you had no relatives left alive?"

Robbins flushed, as though caught out in wrongdoing. "No close relatives, milady." "Oh." Vanessa dropped the matter, assuming her maid had a beau and didn't want to admit it. She thought no more about the incident. Vanessa had never thought of her appearance as important to anyone but herself before. Now she was to have a position in public life, and she must be properly turned-out, if she was to be useful to her husband. The fact that it was enormously enjoyable was only important to her. At least, that's what she told herself when she was bowling home in the Vesey's elegant town carriage with the crest blazoned on its doors.

Chapter Six

Vanessa went in to the drawing room. Her husband was alone; they would have no guests tonight. His eyes reflected his surprise. He stared at her new dark red velvet gown, severely cut and elegantly though sparsely embroidered around the hem and neckline. "Is it all right?" she asked. He breathed a long sigh of relief. "It's perfect," he assured her. "Except for the pearls." "They're all I have," she confessed. "I guessed," he said. "I think we can rectify that after dinner." He took her hands and frankly looked her up and down. "Your choice?" "Oh yes," she assured him. "Madame tried to sell me some quite unsuitable gowns, but I knew what I wanted." "Unusual," he said, "on you, exquisite." He took her hand and placed it on his arm to take her in to dinner. "I wasn't sure," he admitted, "If your taste was the same as your mother's." She turned a face full of astonishment up to him. "You trusted me with all that money, to waste it all perhaps?" "You're a grown woman," he reminded her. "You must be left to your own decisions. I think your mother has held you back somewhat, don't you think?" "I don't think she meant to," she confessed, "but she was so used to seeing me as a young girl, she hardly noticed me growing up." "She must be blind," came the response. The compliment was so obviously sincere, Vanessa felt a warm glow from his approval. They dined alone, but the dining table was reduced in size, so they weren't left sitting at each end of a huge expanse. Vanessa shook out her napkin. "What did you do today?" she asked him. She thought he was surprised, so she retracted it at once. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry!"

"Of course you should. I'm just not used to it, that's all." He took a sip of wine. "Well, I went to the War Office and was immediately seized by Castlereagh's secretary there. He wanted to know where I'd been. When I explained I went to Bath to be married, he said, 'Never mind about that now. I have so many dispatches for you, I was going to send and fetch you!'" Vanessa laughed in appreciation of the secretary's devotion to duty. With a responsive twinkle, he continued, "So I spent all afternoon reading and catching up with correspondence. Not as amusing as your day, I'll be bound!" "Oh, I don't know," she considered. "I can't say I was bored! I have never seen so many noses put out of joint all at once before! And I did it! Do you know, when I came home, there were two invitations waiting for us, both from ladies I recognised this afternoon?" He grinned back. "Do you think we should accept them?" "Only if you think it would amuse you," she said. "One is for next week, in any case, and we won't be here by then. The other is a large coming out party, at Lady Bellingham's. That's particularly sweet. She went to school with my Mama, but married better, and made a point of lording it over us. I don't think her home life was very happy, though. I was jealous of her clothes and her style, until today, when Madame Francombe came right across to me, and took me to her private room! Oh, Chris, you should have seen their faces!" She stopped when she saw his expression. "Oh! Did I say something wrong?" "Nothing," he said, that odd look still there. "You just used my name for the first time, that's all." "Oh!" She'd got so carried away by her story she hadn't noticed. "I liked it." He picked up his fork to deal with the substantial plateful before him. "I didn't mean to interrupt." "No, no, that doesn't matter," she said, suddenly, uncharacteristically shy. He held out his glass to be refilled. "My secretary is coming over later. He's bringing the jewels. Do you want to see them tonight, or wait until the morning?" "Oh, tonight, please!" Then, in case he should think her greedy, she said, "I shall be busy tomorrow. Francombe is sending her vendeuse to accompany me to Carrington's. She says it's a much better warehouse than Jenner's. I daresay she gets a little tip for sending her customers there, but if I had let her choose for me, as she had wanted to, she could have doubled the prices of the fabrics." "So what if she does?" he asked carelessly. "If it's more trouble for you to find the fabrics for yourself, let her." "Oh no, sir…Chris. I suppose in the future I might find it tedious, but I've never had so much to spend on myself in my life before! I want to see it put to good use, I hate waste. In the afternoon, I'm going to Suzanne's." "The milliners?" he asked, and gave a mock wince. "The very best!" Guilt immediately coloured her voice. "Oh yes! Only if you don't mind! I should hate you to think me wasteful, and extravagant. Truly, I can be very economical."

"No," he said firmly. "I want you to have the best. You'll probably want more when we reach Vienna. A pity I can't take you to Paris. You'd love it there, I'm sure, but it's not safe at the moment." She beamed at him. "You may come to regret your generosity." "I might. I'll tell you when I do." "Then I'll go back to cheap warehouses and making my own clothes." He stopped his glass half way to his lips. "You made your clothes?" "Some of them," she confessed. "I can run up a simple country gown, but I'm not as clever as my sister Jane." "Stop!" he protested. "No more! I can't bear to think of it!" He held up a hand in mock submission. "The worst gossip takes place in sewing circles, worse than anything I might hear in the conference chamber!" That made her laugh, and she almost called him foolish, before she recollected her extravagance and relapsed into guilty gravity. When they went into the small sitting room after dinner, perfectly in charity with each other, they found a young gentleman waiting for them. "Cummings!" his lordship exclaimed. "Why didn't you have word sent up? You could have joined us for dessert." It seemed his lordship didn't stand on ceremony with his secretary. Mr. Cummings was a Scottish gentleman, of about five and twenty, Vanessa thought, sharp faced and sharp-eyed. He bowed perfectly affably over her hand, but she felt rather than saw tension there. She had no idea why, if it was she or his employer who'd caused it. She had no time to speculate, for reposing on the Pembroke table was a selection of fascinating boxes. Some of them were large, wooden boxes, almost the size of a travelling desk, and some were obviously jeweller's boxes, made especially for whatever they contained. She couldn't wait to open them, but it was curiosity, rather than acquisitiveness that made her want to investigate. Vanessa asked after Mr. Cummings' health, and the health of his wife, only to find the young man wasn't yet married. "He'll be accompanying us to Vienna," Vesey told her. "I couldn't possibly do without him." "Lord Liverpool -" Cummings began. Lord Vesey held up a hand to stop him at the mention of the Prime Minister. "No more business tonight, if you please. Let's start afresh in the morning." Cummings gave Vanessa an inquisitive glance she only just caught, coolly assessing. He looked away when she met his gaze with an enquiring one of her own. What was wrong with the man? It could be simple curiosity, of course, but she sensed more than that. She shrugged. She could well be wrong. Vanessa turned to the table, conveniently close to where she sat. She picked up a flat, black box. "Do you know what's in here, sir?" "No," Vesey said. "Though I'll probably recognise a lot of it when I see it." Vanessa opened the box and drew out a string of pearls that put her own modest beads to shame. They were perfectly matched, each as large as two of her own.

"I'd forgotten about those," Vesey said. "I think you should keep them. Pearls never date." Vanessa drew the length through her fingers, feeling the silky smoothness. "I'm not sure I want to open any more," she breathed. He laughed. "You may have got the best first," he remarked. She thought not. As she opened box after box, she revealed jewels she had only ever seen the like of on great ladies before. Sadly, most of the pieces were outdated, too heavy and elaborate for modern taste, but she found some that delighted her. Sighing, she put down an elaborate confection of diamonds and rubies that would have looked marvellous adorning a stomacher of fifty years before. "You can have some of them re-set," her husband suggested. She gave her attention to him then, her eyes sparkling like the jewels she'd just put down. "Yes," she said wonderingly. From a small string of pearls and one of coral beads to this was almost too big a step to bear. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes, but they didn't fall. She swallowed. Vesey and his wife stared at each other, and for a moment, all guards dropped, as if there was no one else but them in the room. She saw a warmth, echoing and responding to hers which had been engendered by gratitude, but now contained something else. Cummings cleared his throat and broke the spell, winning his employer's attention. Vanessa shook her head slightly to clear it of the vision she wasn't sure she'd just witnessed. "Did you bring the treasures?" Vesey asked his secretary, his voice as cool as ever, but perhaps a little softer. For an answer, the man lifted a large, heavy box covered in worn maroon leather. Without a word, he opened it, facing her, so she could see. The sight took her breath away. A full set of jewellery, worked in gold and diamonds, with silver backs to give the diamonds extra sparkle. A parure. Necklace, girandole earrings, bracelets and brooches, a coronet. Vanessa had never seen anything so astonishingly ostentatious. "I don't think you should have these reset," his lordship said. "They're the Family Jewels." Somehow, he seemed to say it in capital letters. "I think they're hideous, much too ostentatious." Vanessa stood up, and passed a finger over the cold stones. This was different. They weren't the sort of jewellery one owned. She might get to wear them, but they would never be hers. Her husband owned them, as, she reminded herself, he owned her. "My mother only wore them when she had to," he said. "Court occasions, that kind of thing. I don't think we need to concern ourselves with them too much, but we must face the possibility of a coronation in the near future." Now she'd got over the shock of first sight, she understood what he meant. The jewels were far too elaborate for modern taste; they needed the heavy brocades and silks their parents and grandparents had worn. Her attention went back to the coronet. "That's the one you'll have to wear when the new King is crowned," said her husband. "Six golden balls for a baroness." "I hold it until the King is crowned, then I put it on?" she queried, picking it up and moving to the mirror. She lifted the coronet and tried it on. Her hair wasn't right for it; she saw how a central braid would support the coronet, and it would benefit from a new crimson velvet cap inside. The one it had was dusty and faded. In the mirror she saw her husband approach, the great necklace in his hands.

"Might as well try it on," he commented. She felt his hands, cool on her neck, and then he left her, returning with the earrings. She wore some plain gold bobs tonight, but she removed them and inserted the long hook of the three pendanted girandole. They were far too heavy for her, but she could stand it for now. Their weight pulled on her ear. Fumbling, she found an extra hook, a long one that she looped over the top of her ear from the back. That felt better. The gems flashed fire when she moved her head. She did it again. The coronet wobbled. A laugh behind her made her swing around and nearly lose the coronet completely. She gave her husband, the source of the laugh, a wry glance, wrinkling her nose. "I must look a quiz." She reached up to remove the offending headgear. "Not at all," he assured her. "You look wonderful." Something in his voice made her smile fade, her mouth open slightly. "Anne Boleyn?" She wanted to avoid this intimacy. It made her feel uncomfortable with someone, she reminded herself, she hardly knew. "No one so unfortunate, my dear," he replied. He came up to her and took the coronet from her head. "If you look a quiz, so will I. My coronet is bigger." His back to her he went to the table and put coronet back in its place. Without his help Vanessa removed the heavy jewellery and laid them back in the case. "Will I need these in Vienna?" she asked, turning back to mundane concerns with some relief. "I shouldn't think so," he answered, his voice steady. "We might be more comfortable travelling without them." He stood up and came over to the table. Most of the boxes' contents had been examined, and sat in several neat piles in the centre of the table. "Choose what you wish to take, and the rest can be locked away in the bank again," he told her. "It might be as well to leave the more valuable items at home. Just take one set, for Court occasions. The roads are none too safe in Europe at present." "Will we be able to take all the things I'm buying this week?" she asked, struck by a sudden thought. "Oh yes," he said. "There'll be room for it all. Even the hats!" Vanessa went to bed shortly after, leaving his lordship and his secretary to discuss business. After the new stage they seemed to have reached, unspoken but definitely there, she was glad he was otherwise employed. She wanted to get her breath back. Hats were her objective the next day. Before she left her bedchamber, Vanessa was pleasantly surprised by the delivery of several parcels, containing the gowns Madame Francombe had promised to alter for her. She hadn't expected them so soon. They fitted her beautifully, and she settled on a gown of Indian cotton, printed with a tiny pattern of forget-me-knots. Madame had also thought to include a dark blue spencer for her approval. Vanessa approved, and donned it to go out in that morning. The hat was still her old straw, but she was about to change that. Vanessa set out with her fabric samples, her maid and her footman, to find that her advent was now a well-known fact amongst the tradespeople she wanted to deal with. The news of her haughty demeanour at Madame Francombe's and her new fashionable appearance opened all doors for her. She spent a delirious day, ordering hats, shoes, handkerchiefs, delicate underwear— even a saucy pair of the pantalettes Princess Charlotte had made fashionable, although she couldn't imagine why she'd bought

them! When she thought herself done with shopping, she remembered a set of luggage to put them all in. Her old trunk wouldn't hold half of this! Her husband sent word that Lord Liverpool and some of his closest advisors would be present at dinner that night. She felt a moment of panic when she read his note, then pulled herself together firmly. This was her first test, the first time she would be seen as Lady Vesey, and she was determined to get it right. She went to the bookroom and found some newspapers, spending the time before dinner reading up about her guests-to-be. Lord Liverpool had a difficult job, especially in the current climate. Morale was very low indeed. The control of the price of corn was proving increasingly divisive, and it was rumoured that the poorer farmers were on the brink of revolt. The King was mad and the Regent unpopular. Only his daughter and heir, Princess Charlotte, was held in any affection by the public. All this Vanessa knew, but to be here, at the centre of it all, was something new. After she'd committed some relevant facts to memory Vanessa studied the private lives of her guests, at least the part they showed in public, then turned to the seating plan. The afternoon flew by, and she was glad she'd returned from her shopping early. She wore the red gown she'd worn the previous evening, but with the addition of a delicate ruby pendant on a chain, which she had discovered amongst the jewellery. The evening was chilly, so she added a fine silk shawl she had bought that day, a cream Paisley pattern. Thus armoured, she made her way downstairs to greet her guests. She found her husband in the drawing room, attired correctly in black evening coat and breeches. She thought he looked very handsome. The gentlemen and their wives arrived soon after. Vanessa had always thought of men - and women - of affairs as superior beings, not part of her life. On the rare occasions, she had seen them, it had been at a distance. These people had been far too busy to take part in the general social round she had known before. She'd always felt envious, because they had some purpose in her life and she'd had nothing. Their wives were a varied assortment, mostly older than she, some highly intelligent, able to converse on an equal basis with their husbands, and others who were content to stay within their sphere of the home. Vanessa concentrated on trying to answer their questions sensibly, and see that everybody was served with everything they needed. More than that she could not do. The talk flowed over her head, about people she barely knew, events she was unaware of. Once, when she caught her husband's eye, he lifted one eyebrow and grinned in a sympathetic way, nearly making her laugh by his quick, comical expression. That evening, she heard things which startled her by their frankness. It was an eye opener for her, to see how much these women were respected and drawn in to conversation she had previously been told was 'man's talk.' It added a new dimension to the things she would have to learn. She added politics to her list of things to study. She didn't want to be left out of conversations as fascinating as this one seemed to be, so much more interesting than fashions and scandal. After dinner, when the port had gone round once, she glanced at her husband, and stood up. The women ordinarily would have left after the covers were drawn, but the conversation had been too engrossing, and the gentlemen had showed no inclination to allow their wives to leave. In the drawing room Vanessa found herself next to a young lady who, like her, had not joined in the more learned of the conversations over dinner. On her other side sat Lady Portman, one of the knowledgeable ones.

"You're accepted," Mrs. Portman murmured to Vanessa, so only she could hear. Vanessa turned her head. Clear brown gaze met clear brown gaze. "They have seen you and approved," Mrs. Portman went on. "They wouldn't talk so freely in your presence if they didn't trust you." "Thank you," said Vanessa. She knew it must be a compliment. "This is all very new to me." "Yes," the lady went on, "you could have been born to it." "Were you?" "Yes, I'm afraid I was," Mrs. Portman said with a wry smile. "My father supported Pitt; I was brought up meeting great men, and I've never treated them as anything out of the ordinary. It was always assumed that I would marry Portman; and so I did." "I remember you," said Lady Nacre suddenly, and then covered her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Nacre is always telling me I interrupt too much!" "Not at all," said Vanessa politely, and leaned back to include Lady Nacre in the conversation. "What I meant to say," said the pretty lady, "was I remember seeing you at Almack's, and Lady Cardigan's and places like that. I've only been married to Nacre for three years, and before that I was on the same circuit as you. What a relief to be out of all that!" Vanessa felt at once in sympathy with her. "Yes indeed! Not required to wear those dreadful white muslin gowns, and pretend to be delighted if even the most unattractive man asks one to dance!" "Yes," said Lady Nacre, but doubt crossed her face. "I thought - that is, we all thought - that you and Mr. Graham would make a match of it! He was awfully sweet on you." Vanessa thought she must learn to expect these references to her lost love, but she lowered her lids for a moment of privacy before answering. "Yes, at one time I thought so too. It wasn't to be." "Didn't come up to scratch?" Mrs. Portman asked with sympathy. "No, no, he kept coming up to scratch!" she said. "My mother didn't consider him suitable." It hurt her to refer to Emery like this, but she owed it to her husband to close that door. "Feckless, if you ask me," said Mrs. Portman. "Handsome but no bottom!" "Lord Vesey swept you off your feet?" suggested Lady Nacre. "I know Nacre did that to me! I didn't know what had hit me, hardly. Now here we are, just as happy as the day we met!" Although Lady Nacre was a little lacking in native intelligence, there didn't seem to be a malicious bone in her body. Vanessa warmed to her. "Yes, he swept me off my feet" she agreed, and in a way, it was true. Lord Vesey had seen her, made his mind up and married her within four months of meeting her. It was hard to believe that six months ago he'd been just another name in the newspaper. "Everybody can see that Lord Vesey…" Lady Nacre subsided at a quelling glance from Mrs. Portman. Vanessa wondered what she was about to say, but didn't push the matter. "When do you leave for Vienna, my dear?" Mrs. Portman asked. "I wish I could go, but Portman is here, stuck in his little office! His main concerns are domestic, and he feels very worn down by it all at the

moment!" She seemed truly concerned for her husband. Indeed, when she studied at him over dinner, Vanessa had thought Mr. Portman looked strained. "We leave soon," Vanessa stated. "Is that why you've bought London's supplies of fashionable gowns and hats?" Mrs. Portman asked. Vanessa flushed guiltily, but Mrs. Portman gave an unholy grin and leaned down to pick up her tea dish. "You've put all the old cats' backs up! They don't know why your husband ignored their daughters for you, even though it's plain enough to see! Now you're spraying his money around Bond Street, they're positively spitting!" Vanessa was glad to hear it. She'd been the recipient of many acts of petty spite over the years, and this helped to pay them back. She kept her expression cool. Mrs. Portman smiled and her grip on Vanessa's hand tightened for a moment before she released it. "Don't concern yourself about any of them," she assured her. "The people who speak like that have nothing to talk about but their own vacuous lives, their own concerns. Greater matters never cross their lips, and if they ever think about them, it's only in relation to themselves." Vanessa was silent for a moment, thinking. She had to own that Mrs. Portman was right. In all her years gracing the ballrooms of London, she couldn't remember hearing as much interesting and stimulating talk as she had this evening. She thought the political life might suit her. If she could keep up. At the thought, Lady Nacre spoke up again. "Indeed, Lady Vesey, they talk about me non stop, but I don't care for it any more. You see, Nacre is so very intelligent, and it is evident to most people who speak to me that I'm the most featherbrained woman in existence!" She turned a sunny expression to Vanessa and Mrs. Portman. "Nacre said I was not to concern myself with them, and since I value his opinion above all things, I do not." "I think I shall take your advice," Vanessa told them, smiling. After a successful evening, Vanessa retired to her bedchamber. She sat at the dressing table and Robbins began to remove the pins from her hair and brush it out. After a soft knock the door to the dressing room opened to admit her husband, dressed except for his coat, which he had replaced with his red dressing gown. At a small sign from him Robbins curtseyed and left the room. His lordship walked to where she had been standing, where he could see his wife's reflection in the mirror. "You did very well tonight," he said. "Thank you," Vanessa replied, suddenly, unaccountably shy. The atmosphere thickened almost visibly. This was much more intimate than the last time he'd come to her. Something had changed. Softness had entered their relationship without her being aware of it. "You didn't put yourself forward. You didn't hide either." He paused. "Did you enjoy the evening?" She met his gaze in the mirror. "Yes. I liked the people, and it was such a relief to talk about something real, not bonnets and gowns and gossip as I had to before!" "I didn't think you were averse to talking about them," he remarked. He came round the chair to where he could look at her properly, and perched on the edge of the dressing table.

"I don't," she said, pleased he seemed to want only a chat. "Not exclusively! There are other things. I learned a great deal tonight. I know I must learn more, and I mean to. I hope you don't mind helping me." "It will take some time to reach Vienna," he answered, "Helping you will while away a tedious journey, and I'm glad I can do something to help before plunging you in the heart of it all. Liverpool liked you." "Did he?" "He said 'Sensible girl, that. Good choice Vesey!'" His imitation of Lord Liverpool's tones were close enough to amuse her, and he joined in her laughter. It broke the tension. "I didn't think he'd noticed me much," she said then. "He's a noticing kind of man," was the reply. "Most of them are." She remembered something, and she got up and went to the mantelpiece, where she had put a small, black box. "I…I hope you don't mind," she said, "but you don't seem to have much time to do your own shopping, and I saw something today." She handed him the box, which he took with a quizzical smile and opened. "Of course, if you don't like it, it can go back, but I thought the design was particularly fine and…and it might please you!" He opened the box and examined its contents. She'd bought him a pin, the head of which was a fine pearl, within a gold filigree cage. He touched it with one finger and then closed the box. "Thank you, I like it very much," he said. He stood up, bringing him very close to her, and bent to kiss her on the cheek, by way of thanks, but she turned her head to look up at him and his mouth found hers. His arms went instinctively around her. After a small hesitation, she slipped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes. Her mouth softened under his, and he slid one hand up to her freshly brushed, silken hair. She pressed herself against him, something she hadn't done before. Just then, the door opened and Robbins came in. She gasped, and made to go out again, but by then the couple had broken away from each other, both flushing like children found out in wrongdoing. Vesey was so private. Vanessa understood already that he needed some time to accustom himself to the idea of embracing his wife in front of anyone else. Such intimacies were not natural to him. Robbins bobbed a curtsey. "There is a courier to see you, milord. Name of Harrison." "At this hour?" Vanessa said roughly. She needed time to readjust. "He says it's about Vienna, milord." Vesey frowned. "Business," he said. "The more esoteric kind." That was by way of apology, Vanessa supposed. She went back to the dressing table after he'd left. She didn't know what might have happened if Robbins had not come back in, but she rather thought she might have liked to find out. "Robbins you must remember to knock before you come in," she said. Her voice shook a little. She controlled it. "Yes, milady." Vanessa turned her head sharply, unsure if she'd heard insolence in the girl's tone.

The maid lowered her eyes demurely. Perhaps, oversensitive, she'd imagined a certain rudeness. Absorbed by business matters, Lord Vesey didn't come to her that night, and neither of them referred to the incident again. It was such a small thing, after all. Not worth thinking about.

Chapter Seven

They reached Vienna in swift luxury. They travelled in a coach and six to the coast, where a private yacht waited to take them across the channel. Vesey explained that it wasn't his, but since they carried important dispatches for Lord Castlereagh, it had been put at their disposal. Vanessa hardly had time to marvel at the accoutrements provided in the vessel when they were at Calais, after only three hours' calm crossing. Soon they were in another coach and six. Vanessa was used to travelling on the mail-coach, or in a private chaise, comfortable, but not comparable to the luxury she was exposed to now. The Veseys were always the first served with a meal, there was never a delay when the horses needed changing, even though, due to the speed with which they travelled, there were more changes than usual. "One of the perquisites of the job," her husband explained. "I may be well heeled, but this would be beyond me. Most of this is paid for, and all the innkeepers and so on know we're arriving well in advance. Cummings is riding on ahead, giving them the office. He doesn't like riding in an enclosed coach in any case." Vanessa was glad of this. Cummings made her uncomfortable. She thought he resented her presence, as though she would come between Cummings and Lord Vesey. Sometimes he would join them for supper, and then Vanessa was made to feel distinctly out of place. It seemed as though Cummings deliberately excluded her, using terms he must know she didn't understand. When her husband explained them to her, in Cummings' presence she was made to feel decidedly stupid. He was never disrespectful, but behaved towards her as though she was a backward child, past understanding the affairs of men. In fact, she was well in the way of understanding them. When they were on the road, if he wasn't busy with the latest information brought to him the previous night, her husband explained to her who was who, and how he felt about them. Vanessa tried very hard to keep these lessons in her head. She knew she would need them later. Her lord was succinct and informative, the perfect teacher. Sometimes they shared a bed at night, if the inn was a small one and couldn't accommodate them in their usual style. Vanessa was used to sharing her bed, but it seemed Lord Vesey was not. The first time, he apologised when he came to her. The second time, a few days' journey short of Vienna, was a comfortable but not luxurious inn. "I think I could sleep through almost anything!" she confessed. "I only have a sister," he told her, "so I very rarely shared with anyone else, unless I was sleeping rough, and then it was in all my clothes!" He pulled back the sheets and got in next to her. The bed dipped alarmingly, but eased a little once he'd settled. Intrigued, she asked; "when was that?"

He laughed. "Once or twice. Diplomatic work doesn't always mean luxury. I've travelled in mean little public conveyances, dressed in garments you wouldn't give to your gardener, just to take a message to someone!" "Oh sir!" she breathed, thrilled. "I thought only spies did that!" He laughed, amused by her enthralled attention. "It's more uncomfortable than it is dangerous." "I should like to do something like that!" "No you wouldn't," he assured her. "You come out of it tired, stinking and unacknowledged. Usually, nobody is to know you've been there or done anything, so the only pleasure you have is of a job well done." "Do you do much of that work?" "Only when it's required," he replied. "Come, we should sleep: we need to get up early." He snuffed the candle and they settled down. Vanessa, slipping into easy slumber, thought her husband was still awake. He was asleep when she awoke in the morning. It must have been very early, but she didn't want to reach for her watch for fear of disturbing him. He slept heavily on his back, and she reflected ruefully that her sisters never made quite so much noise. It might have been his snores that had woken her, but she couldn't go back to sleep again. She lay for a time and just once, imagined how she would feel if Emery Graham were lying next to her. She would probably wake him and make him laugh, and perhaps… She cut her thoughts off at that point. Perhaps nothing. Eventually, she risked leaning across to the nightstand to pick up her watch, but she could tell, from the sudden cessation of sound, that she had disturbed Vesey. She turned to him to see his eyes were open. He drew his arm across them and then stretched, before he turned his head to her and saw the watch in her hand. "What time is it?" "Barely half past five," she told him. He grinned at her, looking much younger than his two and thirty years. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry; I know I can make the most devilish noises when I'm asleep!" "No," she began, but then relaxed. "Yes. It doesn't matter, really. My sisters weren't completely silent, and I slept through that!" "Hm." He swallowed, yawned and glanced over at where she lay. "Shall we rouse the rest of the household? Demand breakfast? We could make good time, but I don't think we'd be very popular! Or we could…." She knew what she meant, and wasn't averse to his proposal. So, she smiled when he reached for her, and went to him willingly. She was beginning to understand that a man needed this, and she appreciated his kindness, his efforts not to hurt her. This time it was a little different. Perhaps it was the familiarity engendered by their sharing a bed, perhaps their growing understanding of each other, but this time she felt a warmth inside her, which grew when he

continued to move. It wasn't unpleasant. When he gasped and climaxed, he didn't move off her immediately, but leaned up and regarded her closely, careful to take his weight on his elbows. He was a large man, and his weight on her would have been most uncomfortable. He bent and kissed her forehead. "That was a little different for you, I think?" "Yes." "Good. I hope you'll come to enjoy it." "I don't not enjoy it now," she tried to explain, but the statement made them both laugh. He did roll off her then, and leaned up, watching her with a softer expression on his face than usual. "It's just…it's so strange, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do." She smiled. "It's not something a respectable girl is taught the etiquette for." He laughed at that. "I should hope not! Although it might save a great deal of misunderstanding in the long run." He paused, his face turning serious. "You must tell me if I hurt you, or do something you dislike." He reached forward and took the end of her long braid, twirling it in his large fingers. "I will," she promised. Abruptly, in a tone totally unlike his usual, controlled manner, he said, "I think you deserve to know something about my history." He'd never offered such intimate revelations before, and inwardly Vanessa rejoiced in the trust he showed her while she continued to listen to him. "I never had much time for sex in my life. I'm not a monk, you know that." He glanced at her and she smiled briefly to encourage him. "Neither am I a rake. My experience is limited to women of another station." He studied the end of her braid, as though embarrassed to look at her. She supposed he hadn't told anyone before. She knew enough about her husband to realise he was a very private man. Much of his life was led in the public eye, so he'd created for himself a veneer behind which the real Vesey could safely live. Vanessa knew she was far from reaching the real man behind the cool, suave man of affairs, but was wise enough to realise he might find it difficult after so many years alone. She had the time to wait. "What I'm trying to say," he continued slowly, still looking at the braid, "is that you're my first, the first woman of my station I've ever been to bed with." "Did you never have an affair with anyone?" His attention moved from the braid to her face, but kept the thick rope of hair between his fingers. "Too many complications. Much easier to use those women provided for the purpose." Vanessa suppressed her distaste, knew if she had been born just that bit poorer, less well born, that might have been her fate in life. She didn't like to think of her husband engaged in such activities and hoped she could provide enough for him. "You must tell me if I do anything you don't like, feel unhappy with." Reaching out her hand, Vanessa put it on his. He dropped the braid and let their fingers twine together. "I will tell you, I promise," she said, "but as far as I can tell, you're doing very well."

His smile wasn't his usual charming one, but somehow deeper. "You did know what to expect? It didn't come as a complete shock to you?" "Oh no," she assured him. "Mama made sure we all knew. She said her own wedding night was such a severe shock to her she nearly frightened Papa off for good! She said she didn't want us to find out in that way. I think she's right. It's not a good idea to keep a young lady completely ignorant." "No indeed!" he agreed. He paused, let his fingers caress hers. "I rushed you into this so quickly, I hope you don't mind!" "No, really I don't," she assured him. "You've given me so much!" "No," he said. "Not enough." It seemed his confidences were over, although she wondered what he meant by this last remark. He threw back the sheets and began to get up. It was now nearly six, and they would make good time that day. They didn't share a bed again, and they reached Vienna on the third day after that. Vanessa thought Vienna was beautiful. The buildings were, for the most part, in white stone, or stuccoed, making the whole city gleaming bright in the spring sunlight. His lordship gave orders for a slow drive through the city, so Vanessa could see it. He watched his wife rather than the city, that he had seen before. He hadn't seen her reaction. They passed the long range of the Hofburg, where Vesey would spend much of his time, attending on Lord Castlereagh, the leader of the British delegation. "There are balls, routs and banquets there most nights," he told her. "You'll be sick of it by the time we leave." "Oh no!" she couldn't believe that, now she had the money and the time to enjoy them. She'd be a welcome and invited guest there; not someone invited to make up the numbers. She knew her enjoyment of the sights amused him, and she didn't hide it. Turning to look out of the other side of the carriage Vanessa saw a tall, thin spire, lancing into the sky. "St Stephen's Cathedral," he told her. "You should visit it, it's beautiful. If I can't take you I'll find someone who can." He motioned to the far distance, past the cathedral. "The Danube is over there. You should certainly go to see that." They passed the long range of the Hofburg and turned into a series of streets containing large, white fronted, soot stained buildings. They stopped in front of one. "Vienna is full," Vesey told her as they waited for the steps to be let down, "but I had this place before, and so I was able to retain it. I knew I'd be back, because business wasn't quite concluded, but I didn't think it would be in such circumstances." Whether he meant his marriage, or Napoleon's escape, Vanessa wasn't sure. Both, she supposed, would add to the situation. "It's not as large as you may be used to," he added, in an apologetic tone, "but it's impossible to get anywhere else." From what her husband had told her of the current unavailability of accommodation in Vienna at present, Vanessa had expected it. As it was, she was to be pleasantly surprised. "There are the dignitaries summoned here to attend the conference," Vesey said, as he helped her down from the coach, "and their households. Then there are the usual society of Vienna, and the others, brought here by the conference. The hopeful mamas, the scoundrels, the tradespeople, the servants, the

thieves. Europe is here, my dear, and now we are too." Their apartment was on the first floor. The door stood open, the place ready for them. A footman who, Vanessa noticed with relief, spoke good English greeted them. While her French was excellent she had little or no Austrian, or even German. The core of the household, the people she'd met in London, had arrived the previous night and were busy about the place. Vanessa heard Robbins' voice, calling to the boys to be careful as they brought up the luggage. It was all so exciting. The main room was large, windows all down one side looking into the street. It would be the drawing room and reception room. It opened into a small hall, elegantly appointed. "We may hold a few private dinners here," Vesey told her, leading her to a smaller, but still lovely, dining room, dominated by a long mahogany table, bright with polishing. "It's easier to talk privately here than in the Palace. You never know who's listening at the door there." The only other living room was a small study, which Vesey appropriated for his own. It already contained a heap of papers and folders, awaiting his attention. He grimaced at her, and said he'd have to deal with them shortly. Cummings, on his own territory, glared at Vanessa as though she was an intruder. Vanessa glared back. She wasn't about to let anyone intimidate her, especially in her own house. There were only two bedrooms, each with its attached dressing room. Vanessa didn't go into her husband's. That was his own private sanctuary, and although they had made headway in making themselves into a couple recently, he still needed his privacy. Instead, glad of the opportunity to freshen up, she went into her own bed chamber, richly furnished and appointed, but light with ivory embroidered upholstery and drapes. She was surprised to find her husband waiting for her when she emerged after a short wash and brush up. She'd thought he'd be deep in his papers by now. They went into the large drawing room. "I hope you like it," Vesey told Vanessa. "If you don't, I'm afraid there's very little we can do, because there's not much else to be had." "Yes, I like it," she said. She went over to the window, where there was a deep embrasure with a window seat set into it. "The view is lovely." He joined her. From the window, they saw Vienna, in all its beauty. It was the middle of the day, a fine Spring day, and the sun glimmered against the fine buildings and the tops of the churches. The main ones, the steeple of St. Stephens, and the great dome of the Karlskirche dominated the scene. She felt his arm slip about her waist, and leaned back against him a little. "It's a fine city," she said quietly. "It is," he agreed. "Let's hope we can achieve something of worth here." It took her a moment to realise he was talking about the Congress. "I wonder if my mother has arrived yet?" "I doubt it. We made very good time." Someone cleared his throat behind them, and they turned round to see Mr. Cummings. He wore a broad smile on his face, over, it seemed, his irritation in the office. Perhaps, Vanessa thought, it was the sight of the papers rather than her that had brought on his bad mood. She hoped so. "I hope this is satisfactory?" he asked.

"It seems excellent," his lordship answered cordially. "My wife is pleased." Cummings bowed again. Robbins came in after him just then, Vanessa's sables in her arms. "I'll put these in your dressing room, my lady, unless you wish to go out." Somehow, Robbins had become a fixture. Vanessa liked her. Her cheerful face and bustling busyness overlaid a competence Vanessa needed now. So she'd kept Robbins as her ladies' maid, and they had acquired a new head housemaid. A footman brought the luggage up the back-stairs. Lord Vesey took his leave to attend Lord Castlereagh, and announce his arrival. Then the inevitable papers, the ones that had come and gone by personal messenger throughout the journey, were brought up and bestowed by Cummings in the small study. Vanessa was left with a pot of tea to sit in solitary state in the drawing room. It was the first time she'd found any peace for the past week or so. All her days had been filled with observing the scenery, stopping at inns, attending to her needs and her husband's. Suddenly she realised she hadn't been completely alone like this for a long time. A cloud of gloom, kept away by the novelty and excitement of travelling, descended on her. Sensible enough to realise that part of it at least must be because of tiredness, nevertheless she chose to give way to it. She felt superfluous. Not for the first time, she wondered why her lord had wanted to marry her in such haste. He could manage perfectly well here without her. Hundreds of miles from home, completely on her own, married to a man she hardly knew, much less understood, she shed the first few tears since her marriage. She'd been determined not to repine. After all, marriage had been her choice, her decision, but now she felt so lonely. Drying her eyes, she decided that no one should know of her tears. Such gloom was foolish; not to be thought of again. Half way through the afternoon Vesey sent word that he would bring guests to dinner, two couples and one single man. Vanessa tutted at the uneven numbers. She sent orders down to the kitchen and made sure Ecarte was informed, glad of something to do, something to dispel the melancholy that lingered about her. She had to do little else. The bad tempered chef sent a menu up for her approval, and she didn't gainsay him. It looked excellent to her. Ecarte was a wonderful cook, but Vanessa wondered if he was worth all the cosseting. She supposed, to keep up her husband's standing, it was. For the most part, they had eaten inn food on the road. She had hardly noticed what she had eaten in London, for she'd had so many other things to think about. Food had never featured strongly in Vanessa's scheme of things. What Lord Vesey didn't say until he came home to dress for dinner was that one of the guests was to be Lord Castlereagh, the leader of the British delegation. He'd come into her bedroom as she was dressing for dinner. He was already fully dressed, neat in black coat and breeches, and white silk waistcoat. He named their guests. "Oh my goodness!" cried Vanessa, hand at her breast. "How will I manage?" "You'll manage beautifully," he replied firmly. "Just be yourself."

"I've only ever seen him once, at a distance!" she said. Vesey put his hands on her shoulders, steadying the flutter of her heart engendered by the sudden news. "He's a man, like all others. Don't let his celebrity get in the way, and you'll be fine. Wait until you meet Metternich! He's an incorrigible flirt, thinks himself irresistible to women. At least Castlereagh is devoted to his wife, and a sensible man." "Do you like him?" she reached her hand up to adjust her necklace, which wasn't lying straight. She was wearing blue tonight, with the pearls. He smiled at her reflection in the mirror. "Yes, I like him. He's a man of great ability, great vision, and for what it's worth, I agree with most of his aims here. Of course, agree or not, I'm bound to be loyal to him, but we will be friends here tonight, so we may talk a little more freely." "I don't think I know enough about affairs to talk too much about them, but I'll try to do my best to do you justice. Who's the odd man?" She couldn't get the pearls to lie straight, so, since Robbins had left, he helped her. He undid the jewels and untwisted them with a deft flick. "A new man," he replied. "Castlereagh has taken him on his staff for now, so he may observe and learn. I'm informed he's totally trustworthy, and may well be a coming man. He hasn't told me his name yet, but these sprigs come and go. Sometimes they're useful, sometimes they fade into the background after a few weeks." He re-fastened the necklace. She smiled him her thanks for his help with the jewellery. As he laid the necklace back in to position, his hand touched her bare skin. Something inside her rose, something she hadn't been aware of in the long lonely years. Desire, perhaps. She shut her eyes for a moment. They stared at each other's reflections in the mirror for a moment, until she broke the impasse. "I thought you were the coming man." "So they say," he said, and moved back. "I'm a little past the beginner's stage now. I'm allowed one or two mistakes. This poor unfortunate isn't. One mistake and he might be the going man instead." She stood up. "Will I do?" "You look lovely," he said simply. She glanced into the mirror once, and was satisfied by what she saw. She was pleased her lord liked her appearance as well, not just for vanity, but because it had now become important for her to present a good front to the world. From the top of her gleaming dark head to her elegantly slippered feet she looked what she was trying hard to become; the perfect partner to a man of public affairs. She took his proffered arm. "We should go and wait for them." Sir David Wynter and his wife arrived first. Sir David was in a similar position to Lord Vesey's; a charge d'affaires attached to the British contingent, here to support Lord Castlereagh and take on the duties his lordship was too busy to attend to himself. "It gives me the greatest pleasure to meet you, Lady Vesey." Vanessa doubted it. His tone was dry, formal, and he hardly looked at her. Moreover, he immediately engaged Vesey in a discussion about something Vanessa knew little about, without, as Vesey would have done, giving her a few brief words of introduction first.

"I'm very new to all this," she confessed to her ladyship, trying for some semblance of friendliness. All she received was cordiality. "We were all new to it once," the older lady replied. "I'm sure you'll adapt to it in no time." Vanessa, feeling properly put in her place, ushered her ladyship to a comfortable chair, and sat next to her, prepared to let her elder lead the conversation. They all stood when Meredith announced Lord Castlereagh and his wife. Vanessa''s heart leapt to her mouth. She glanced at her husband, but he had gone grave and silent, although he bowed politely to greet his lordship. She wondered why, but she had to greet her principal guests, mustering all her assurance so she would get it right. She found herself confronting a man of more than average height, with a powerful, full jawed appearance and a pair of astute, grey eyes. His kind smile went a long way towards putting Vanessa at her ease, unlike the Wynters. She greeted his wife, Lady Emily, a bird-like creature with an alert, noticing air. She turned, still smiling, to greet the up and coming man Castlereagh had brought with him. Then she understood why her husband had gone quiet. He stared at the man who had quietly entered the room in the wake of the Castlereagh's, a young man with a pleasant face, presently drawn in lines of tension to match Vesey's own. It was Emery Graham.

Chapter Eight

Catching back her first exclamation of: "Emery!" Vanessa fixed her society smile to her face and coolly gave him her hand. Just as coolly, he bowed over it, but when he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she saw despair. Just for a moment. She saw his pain, felt it as her own, but couldn't reach out to comfort him. She had to go back to Lord Vesey, now at his most formidable, his stern features a mask of polite indifference. "You know each other?" Castlereagh asked. "Yes…that is, we used to, before —" Vanessa stammered, desperately trying to keep her composure. "Oho!" Lady Emily said, a twinkle in her eye. "I spy an old flame!" Vanessa looked desperately up at Vesey, but found no help there. "Well, at one time," she admitted, and forced a smile. "Now things are different. How are you finding Vienna, Mr. Graham?" "Beautiful, my lady," he replied. His emphasis on her new title made Vanessa want to cry. "I've not been here more than a few days myself. I hope to further its acquaintance over time." Was he conveying something to her, or was that just her imagination? She couldn't tell. She turned the conversation to Vienna, and the company chatted amiably enough until dinner was served. Seating was awkward with a spare gentleman, but not impossible, and this was essentially a working dinner. Emery sat next to Lord Vesey at the other end of the table, for which Vanessa was very grateful. Having him any closer to her would have been torture. Inside, she reasoned to herself that it was just the

shock of seeing him that engendered such strong emotions in her, but the turmoil inside her needed all her social skills to control. Her pleasure at seeing him was tempered by her anger at the shock he had caused. Surely, he could have let her know first? She tried to listen to the conversation, to learn, as she had promised her husband she would, but her mind kept running around the same problem like a rat in a trap, with much the same result. It made her tired, but got her nowhere. Lord Vesey avoided looking at her, but not so that anyone else would notice. Except, perhaps, Emery. She tried to lose herself in the conversation. They were talking about France, what would happen once Napoleon was defeated. In public, they would speak of this as though it was a certainty, but everyone here tonight knew it was far from that. "People are running to his standard every day," Castlereagh said gloomily. "King Louis just can't compete." "Bonaparte did give France some of its best years," Vesey said. "His personal charm is undeniable." "Personal charm should be banned," his lordship growled. "That man could put our discussions back years. Even if he's quickly overcome, this gives the Russians the advantage they've been looking for. They want to destroy France." "Leaving a hole in the centre of Europe they can fill," pointed out Sir David. "The last thing we need. Do you think King Louis is up to the job?" "No," said Castlereagh simply. Vanessa nearly gasped at his frankness. In the circles she was accustomed to, people might deride the person of the monarch of France, but never his position. "He's a Bourbon, and we must support him. There are capable men looking after him," Sir David pointed out. "Talleyrand," Vesey said heavily. "That man needs watching," Castlereagh agreed. "He has all the confidence of the self centred, but we must accept his presence. I think he might mean much more than we want to France unless we contrive to put a spoke in his wheel. He's survived the Terror, the Directory and Napoleon. I don't trust him. Very few people do any more. Do we want to accept him?" "I don't think so," Vesey said slowly. "Not yet. We should watch him closely, my lord. He bends with the prevailing wind." "An elastic conscience," Sir David agreed. Vanessa suddenly realised this was the core of the conversation tonight, the reason they had come here, to this little apartment instead of the glittering palace not so far away. She knew from what her husband had told her there might be several other apartments like this, refuges from the public part of the Congress. Emery took no part in this conversation. Was he here to learn? Had he really decided to take up a career with the Foreign Service, or was he here to follow her? At first, she'd assumed his presence was just for her, but now, watching his concentration as he followed the conversation, she wasn't so sure. Perhaps

her marriage had been the spur he needed to go forward. She hoped with all her heart he would make a success of his new career, and prayed that he'd be sent somewhere else, soon. She couldn't bear to look at him, and that reproach she thought she saw on his face. Her eyes were drawn to his face, so dear, so much missed, although she'd never admit that to anyone else. Once or twice he caught her looking, and she turned away hastily. His eyes held bleakness. Occasionally Lord Castlereagh would turn to his wife for clarification on a point, or just to include her in the conversation. Although Lady Wynter wasn't encouraged in the same way, she wasn't discouraged from adding her part. When Lord Castlereagh asked Vanessa for her opinion on a subject, she was forced to confess, "I'm afraid I know very little, sir. I lived quietly with my mother before this, and I only know what I have read in the newspapers and what my husband has kindly told me." She risked a glance at Lord Vesey, but his still expression gave away nothing. "I'm very keen to learn more. This fascinates me as little before has done. I hope I can prove as useful to my husband as your wife so evidently is to you." Castlereagh patted his wife's hand, and smiled at Vanessa in an avuncular manner. "I'm sure you will, my dear. A man in your husband's position is greatly enhanced by a sensible wife to assist him in his duties." The servants came in to remove the first course, and lay the dishes for the second. Ecarte had provided his usual exquisite selection of perfect dishes, but despite that, neither Vanessa nor Emery had eaten much. Vanessa accepted the compliment, but the exquisite dinner turned to ashes in her mouth and the knot in her stomach increased, the longer the meal went on. Her inner agitation got worse just before she took the ladies in to the drawing room, when Lord Castlereagh said; "I was hoping, Vesey, that you would consider taking Graham here under your wing. Of course, if, with the extra work you have, you think this extra task may overburden you." It was tantamount to a command, and Vesey replied, as he was expected to do; "Not at all, my lord, I would be delighted. I'm sure Mr. Graham will prove an asset." Vanessa took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. She prayed this meant she would see more of Emery, but she also feared it would mean precisely that. Her thoughts in turmoil, she didn't know what she wanted any more. The guests stayed late, discussing affairs into the small hours. Vanessa didn't flag, but kept a weather eye on the refreshments coming, and the candles replaced until they had done. The Wynters excused themselves when the talk of current affairs turned to discussions of a more general nature. When the Castlereaghs, accompanied by Emery, finally left, Vanessa slumped on to the sofa and put her hand over her eyes. Lord Vesey returned to the drawing room and regarded her in silence for a while. "Did you know?" he said quietly. She lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were cold. There was nothing there for her, no way to break through. "No, I swear it," she said. "When I told him I was going to marry you, he said he wouldn't let me go, but I thought it was rhetoric. I'm so sorry, I knew nothing about it." He stood completely still, giving her no clue to his feelings. She waited, the knot in her stomach increasing in the stillness.

Eventually he said; "Yes, I believe you. So," he turned round and strode to the fireplace where a small fire still guttered, not looking at her. "We have your old lover and shortly your mother to deal with. I see my work will be cut out now." He turned back and faced her. "Will you keep your promise?" She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "I'll keep all the promises I made to you." He nodded curtly. Vanessa continued; "and I meant what I said at dinner. I will try and do everything I can to help you in your work. I want to see you succeed." "You want to be the wife of a successful man?" He studied at her for a moment, his face unreadable, and then bowed slightly and went out, saying, as he went; "Good night. Sleep well." At breakfast the next day, Lord Vesey behaved in an alarmingly formal manner. He greeted Vanessa, who had come in before him, with a simple "good morning," and sat down in silence. A large pile of correspondence lay next to his plate. He sifted through them all with the ease of a man used to dealing with paperwork, but stopped at a gold-edged card, and picked it up. "A ball at the palace," he explained. "I think it amounts to an order." He passed the card along the table to her. The invitation was for an event to be held the following week, from the Emperor himself. "Most of the business of this place is done at balls and dinners," Vesey explained to her. "Have you anything suitable to wear?" "I think so," she replied. She had two ball gowns in her luggage, and she rapidly went over them both in her mind. It would have to be the ivory, she decided, it was grander than the other. "If there are to be a lot of these functions, I should order more gowns," she said, apologetically. He nodded absently, his regard on another sheet of paper. "Do as you see fit," he told her. "If you go over your pin money, don't worry, just have the bills sent directly to me." He lifted his eyes to see her anxious expression. "What is it?" The abruptness of the enquiry didn't invite confidences. Vanessa couldn't tell him what was really on her mind. The cause of his coldness, the cause of her distress, was Emery. She searched her mind for another excuse, avoiding what might be a painful scene. "I'm just not used to spending so much on fripperies," she told him. "You'll get over it," he assured her. "Most women do." He returned to his papers, but then sighed and put them down. "It seems," he said to her, in a softer tone, "That we are to see a good deal of Emery Graham. I'll have to shepherd him for a while, if only to make sure he makes no stupid mistakes. This place is a hotbed of gossip and conjecture, and one wrong word can create waves. If you and I are not to spend the whole of that time at each other's heads, I think we need to compromise." He leaned back, waiting for her response. She picked up the coffee-pot and walked around the table to pour him another cup. They breakfasted in the English style; that is, the servants put the food on the sideboard and left them to help themselves. Vanessa poured his coffee out for him, then she put the pot down on its silver stand. "I don't want to be at odds with you," she told him quietly. "I really didn't know that he planned to come, though he did say that he was thinking of starting a political career. He managed to get Lord Hareton's patronage in

England, so perhaps he sent him here." A speculative expression crossed her husband's face. Even when dealing with his personal life, the public broke through. Vanessa supposed she'd have to get used to that. "I wonder what Hareton's interest in all this is? Thank you, my dear, I'll bear that in mind." She went back to her place. He explained. "Lord Hareton is an influential man, allied to Liverpool at the moment, although that's by no means certain. He may just be giving his protégé some experience, testing him so to speak, but it's useful to know that he sent Graham here. Sometimes small pieces of information like that can add up to something bigger. Hareton, for instance, is allied with the Earl of Southwood." Vanessa had heard of Lord Southwood, a very influential man, usually behind the scenes. She understood then, how small pieces of information could lead to larger ones. Lord Vesey went back to his correspondence. Vanessa finished her breakfast and went to dress. Her husband went out shortly after that, back to the Palace. Just as Vanessa thought she might like to venture out to explore the city a little, the doorbell rang. A card was brought in to her in the drawing room, but examining it became redundant when almost immediately she heard the familiar voice in the hall, through the open door. "I'm sure she'll see us. Do let us pass!" She glanced at the butler, who, expressionless, went out and showed her mother in. Vanessa was surprised at how glad she was to see her surviving parent. Mrs. Marriott swept in, followed by three of Vanessa's sisters; Lydia, Anthea and Eudora. Before Vanessa could do anything more than stand up, she was swept into her mother's arms. "Vanessa! How are you, my dear! Oh, but I can see that you're very well!" she continued without pause, standing back to admire her eldest daughter. Vanessa forced a smile, and gestured to the footman who stood waiting for orders. The man went away to fetch some refreshments. "Such a bold colour for you!" continued Mrs. Marriott, critically examining her daughter, dressed for the day in a gown of deep green. "Still, I suppose the fashion is changing now! I cannot say I entirely approve, but there!" She sighed heavily. Her disapprobation was probably because the pastel colours in vogue for so long suited her mother's rich, dark hair and clear complexion admirably, something all Mrs. Marriott's girls had been made all too aware of. Vanessa felt her mother no longer had the right to comment on her clothes, though she knew that wouldn't stop Mrs. Marriott doing it. She greeted her sisters while her mother continued to talk. "Such a dreadful journey it was! All the time worried that that dreadful little man would catch up with us." Mrs. Marriott rarely let Bonaparte's name cross her lips. "Terrible inns, dreadful service! I suppose it was different for you, my dear?"

Vanessa had to admit that it was. "We travelled very fast. How did you get here so quickly, Mama?" "We had nearly a week's start on you," her mother reminded her. "We had no cause to stop for a week in London!" Vanessa had forgotten that, so much had happened since. So, her mother and sisters had been on the road a week longer than she had, and in the sort of conditions she recalled only too vividly. Her mother didn't believe in wasting unnecessary funds on things that didn't matter, like travelling. They only stayed at the best inns when someone else they knew was present, to make it seem as though they did it all the time. Vanessa suspected her mother had borrowed the funds for the venture, but didn't ask, afraid her contribution would be solicited. She wasn't sure how her husband would feel about that, although she was pretty sure he would happily pay for them to return home in whatever style they pleased. Mrs. Marriott and her daughters were not the kind of complication welcome to either of them at present. Vanessa took Lydia over to one of the two long sofas that presently sat against the end walls of the large room, and the others followed. They sat down, and Vanessa took a seat close to them. Her mother took the chair opposite. Her person radiated satisfaction and triumph. "When I saw the outside of the building I thought you had it all, but I understand that these apartments are quite the thing here! True, it is smaller than you may be accustomed to, but it's furnished in the first style, and it's in the best district! We are well out of the way, and have to take a hack everywhere, but there is enough room for us all. I can't see us doing much entertaining from that place, though!" Vanessa watched her sisters and noticed Lydia's shudder. She would have to visit them in their lodgings, but their place of residence didn't sound salubrious. "We only have the two bedrooms here," she said apologetically, "we're very comfortable." At least she couldn't ask her family to stay. Relations with her husband were at a delicate position, and would continue to be until they knew each other better, and her mother wouldn't help that at all. She probably wouldn't notice a thing, and put a spoke in the wheel immediately. Her mother wasn't the most noticing of women, where matters outside her own particular sphere were concerned. "I think it's beautiful," Lydia remarked. "Like a jewel, tucked away here. This room must be large enough to entertain in." She looked at Vanessa pointedly. Vanessa tried not to sigh. "Indeed," she agreed. "We had a few guests to dinner last night, but that was the first time." Mrs. Marriott was instantly interested. "Anyone interesting?" she asked. She leaned forward a little in her seat, and clasped her hands together. "No one for you to be interested in, mama," Vanessa answered. "No one with eligible sons. Lord Castlereagh and his wife —" She got no further. "Nobody I would be interested in!" her mother cried in utter amazement, "Why, think of all the people he could introduce us to! Speaking of which —" She smiled in a conspiratorial way. "We had a stroke of fortune on the journey. In…Oh, some Godforsaken place, I don't know!" she shrugged. "We met General Allingham and got up quite a useful acquaintance! Just imagine! Four sons!" She stared at Vanessa, eyes glittering, waiting for admiration. Vanessa said faintly, "Just imagine!" "I could marry these three and have one over!" her mother cried in triumph.

Just as though they were cattle, Vanessa thought. She noticed that Lydia seemed quite reconciled to her fate. "Did you like General Allingham?" she asked her. "He seemed quite pleasant to me," Lydia replied, her pretty countenance animated, "and his sons are interesting." Vanessa stared at her sister. Lydia rarely took an interest in the young gentlemen she was expected to meet. No one had set a spark in her heart as Emery Graham had in Vanessa's. Mrs. Marriott interrupted, anxious to tell Vanessa herself. "I suppose you are to attend the ball tomorrow? Well, the General has been kind enough to ask us to accompany him! All of us!" "That's very kind of him," Vanessa murmured. "He sounds a very genial type of man. Has he a wife?" "What does that signify?" Mrs. Marriott said with impatience. "Really, Vanessa, you were always so slow on the uptake! No, he is a widower of some years' standing, but he has four sons of marriageable age, you goose! They aren't without a penny or two, I can tell you!" "How can you know that?" "I asked," her mother replied simply. "Oh, not in a direct way, you understand!" Vanessa understood. She remembered the discreet enquiries, the roundabout conversations leading to one thing. Was this one eligible? Was he worth the time and effort that it would take to draw him in? At least Lord Vesey had acted so quickly Mrs. Marriott had had little time for her usual machinations. She could well have driven him off. Vanessa was mildly surprised to find she was alarmed at the thought. She had found a wealthy, interesting man to marry, and that was her triumph surely, not this other, more personal emotion, creeping up on her. Friendship, that was it. She liked her husband, had liked him from the moment he'd been introduced to her. "What about you?" she turned to her other sisters, until now sitting silently next to each other, seemingly content to follow the conversation. Vanessa knew better. One of her mother's dearest maxims was that a gentleman liked to be listened to, and the woman who knew how to listen would keep him longest. They were practising. "Well," said Eudora, at twenty the youngest sister present, "they were very assured, very pleasant. But…" She frowned. "The one who was most interested in me had such bad skin! I couldn't imagine…well…being close to him!" Vanessa laughed. "Foiled, Mama!" Mrs. Marriott's response was to shrug her shoulders petulantly. "She'll do as she is told. You're a good girl, aren't you Eudora?" Eudora looked down at her hands, demurely folded together in her lap. "Yes, mama," she replied, but she didn't fool her sisters. Vanessa heard the outer door open. At the same time the door at the other end of the room opened and a maid entered bearing tea and refreshments. A footman followed her and lifted a little table to put at Vanessa's side, where the maid then laid out the tea things. Mrs. Marriott watched approvingly. Instead of the butler with a card, Lord Vesey came through the other door. He came over to Vanessa first and took her hand, before turning to make an elegant bow to her mother and sisters.

Cummings followed behind, so Vanessa introduced him to her sisters. She asked the men if they would take some tea. They had to agree, for politeness' sake. "I didn't think to see you back so early, sir," she said to her husband. He lifted an eyebrow cynically. "Disappointed?" but he ameliorated his remark by one of his warm smiles. "No, of course not. I thought you were fixed at the Palace for the day." "I had something that needed depositing in the safe," he said. Vanessa noticed then, that Mr. Cummings had a slim folder tucked under his arm. The safe was in the study. Up to now it had only contained Vanessa's jewellery. Cummings took the hint, bowed and left the room, presumably to put the folder in the safe. The footman returned and placed two more chairs for Lord Vesey and his secretary to occupy. Vesey smiled his thanks and sat down. Cummings returned in short order and Vanessa passed him a dish of tea. "Such a charming apartment, sir!" Mrs. Marriott declared. "I can't claim any credit for finding it, I'm afraid. I used it last year, and kept it available. Cummings found it in the first place," his lordship replied. "I had…other things on my mind." He glanced at his wife and they exchanged a small smile, a little shyly in Vanessa's case. She caught a sharp, bird-like glance from her mother as she observed the exchange. Mrs. Marriott missed very little. His lordship turned his attention back to his wife's mother and his face changed smoothly to his habitual expression of polite interest. "I met a General Allingham this morning who said he had met you," he said. Vanessa was surprised by his perspicacity but not overwhelmingly so. Her husband collected information, as another might collect objets d'art. "Yes indeed! Such a gentleman!" Mrs. Marriott declared. "You seem to have made quite an impression on him," Vesey observed. "I think I'm a little beyond saving, sir," Mrs. Marriott said. "I have great hopes for my daughters. The Allinghams seemed quite taken with my girls." "Really?" Vesey said. "He didn't mention that." "Did you know him before?" Vanessa asked. "No," he replied. He turned his head to her. "I've heard of his reputation. He's spent most of his adult life in the field, but his late wife chose to follow the drum, so they managed a large family between them. His sons have taken various courses in life, two in the army, another in the navy, and one civilian, but apart from giving them his blessing, he doesn't interfere. He came to bring news from the field." "Oh! Is it good?" Vanessa was anxious to hear the reply. Lord Vesey shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Bonaparte is gathering troops around him faster every day. A confrontation seems inevitable. Wellington is mustering the army as quickly as he can, and intelligence

officers have been sent everywhere to find out what they may." "Oh no!" Vanessa put her hand up to her chest; to still her quickened breathing. She was suddenly afraid, her small problems thrust into perspective by the news. Her husband immediately understood. "It's your brother, isn't it?" "Yes. He's only two and twenty. He knows nothing of the army. He'll be killed for sure!" Vanessa's panic rose. Her brother was her vulnerability. He'd stolen his way into her heart very early, and now claimed a firm place there. Vesey put out a hand and laid it gently over hers, where it lay on the arm of her chair. "I'll find out what I can. Which regiment is he with?" Vanessa couldn't remember for a moment, but her mother could, and she told him. "I should be able to find out where they are," Vesey said. "It shouldn't take long." Vanessa smiled at him gratefully. His expression warmed just before he removed his hand. He was as good as his word. When Mrs. Marriott had taken her daughters away, with a promise to return for dinner before the ball tomorrow night - she had been careful to elicit that favour from Vanessa - Lord Vesey returned to the conference. He came home later in the day with news for her. "Your brother's regiment is in Belgium with the bulk of the army," he told her. "It's the safest place he can be at the moment." "Thank you." She met his gaze. "It's very kind of you to find out for me." "Think nothing of it," he answered mechanically. She was in the drawing room, waiting for the guests for the evening. More politicians, more talk of the trouble, but she welcomed it. "I suppose I shouldn't worry so much about George," she confessed, "he is my younger brother, and I am used to caring for him." "He's two and twenty," he reminded her. "Full grown. You must allow him to make his way in the world." "Yes," she said. "I know, but I'm so used to thinking of him as my little brother. Habit I suppose. And I love him." "I can see that," he said gently. "It's to your credit that you think so much of him." She flushed. "It's natural. About Emery - " "Yes?" "I think maybe the sooner I accustom myself to regard him as an old friend the better. Society knows how it was between us, so they'll be watching, but I promise, I won't compromise myself or do anything wrong." "I expected that much," he replied. "I appreciate you telling me. I would have liked a little time with you alone, to accustom ourselves to each other, but we have to blame Bonaparte for our not having that. If you can bear with all this now, when it's over, would you like to go somewhere quiet, see what we can

make of our marriage?" She answered him without hesitation. Laying a hand on his arm she answered, "Yes," and was rewarded by his intimate smile. The next week before the ball at the palace was filled with activity, but Vanessa's days gained their own pattern. She began to feel more settled, less unsure. She would visit, be visited or go out to the fashionable shops or the park in the mornings, and then prepare for dinner. Either they would visit, or they would entertain. They never dined alone. She slipped into the role of political hostess with pleasurable ease, surprised herself with her own success. She read the papers, quizzed her husband in the rare times they were alone together. Occasionally he gave her one of his dispatches to read, the papers that contained information not for general public knowledge. Vanessa appreciated his trust in her. He trusted her to lock them up in the safe when she'd finished with them. Some were encrypted, a mixture of symbols, letters and numbers she couldn't begin to decipher, but he explained to her that once the recipient had the 'key,' it was easy. "I appreciate your help," she told him. "Not at all," he responded "I'll get my reward, I'm sure. You're an intelligent woman, Vanessa, and it helps enormously to discuss matters with someone I can trust." Again, Vanessa felt a warmth which had nothing to do with desire. She felt wanted, a new feeling for her, and a very welcome one. He began to discuss the odd issue with her, listen to her opinion as though he valued it. Vanessa saw little of Emery during that week. Lord Vesey kept him busy at the Palace, studying and running errands, but he came to dinner once, and Vanessa managed to keep her countenance. She was glad of the practice, because she had to face Emery on the night of the ball at the palace, when he would come to the dinner she was holding beforehand. Her mother was coming too. When Vanessa was faced with the guest list, she suddenly realised why Mrs. Marriott and her daughters were not the most popular dinner guests. She had to find four spare, single men to balance them with. In a larger gathering, this was relatively easy, but with a smaller dinner party, it threatened to become a nightmare. An afternoon spent chewing a pen to pieces over a list with more crossings out than names eventually gave her success. General Allingham for her mother, and one of his sons for Lydia. Cummings for Eudora. After a great deal of heart searching she decided upon Emery for Anthea. She had to get used to him as a friend, or cut the connection entirely, and she felt to do so would break her heart. On the night of the ball, Robbins dressed her mistress very carefully. Vanessa wore the diamond and pearl set with the cream gown that Madame Francombe had been so insistent to get right. When she saw herself arrayed ready, she had to admit Madame had been right. It was even worth the hour and a half it took to dress. The gown was in just the right shade of cream to compliment her skin, and bring out its richness. A cooler shade, or a paler one, would have emphasised its sallow quality, but this colour was lovely. The hem and the small, short sleeves were decorated with elaborate cut-work, and seed pearl embroidery. The bodice had a little more décolleté than she usually allowed herself, but Vanessa had a good bosom, enough to support such a display. She'd look out of place in anything demurely made up to the chin, and she wanted to fit in, not stand out in any odd fashion.

Ribboned glove garters held up her long, above above-the the-elbow gloves. When she moved her necklace flashed in the light. The jewellery would be even better later when the May evening had deepened into night, and the candles were lit. Since Vanessa stood alone in the room, she preened a little, held her chin up and stared at herself haughtily in the mirror, dropped her chin again and tried flirtatious. Flirtatious didn't work, but she liked haughty. Her husband was expert at presenting a cool demeanour to the world, and she didn't want to let him down by assuming a pose she couldn't keep up. Turning, she saw Robbins watching her with a strange expression on her face. She could have sworn it was hatred, but told herself she must be mistaken. Pleased with her appearance, she went to meet her husband in the drawing room. He was immaculately, but quietly attired in a black cutaway coat, pale blue waistcoat and breeches. The pin she had given him was his only jewellery. He held his hand out to her; the lines about his mouth became less stern. "Beautiful," he commented. "Elegant," she corrected him. "Wait and see," he promised her. "I'll keep to beautiful. I think Metternich will, as well." He paused at her frown puzzlement. "Haven't I told you about him? He's one to watch, after any woman he considers worth it. He'll flirt and want more. We're allied to him, so please be careful not to upset him." "I will," she said. The guests began to arrive shortly afterwards. This was a more private dinner, with friends and family, not a political meeting. All Vanessa had to do was watch that everyone was behaving, that no one was being ignored, and keep the wine circulating. She watched her husband at the other end of the table. He was effortlessly conversing, picking up the threads of one conversation, weaving it into another, avoiding the difficult. She admired his skill. Her mother was in her element, working hard with her daughters. She wasn't pleased that Emery had been chosen to squire one of them. She'd already rejected Emery as a possible suitor. He behaved impeccably. He didn't look once in Vanessa's direction, gave all his attention to his partner. Vanessa felt a pang, but pragmatically assumed that this would happen for some time to come, and resolved to ignore it as much as she could. She missed Emery, found herself thinking of him, what he would say, how he would behave. She tried not to, but she didn't seem to be able to help it. He glanced at her a few times during the meal, but steeled for his presence, she didn't return his regard. The palace in Vienna, the Hofburg, lay straggled along the Ringstrasse. It was a long, varied collection of buildings containing public and private apartments, including the place where Lord Vesey spent most of his days, the Privy Court Chancery. That was where the Congress met, nominally, but Vanessa now knew that it split off into little groups, interested in each other's aims for one reason or another. The real work happened in small offices, dining rooms like her own, and glittering assemblies like the one she was about to attend. She took a deep breath as Lord Vesey helped her to descend from the carriage when they arrived. Although he must have seen her nervousness, he didn't comment on it other than to murmur; "I have every confidence in you." How she wished it was Emery Graham by her side! Instantly she felt treacherous for thinking it, but

sometimes her heart led her where she did not wish to go. She hoped it would get better over time, and end with her not thinking of Emery at all.

Chapter Nine

The ballroom glittered under the hundreds of candles adorning the candelabra, wall sconces and huge chandeliers above the guests' heads. Everywhere the room was decorated with ormolu, gilt, and for all she knew, real gold. As Lord Vesey's party was announced a few heads turned, and a few remained turned, to stare at Lord Vesey's new bride. Vanessa put her chin up in the way she'd practised in her room earlier, and was rewarded by an equally haughty look from her lord. Their dinner guests followed them in. The first person to come forward was Prince Metternich. "My lord!" Vanessa curtseyed low, and when she emerged, she met a pair of intelligent, grey blue eyes, examining her with some appreciation. The slight smile his highness wore was customary, evinced by the portraits and engravings she'd seen of him in Vienna houses and shops. He appeared to be a very good-humoured gentleman. From what Vesey had told her Vanessa knew he dominated this conference, and to do that amongst such distinguished company took more than high birth. He was a good-looking man, and he seemed to know it, perfectly poised. She saw a challenge in his eyes which had nothing to do with politics. "I thought you might wait for the best," he said to her husband, who bowed his thanks. "I had little time to think of my own life until last year, sir," Vesey replied. "I was fortunate to meet a woman I wanted to make my wife so quickly." "Fortunate that she accepted you as quickly!" Metternich said. His slight accent enhanced his appeal. Vanessa saw why his conquests were legion, how he dominated a great assembly like this one. One couldn't ignore Metternich. "Indeed, sir," Vesey agreed. After soliciting a dance from her, Metternich moved on to greet other guests. He seemed to be everywhere, and know where everyone was. Discreetly followed by servants and admirers, he made his way through the crowds, greeting and ignoring people who wanted to speak to him. "He likes you," Vesey murmured. Remembering the look in Metternich's eyes, Vanessa didn't know whether to be happy or concerned about this piece of news, but she was glad for her husband's sake. The principals in this Congress were all present tonight. As opportunity allowed, Vanessa was presented to them all. She thought with some amusement of her Presentation at Court several years ago and how nervous she'd been then. This was several Presentations rolled into one. Before he took her to meet each person, Vesey prompted her with a brief sentence or two, describing the politics of each person and how the British delegation stood in regard to them. Vanessa wondered how people managed without such a knowledgeable person by their side. It was all too easy to commit a social solecism.

They approached the King of Prussia. Frederick William III was the son of Frederick the Great, who had set the last century alight. "Easily persuaded, a widower, humiliated by Bonaparte and out for revenge," Vesey tersely murmured. A young man with unprepossessing features, Vanessa thought, easily overlooked were it not for his position. The real power in his government was the old and wily, Prince Karl August von Hardenberg, who barely spared Vanessa a glance. The Czar of Russia was next. "A domestic reformer, moderate intelligence, wants to be a great power in Europe, careful here." Alexander I was kind, but distant. Vanessa saw a well upholstered, middle aged man with long side-whiskers and a flashy military uniform. She met the Emperor of Austria briefly, an old man. "Only interested in domestic matters." Vesey took her on to meet Talleyrand. Everyone had heard of this fantastical man. An ex-clergyman, excommunicated during the years of the Revolution, the son of a nobleman who repudiated him, the man who left Bonaparte at the height of the Emperor's power, who subsequently arranged Bonaparte's second marriage, a womaniser. Vesey's murmured comments remained down to earth and to the point. "No real power here, vast influence, knows his enemies and how to use them, mistress Dorothea in residence but not here." Vanessa made her curtsey and rose to look into a pair of shrewd grey eyes set in a massive face graven with lines of care and living. She knew she would never forget this man. He had presence, more than the kings and emperors here. Talleyrand could never be ignored. He was in his early sixties, but still upright and vigorous. He looked dangerous, too intelligent, too knowing. He also had bad breath. Vanessa tried to forget who the powerful men she met were, what they meant to the world. That way she would be able to meet them with a steadier demeanour, speak to them like a sensible woman instead of giving the appearance of a stammering ninny. Time enough later to remember their consequence. They bore their importance in different ways, some self important, some, like Prince Metternich, not needing the pomp of affairs like this to enforce their consequence. It worked with everyone except Talleyrand. The dancing began, and Vanessa danced with her husband. She knew people were watching her, but only people who knew who her husband was. She would never set a ballroom alight, she thought, as she had seen certain society beauties do. Then Metternich claimed her. He danced very well, and she felt a little uncertain being whirled around the ballroom in his arms, as she had when she had first danced with Vesey. When she was dancing with the Prince, Vanessa passed her mother, dancing with General Allingham. The General had turned out to be a man of about sixty, with an excellent address and figure, just the kind of man her mother liked. She wondered about his financial prospects, but knew Mrs. Marriott wouldn't be wasting her time if he were penniless. After the dance, the Prince took her to get some refreshment, and spoke to her kindly. "I hope to see more of you as this conference progresses," he told her. "Your husband is a most clever man, and he is making a distinct impression here." Diplomat language, Vanessa thought, smiling her thanks. He hadn't said what kind of impression, nor what he thought about Vesey, but it sounded like a compliment, so Vanessa thanked him. She sipped the ice-cold wine he'd found for her. "I hope you'll forgive my inexperience, sir," she ventured. "This is new

to me, but I'm learning fast." "I'm sure you are," he replied, but the look he gave her seemed to indicate more than she meant. "Your inexperience could be most charming, in the right circumstances." She smiled, since it seemed to be expected, and received a light, charming kiss on her hand in return. "A diamond," the Prince continued quietly, so only she could hear. "Of the first water. You will be an asset to your husband, I am sure." She knew it was flattery, but she enjoyed it. Such little flattery had come her way in recent years. "I mean to do my best." "Do you love him?" the question was so personal, so unexpected, it took her completely off guard. Was this a technique he used in the conference chamber? "I…I," she began, but he interrupted her reply with a charming smile. "I can see you do," he said soothingly. Both of them knew he couldn't see anything of the kind, Vanessa saw it in the warm, speculative way he regarded her. Vanessa felt he had found something out about her she hadn't wanted him to. "Perhaps you would do me the honour of allowing me to call on you," he said. "Privately, one day when we can converse more easily." He bowed. "I have to speak to so many people tonight, but I cannot leave you on your own." Vanessa wasn't sure how to avoid his attentions without seeming rude, but she had no intention of allowing any liberties, which would only lead to one thing. She suspected her husband of some possessiveness, perhaps even jealousy, and considering the short time they'd been married, she didn't blame him. Metternich turned to one of his aides. "Could you see her ladyship back to her husband for me?" The man bowed and came forward. "I hope to see you again. Soon?" Vanessa curtseyed, her heart thumping, and he was gone, leaving her to return to her party on the arm of his aide. Lord Vesey had kept a discreet watch on the encounter. "Well?" he said quietly. "You're right, he likes me," she told him. He raised an eyebrow. "You're flushed. Were his compliments so personal?" "Yes. He asked if he could visit me privately. Soon." "Oh!" there was a pause. Looking away, as though telling her about someone else in the room, he said; "I hope you realise I don't expect you to go that far in your loyalty to our cause!" She stopped a gurgle of laughter, not seemly here. "I've no intention of proving my loyalty to you or my country like that!" she replied, and had the satisfaction of hearing a slight choke in response. "Come on," he said. "Other people want to meet you."

She met and danced with a variety of dignitaries that evening, and it was almost a relief to dance with Lord Castlereagh. She knew him, and she knew how devoted he was to his wife. No danger there of inadvertently letting out some state secret, of which she now knew quite a few. She could admit her liking for him without it being interpreted as anything else. While Metternich's hadn't been the only approach, his had been the most blatant. Castlereagh seemed to like her, too, and he took her back for a few words with his wife when the dance had done. Lady Emily took one look at her and barked out, in a voice that could have been heard from one end of the ballroom to the other, had anyone been listening; "Fine as fivepence, Lady Vesey! Your elegance knocks spots off some of the people tonight! Don't you think so, my lord?" She waited expectantly for her husband, who was then expected to agree with her, and offend everyone standing within earshot. Her slight deafness combined with her forthright nature occasionally led her into these sorts of comments, but those who knew her almost expected it. Vanessa heard a voice behind her. "I consider my wife to be superior in any company." She had never been so glad to hear Lord Vesey before. He could say that, he would almost be expected to, but he was the only man in the room tonight who could do so with impunity. She turned and looked at him with gratitude, only to see a startling warmth in his countenance. He really was the most consummate diplomat, she thought. He bowed to the Castlereaghs and would have borne her off, but Emery Graham stood in front of them. "May I ask for the pleasure of your company for the next waltz?" he asked Vanessa. Instinctively, she looked up at her husband. That surprising expression of a moment before had gone, to be replaced by his usual grave demeanour. "It might be advisable," was all he said. Vanessa understood what he meant. If she refused Emery, all the people who knew her history would begin to speculate, one way or another, but if she accepted him under the aegis of her husband, it would help to smooth over any gossip. The orchestra would be moving to the country-dances again soon. Vanessa only wished Emery had asked her to stand up for one of those. She didn't want such close contact as the waltz afforded him. She took Emery's arm and let him lead her on to the floor. When he put his arm around her, she was forcibly reminded of times in the past, in private when he had held her in just such a way. Before tonight he'd never been allowed to in public. The waltz was still considered a trifle fast in England, and certainly not for unmarried ladies. Her mother had stuck rigidly to the conventions. The closeness meant they could talk in relative privacy, so after she had accustomed herself to his movements, she said; "It was kind of you to think of doing it like that, Emery." Her voice dripped acidity. His eyes widened in surprise. "What?" "Ask me to dance when I was with Vesey." "Really? I never thought of that!" he answered her. "It was just seeing how adorable you are, I couldn't think of any other way to touch you, and I felt I just had to!"

"Emery!" The heat rushed to her cheeks. He seemed determined to impose on her the intimacy she wanted to avoid. "You look wonderful, Vanessa, never better." After a slight pause, he added, abruptly, "Is he treating you well?" "What?" "I can't talk to you. It's killing me to see you so close and not be able to talk to you, to touch you! I need to know. Are you happy, has he…does he…" "That," she replied firmly, "Is none of your business, Emery Graham!" With a shock, she realised it was true. "Only the business of one who loves you," he said quietly. She regarded him frankly. "In that case," she answered him, "Yes. I am a true wife to him, and he treats me well." "Oh, Vanessa!" She heard the agony in his voice, and realised what he must now be going through. If it had been the other way about…if he had married, would she have felt the same? She rather thought she would. "It's done now, Emery," she told him. "I must abide by it." His arm tightened the smallest bit about her waist, and she felt that she would have given anything to kiss him. Just a kiss! "No," he said fiercely. "It's not done! I'll never accept it, never! I'll be here always, I'll always love you, always be here for you! I'm not giving up." "What can you do?" She wished he would go away, leave her to get on with her new life, but at the same time she felt she couldn't bear to part with him. "I can wait for you. One day, he'll hurt you, I know he will. He's a hard man, Vanessa; I've seen him at work. I'll be there." She looked at him doubtfully. She didn't think Lord Vesey would hurt her. "What's he like at work?" she asked. "Efficient, thorough, but he brooks no mistakes." "Have you made any mistakes?" "No, not I, but he watches for me to make them. I'm sure he's waiting for an excuse." They danced in silence for a moment. Vanessa glanced around, relieved that they were not attracting too much attention. "He's good," Emery continued bitterly. "Very good. He can get to the heart of things in a few minutes, and then, if he wants to prevaricate, nothing will make him say what he doesn't want to. In other circumstances, I would have appreciated the chance to work with him." "You should keep trying at your work," Vanessa said. "Forget me; make a career for yourself."

That brought the inevitable response, "I'll never forget you!" She hoped one day he would. Or at least, not forget her, but find happiness. She hated the thought that Emery would be waiting forever, ruin his life waiting for her. His continued attention tore Vanessa apart. She had married Lord Vesey, had made an honest bargain with him. Until Emery had reappeared on the scene, she had been on the way of attaining a very good understanding with her husband. She still meant to cleave to that, to refuse Emery, but she couldn't stop her feelings for her erstwhile suitor all at once. She'd spent six years waiting and hoping, and it was hard to discontinue the habit. She could control her mind, the way she thought, but her heart was another thing. When she felt Emery so close, something else occurred to her for the first time ever. During the six years they had waited, he could have been making himself a career, and they might not have had to part. If he'd worked, as Vesey had, and made himself a place in the world, she could easily have parted with him for a time, with the prospect of a life together in the future. He made her feel venal for marrying as she did, and small minded, but instead of speculating on the shares market and hanging around great men, he might have worked. Then she wouldn't have had to marry Vesey. Her growing dissatisfaction with her life before marriage hadn't been just the money. It had been a desire to be of some use, to do some good for someone somewhere, to give her life some purpose. And to be close to George. Here in Vienna she was no closer to him than she had been in Bath, but she could be of more use to him here, could keep in touch, perhaps arrange his safety. As she thought of George, she looked over Emery's shoulder to the door. She saw him. She must be dreaming, surely he was in Belgium with his regiment? When Vanessa strained her head to keep her gaze on her brother, to try to make sure it was him and not some other soldier - there were plenty of military uniforms on show tonight - Emery noticed. He glanced over to the door. "It is him, isn't it?" she asked "Yes," he confirmed. "It's your brother." "Oh, won't you please take me over to him? I've been so worried about him!" Smiling, Emery led her off the floor. "It's been wonderful to hold you in his arms, something I've dreamed of for weeks." Vanessa hardly heard him. Not caring who watched her, she flung herself at George. "Oh George, George! It's so good to see you!" "Here, Vessa!" said her brother, no doubt alarmed by the vehemence of her response, "Mind my uniform! Best bib and tucker tonight!" She laughed shakily and let him go, standing back a little to study him properly. George explained to a distinctly startled matron standing nearby, "M'sister. I've been in the wars." The lady smiled her understanding and moved away to give them more privacy. Or to gossip, Vanessa didn't care which.

George was every inch the soldier. He'd even grown side-whiskers, a fashionable addition to any officer's wardrobe. Vanessa couldn't stop smiling. Then she looked around guiltily, remembering where she was. "How could you, George?" she said in mock reproach. "Coming to me here, giving me such a shock!" He grinned. "I couldn't resist," he confessed. "Got here this afternoon, but decided to come to you here in all my glory! I see you have upstaged me. Look at you! Marriage suits you, or am I mistaken?" She flushed and glanced away for a moment, acutely aware of Emery's presence by her side. "I like being married, certainly," she confessed. It was all she could say, all she knew so far. She saw her husband coming up to join them, and turned to him eagerly. "Did you know about this?" He smiled down at her. "I had some small influence." "Is that why you asked me what regiment he was in? Oh Chris, thank you!" she was so pleased she didn't notice her rare use of her husband's Christian name, or the effect it had on him. "George, what are you doing here?" she demanded. "Got sent with some papers or other. Don't know, not my style, but they seemed awfully keen on them getting here fast. Only got a few days though, old girl. Got to make a quick turnaround!" The smile left her face. "Yes. How is it, George? Is it bad?" Surprise crossed his features, his eyebrows lifted and eyes widened. "Bad?" he echoed. "To tell you the truth, Vessa, never been better in my life! I know I joined up to try to repair our fortunes, but I couldn't have chosen a better life for myself if I tried!" Vanessa halted, her hand on her husband's arm. "You like it?" she glanced up at Vesey's face, but he gave nothing away. "Above all things!" George answered. "The danger…the threat of death, of injury!" George gave a little shrug. "You can't wrap yourself in silk all your life!" he said. "Got to face things sooner or later! It's unfortunate, sure, but Vessa, I've never felt more alive!" Vanessa studied him. It was true, his stance had changed in the short time since she had seen him last, he stood up straighter, appeared stronger, somehow. There was no doubting that he looked wonderful in his regimentals. Every inch the soldier, in fact. "Where are you staying?" "Oh they've found me a billet in the corner of the palace," he told her. "I think I've displaced some poor servant, but all I need is a place to lay my head for a few days!" He glanced around. "Where's Mama?" Emery came forward. "I'll take you," he said quietly. He and George went off together. Vanessa looked up at her husband. "It was you, wasn't it?" she said. "Thank you!" He put his hand over hers where it lay on his arm. "You needed to know how he was," he said. "How did you do it?" "The papers he referred to so carelessly are in fact very important to us. I needed someone I could trust to bring them, and I was allowed to name my man."

"Oh Chris, I'm so pleased to see him! Thank you!" He smiled down at her. "Thank me by dancing with me again. They're going to start on the country dances and quadrilles soon; it's the last chance I'll have to waltz with you again tonight." Delighted, she let him lead her on to the floor. Mrs. Marriott's joy at seeing her son wasn't as unconfined as her eldest daughter's had been, but she was pleased to see him. She was not an unfeeling woman, but an intensely practical one, and the prospect of losing what inheritance there was to a barely acknowledged second cousin, gave her pause for thought. She lived in straightened circumstances now, but it was nothing to what to expect if she was left on her own, with four daughters as a further drag on her, for she'd never get rid of them then, even with Vanessa's help. General Allingham was the delighted recipient of her increased favours that evening. Mrs. Marriott decided she would rid herself of at least one of her beloved daughters to one of his sons. She flattered him with her attention, charmed him with her smile, all under the amused stare of her son. George himself was besieged by young ladies, ostensibly wanting to hear about affairs in the forefront of the army, but in reality to make themselves acquainted with such a charming young man. "I think," said Lord Vesey to his wife, "We must invite some of them to keep him company when he comes to dinner. It might be amusing to see them play." They left shortly after Castlereagh did, and Vanessa noticed that most of the dignitaries were filtering away. "A hard time ahead," her husband explained briefly. "We all need our sleep." He came to her that night. She wore a fresh night rail and her hair was a little looser than usual, out of the tight braids she generally wore at night. His heart missed a beat when he saw her, waiting for him. She welcomed him into her bed, and he felt a response when he kissed her. Her mouth opened under his, for only the second time since they had been married. Delighted, he pressed home his advantage, and leaned her back against the pillows as he kissed her, but was very careful not to alarm her. He was aware of her inexperience and consequent fear. Concerned for her comfort, he wouldn't allow himself to cause her any distress. She reached her arms up to him and tentatively put them around his waist. Inwardly he rejoiced at this small development. When he entered her this time, she felt more open, more welcoming, and he allowed himself a little more passion, but not too much. He was so afraid of frightening her, putting her off this for the rest of their married lives. It was worth a period of restraint, of extra care to enable her to accustom herself to his attentions. His inexperience with respectable women made him deeply unsure, almost a different breed to the women he'd consorted with before his marriage. His climax came, filling him with luxurious warmth, and almost as soon as it was over he moved off her, so as not to crush her. When he held out his arm, she moved into it, seemingly feeling it was not something to be afraid of any more. However brave she'd been, he knew she's been terrified at first, felt it as though her terror was his own. "We're getting better at this," he commented, his voice lower and softer than usual. "It's kind of you to say 'we'," she said.

He didn't reply immediately, but looked at her face, studying it. "You are beautiful," he said. "So many people said it tonight, didn't you notice?" "I thought it was because I was properly dressed, for once," she answered. "Not in one of those thin white muslin gowns I used to hate so much." "They just disguised what you are." He watched her flush with delight at the compliment. "Is marriage suiting you?" he asked then. A complex question, considering she didn't marry her first choice, and one he'd avoided asking for some time. She gave him an answer. "In general, yes," she told him. "But I don't like the way men assume that I'm available to offers, just because I'm married." He frowned. "Who does that?" he demanded, instantly fiercely possessive. "Oh, almost everyone tonight," she replied. She put her hand on his chest. Even through his nightshirt he felt the gentle warmth, and it meant a great deal to him that she wanted to do it. He smiled his encouragement. "I don't think they do it on purpose. I think they just assume things." "I see." He closed his eyes, savouring her closeness, then opened them on her face again. "We'll have to see what we can do to discourage that." "Oh no," she said. "I daresay I'll get used to it." "If they go too far, you'll tell me?" "Yes," she promised. Hearing the truth in her tone, he kissed her again. "I'll let you get some sleep." Gently he released her and got out of bed. He stopped, and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Thank you my dear." It was the closest he'd come to discussing what Emery Graham, meant to Vanessa. Vesey still couldn't ask the question he really wanted to, for fear he would get the answer he dreaded. Was she still in love with him?

Chapter Ten

Walking in the part of the Hofburg open to the public, Vanessa's mother gestured at a door and asked, "What's in here?" Vanessa studied the closed door with its Austrian lettering. She had very little of the language, but enough to decipher it. "I believe it's the gymnasium, Mama." "What's it like?" "How should I know?" said Vanessa, nettled. "I've never been in there."

"What do they do?" Vanessa sighed. "It's where the men exercise." She knew this would only encourage her mother to make further enquiries. "I thought we were going to look at the Lipizaner horses?" Mrs. Marriott ignored her daughter's prompt. "People can watch, can't they?" "I believe so, but not here." There was a flight of stairs leading up. "Shall we go and see the horses?" asked Vanessa, giving it a second try. "They can wait!" her mother declared, waving the prospect of the Lipizaners away with an airy hand. "We can see them another day. They do displays, don't they?" "Carousels," Vanessa corrected her. The horses performed elaborate displays known as Carousels, and Vanessa had been looking forward to seeing the show. Her mother had lost interest in the four-legged entertainment on offer. "Let's look in here first." Sighing, Vanessa obliged. Followed by Robbins, they climbed the stone staircase and found the viewing gallery. It was nearly full. They found a couple of seats about half way up the gentle tier with difficulty, and Robbins had to wait at the back. Almost all the viewers were ladies, and all the participants on the polished wooden floor of the gymnasium were men. They were engaged in physical activities of all kinds, some fencing, some exercising on pommel horses and ropes, and in a corner, a couple of men were wrestling. Vanessa felt the hot flush rise to her cheeks. Could this shameless ogling of half naked men really be allowed? Many of the participants down below were stripped to the waist, gleaming with sweat from their exertions. Vanessa saw another kind of gleam in her mother's eye. Looking around Vanessa recognised some of the ladies in the gallery, respectable women she had an acquaintance with, and some she didn't know. She was satisfied that it wasn't altogether improper to be seen there. The scene below transfixed all. Spectators sometimes exchanging a whispered or giggled word with their neighbours. The gymnasium was very well equipped. The men seemed intent on their activities, but every now and again one would glance up and look at the watching women. They knew what those women were doing there, ogling and admiring. The gymnasium was as much a part of the marriage market as the ballrooms and fashionable drawing rooms, or the shops, where her sisters were this morning. It was only Vanessa's desire to see the beautiful white horses that had persuaded them to turn aside from the fashionable shopping area and into the Hofburg instead. She was glad her sisters were left behind. Her mother sighed in happiness. Vanessa knew exactly what she was thinking, as if Mrs. Marriott had spoken it out loud. She'd seen that look on her mother's face before. All this male pulchritude laid out for her delectation! The scent of fresh male sweat drifted up in the hot air. Vanessa wrinkled her nose, refusing to admit to herself that the smell, reminding her of more intimate moments with her husband, attracted her. She sat back. She admired the skill of the participants below, although their state of near naturalness made her uncomfortable.

"Isn't that your husband?" Mrs. Marriott asked her, none too quietly. Vanessa stared down into the hall, searching the acreage of male flesh. In one corner, an area was roped off for boxing, and that's where he was. Facing another man, one she didn't know. It was the first time she had seen his naked back, and when he moved round to confront his opponent, his chest. "Yes," she told her mother tonelessly, deliberately keeping any heat from her voice. He was dressed only in light breeches, and from where she sat, she saw the sweat glistening on his back and his chest, running down in droplets as he worked. Both he and his opponent were wearing mufflers on their hands, as this was just a practice bout. She'd watched George at home sometimes, practising against a bolster or with one of his schoolfriends, and they had usually worn mufflers on their hands, too. Vesey was light on his feet and feinted as much as he punched. His dark hair was slicked back to his head, unlike his usual style, presumably to keep it out of his eyes. Vanessa wondered how it would look if he turned up at an important meeting with a black eye, and smiled at the mental vision this brought up. She couldn't take her eyes off him, once she had spotted him, but his concentration was complete. He didn't notice anything or anyone else. Vanessa wasn't the only person to have noticed Lord Vesey. She heard the murmurs around her, and his name mentioned once or twice. The women who knew her cast looks in her direction, so Vanessa bowed her head coolly to them in acknowledgement. She shifted on the hard bench that was all the gallery had to offer, and turned her attention back down to the activity on the floor below. Her husband seemed to be very good at his chosen sport. Perhaps this was some kind of release for him, Vanessa thought, a change from sitting in endless conference rooms, attending dinners and balls, a chance to release another part of him. The part she tried not to think about, because it still confused her. She saw the way his muscles separated as he worked, became distinct when he put them to use. She'd felt them before, when he visited her at night, but never seen them until this moment, had indeed, rarely seen a man in any stage of nakedness, even her brother George, once he'd grown into maturity. Only poor souls chained to the stocks, their shirts torn from their bodies, or beggars who couldn't afford to cover themselves properly. This was different. Vesey was a strong, healthy man in his prime. The knowledge that he was in some way hers filled her with pride. With a shock, she realised that she longed to touch him, to feel the way the sweat slicked across his muscles under her hands. She saw a mental image of herself licking at the beads of sweat, the salty liquid smoothing the firm muscle underneath. In the next moment she realised that it had got decidedly hot in here. The combatants must have considered they'd had enough, for they desisted, bowed, and left the marked out area. Two men came forward to help them take the mufflers off their hands, and Vesey and his opponent sat down on the bench at the side, which faced the upper gallery. Vesey leaned back and his gaze naturally went up. He saw Vanessa. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Vanessa nodded to him. He forced a smile and bowed his head to her, immediately looking away.

Several of the women in the gallery turned to see whom this attractive man had acknowledged, and they saw Vanessa. She put her chin up and stared straight ahead, feigning an interest in the fencers, but she hated the attention the small nod had brought her. They could assume what they liked, she thought, she didn't care. But she did, and was deeply ashamed of visiting the gallery, the realisation coming slowly to her. Those women had been there for one thing only; to ogle, to pick their next lovers maybe, and she wanted none of that. Her strict upbringing, her reluctance to think about the physical side of marriage, militated against it. The gymnasium resembled nothing more than a male horse market, where women could choose their next stud, thoroughbreds maybe, but nothing more. So what was her husband doing there? She knew he enjoyed physical exercise, but was this enough, or was he playing the game too? She had to sit there for a time, until attention moved to someone else, before she stood up and left, not waiting for her mother to catch up with her until she was back down the stairs. Her mother, as usual, didn't see Vanessa's discomfiture. As they hurried out of the building, Robbins scurrying after them Mrs. Marriott found the breath to say, "Well! I didn't realise what a beautiful specimen you were marrying, my dear! I knew he was a big man, but what a pleasure to see him! You are very lucky, and you should strive to keep him, for let me tell you, women will be falling over each other to get to that one!" "That's not why I married him," Vanessa said in a strained voice. "Maybe not, but what a perquisite!" Her mother's eyes gleamed. Vanessa knew it was useless to ask her mother to desist. To do so would likely make her worse, so she let her run on until she ran out of things to say. The knowledge that her mother would be looking at her husband slightly differently from now on made her want to cry. Vanessa knew her mother wouldn't try to attract Vesey. Mrs. Marriott had a highly developed sense of family and would never seriously try to seduce her daughter's husband. Yet her blatant admiration made Vanessa even more aware that Vesey was an attractive man. Attractive to many women. Vanessa realised she wanted her husband for herself. She didn't want to share him. Vesey referred to the incident before dinner that evening. After complimenting her stiffly on her appearance, and receiving an equally stiff thanks, he said; "I was surprised to see you today." "It wasn't planned," Vanessa replied. She tried to muster her thoughts in her mind, all the things she wanted to say, but he spoke first. "It isn't a place where I shall look to see you again. I dislike the habit of the Viennese to treat private exercise as a public event, but the gymnasium is very well equipped, and convenient for me. Those women only go there for one thing." He didn't have to explain to her what that was, she was only too aware of it. "So you're forbidding me from going there again?" His high handed attitude irritated her, a feeling exacerbated by knowing she was in the wrong. The suspicion that he went for more than exercise, still not completely dispelled by his explanation, lurked at the back of her mind. "Yes," he said. "I don't expect you to visit the place again."

She was about to explain they had been on their way to see the Lipizaners, that it had been her mother's idea, but the words choked in her throat. Why should she explain? "As my husband," she said, "You have complete jurisdiction over me, I know that. I cannot see that it did any harm. I made sure there were respectable women there, and they didn't seem to think anything was amiss." His pomposity increased. "Did you see any men among the spectators? I thought not. It is well known that all are there for one reason only. They want to look the men over and choose their next lovers." She knew that. "Is that why you go?" she asked, dry mouthed. What if he said yes? What would she do, what could she do? "I don't have to justify anything to you," he snapped, anger replacing the cool demeanour. She'd never seen him affected in that way before, white with anger, eyebrows drawn down over the hard, brown eyes. "While you're chasing after your pretty boy Graham, I may need consolation." Unfair! "What makes you think that? Have I ever given you cause to doubt my loyalty, or my fidelity?" She knew she hadn't and she suspected he did, also. His remorse was instant. She saw the apology on his face when he turned back to her. He opened his mouth to reply, but the door opened on the first of their guests, and they had to put on their smooth society faces and go to work. The uncomfortable atmosphere persisted between husband and wife over the next few days, only made worse by the increasing presence of Emery Graham. It was clear to Vanessa that Emery wouldn't give up on her, but she determined to keep her promise to Lord Vesey. Events in Europe were escalating. As Napoleon moved through France, men and women flocked to his standard, caused as much by the man's personal appeal and perceived past successes as it was disillusionment with the new King and a hatred of the ancien regime. The result was the same. The newly created Duke of Wellington was forced to muster troops once more. Battle hardened veterans and new recruits answered his call. Vienna became a hotbed of intrigue and activity. Lord Vesey spent more time at his work than he did with his wife, and consequently their dispute over the events in the gymnasium was allowed to fester. His services were required, but the issue, still unresolved, didn't improve their relationship with each other. Stiff formality and politeness became the order of the day. He ceased coming to her room at night With the new coolness between herself and her husband, Vanessa found Emery's presence harder to bear. Vanessa wondered why Lord Castlereagh had appointed Vesey Emery's mentor, but was forced to conclude the leader of the British delegation had no way of knowing about her previous relationship with Mr. Graham. Unless Emery had mentioned his preference for Vesey as a way of getting closer to her. It was fortunate that Vesey kept Emery busy, for if he'd spent more time with her Vanessa might well have succumbed to his charms, despite all her good intentions. He was still achingly handsome, delightfully charming, and despite his lack of fortune, Vanessa wasn't the only woman to evince an interest in him. Pressure of events meant Prince Metternich couldn't make good on his promise and call on her. She saw him a few more times after that; and every time acolytes and men of business surrounded him. He seemed to thrive under the pressure.

At another ball at the Hofburg, where business and pleasure mingled in equal measure, the Prince paused to dance with Vanessa again. "Exquisite," the Prince murmured to her as he took her hand and led her on to the floor. Vanessa wore a gown of turkey-red, and jewels consisting of tiny rubies entwined in a twinkling chain around her neck, and around her gloved wrists. She acknowledged the compliment. "Thank you sir." "You have taken Vienna by storm," the Prince said, gracefully leading her into the dance. She was glad this was a country-dance. She wanted as little physical intimacy as possible tonight. "I think there are other ladies who would stake claim to that," she replied. She was also to his gallantry, although not immune to it. "No, they talk of you everywhere I go," said the Prince. "You are new to the inner circle here. You did not know there was an inner circle?" "I…I had not thought of it," she confessed. She turned in the dance and came close to colliding with someone. It was easy waltzing with Prince Metternich. People got out of his way, but a country-dance had set steps everyone had to conform to. "You must have noticed the little intimate dinners you attend so regularly have mostly the same people," he said when they met again in the measure. "Yes," she confessed. "Silly of me!" She had, in fact, realised, but she wanted to flatter Metternich by giving him the superior knowledge. It was good for business. "There are not many," he continued, "allowed to know so much, but Lord Castlereagh trusts your Lord Vesey. He is a man of some ability in his chosen field." "Thank you, your highness!" She was used to gallantries from him, not serious conversation like this. She'd found that Metternich tended to regard women as objects of flirtation, things for his leisure time. He seemed serious now, and honest, as far as she could tell. "He will go far," the man continued. "You have been the perfect wife for a man in his position. That is why you are being talked about my dear, not your undeniable beauty." He was veering off into gallantry again, but Vanessa appreciated his sincerely given compliment much more. He smiled at her as she dipped into the required curtsey and rose again. She noticed the people watching them. Watching him. "Would you please tell him to come to see me after this event," Metternich continued, his smile still in place. For all the onlookers knew he was continuing his flirtation with the new Lady Vesey, but he wasn't, at least not for the time being. "To come to see me after this event. Say about three o'clock? I have some information I wish for his ears alone." "Of course, sir," she replied. "He'll be there." Of that at least she was sure. Her husband claimed his customary dance with her not long after that. It gave her the chance to tell him what Metternich had said. He blinked at her for a moment. "He must like you," he commented. "Not as a woman, but a person. It's the first time I can remember Metternich taking a woman seriously. I'll be there of course." She longed to ask him what all this was about, but she dared not. The chill was still there between them.

He would probably have snubbed her if she had asked. Later that night, Vanessa awoke in the dead of night and heard a sound. Sitting up in bed, she heard it again. It came from the direction of the study. Alarmed, she reached for her tinderbox. She knew nobody should be there at this time of night, and was worried that it might be an interloper of some sort. She kept her jewels in the safe, and there were Vesey's papers, too. She lit the single candle she kept by the bed with the help of the tinderbox next to it. With the help of its light, she found her robe and hastily tied it around her, trying very hard to keep quiet. Then she picked up the candle and went over to the door, holding her breath as she turned the doorknob as quietly as she could. Her room led out to a small corridor that ran the length of the apartment. The large drawing room and dining room were on one side, and the study door was on the other, opposite the dining room, close to her bedroom. Vanessa saw a thread of faint light under the door, and stepped forward. She put her hand on the knob of her husband's bedroom door, willing to brave him rather than a housebreaker. When she opened it she didn't have to go in to see the bed was empty, so now, consumed with curiosity not fear, she went back to the study. She took a deep breath, and, grasping the handle of the study door, threw it open. The breath caught in her throat. Her husband sat at the desk, and with him were Emery, Cummings and Lord Castlereagh. Vanessa felt deeply stupid and, since the gentlemen were still in evening dress, very underdressed. "Oh!" she gasped. "I beg your pardon! Only I heard a noise and I thought…I thought —" Her husband gave her the warmest smile he'd bestowed upon her in days. "I should beg your pardon, my dear," he said. "I'm afraid there will be more of this kind of night time activity. Won't you come in?" He stood up and found a chair for her, drawing it close to his. She sat down, although she would far rather have gone away again. She put a hand up to her nightcap to make sure it was on straight. The little room was very full now, with all of them crowded around the desk. A heap of papers lay in front of her husband. It was obvious she had interrupted some kind of meeting. Lord Vesey picked up a half full decanter of wine that stood at his elbow and looked at her questioningly. She shook her head. "I think, if there are no objections, I should tell you what we're doing, so you don't worry when it happens again," he said. He shot a glance directly at Lord Castlereagh, who, without hesitation, replied, in answer to Vesey's unspoken question. "Naturally your wife should know what we're using her house for. I hope we didn't disturb you too much, Lady Vesey?" "No," she assured him, "I was prepared to scream very, very loudly if I found someone here who shouldn't be."

Her husband chuckled. "That's why I think you should know." Emery said; "Is it a woman's place to know?" "My wife knows it all," Castlereagh said roundly. "Very good head on her shoulders, my Emily. I couldn't do half the things I do without her!" Emery was suitably subdued. Lord Vesey turned to Vanessa and spoke to her alone for a moment. "You know things are developing apace in Europe?" She nodded. "Well, this is the other side of diplomatic work. This is the clandestine part of it. We prefer to meet quietly, in small private places like this one. We have things here," he said, ruffling his large hand through the papers in front of him, "that Metternich for one would dearly like to get his hands on, although his own network is an excellent one. Countries don't generally share this information directly with each other, since then we would have to admit how we were collecting it." Vanessa was wide eyed and fascinated by now. "I see. So if I hear another noise at four in the morning, I should ignore it?" "Or join us," he replied. "I'd appreciate your opinion on some matters, and you could help us, if you have a mind." "Help you?" She was thrilled. He laughed. "Nothing too onerous. Sometimes messages come in to strange places. One of them is a milliner's in the Old Town. If I asked you, you wouldn't find it too burdensome to go and buy a new hat and collect something else at the same time—would you?" "I'd like to be of help," she said. She felt like a schoolgirl, up for a secret tryst, only enhanced by her perfectly respectable but unusual attire. Her mouth was dry. "I think I would like a drink," she added. Lord Vesey looked around, and finding that all the glasses in the room were in use, handed her his own. She thanked him and sipped the ruby liquid, listening to her husband. "Cummings has just collected these," he said, touching the papers in front of him again. "There are a few interesting snippets, and one vital paper." He took up the top sheet. "This," he said, "is the list of our agents in France, where they are and what they're doing. There are two copies. His lordship has one, and I'll keep the other here, for safety. No one must even know about the existence of this outside this room. Except Lady Castlereagh." Vesey smiled at his lordship, who nodded curtly. "We don't need to do anything at this time. They all seem safe enough." He put the paper aside, starting a new pile. "This," he said, picking up the next one, "Is a bizarre report from someone who thinks the answer is to assassinate Bonaparte." "How does he propose doing that?" asked Castlereagh. Vesey replied; "He'll get close to him by posing as a valet or a groom. Don't they know how fussy the man is? Then he'll do the deed and sacrifice himself to the greater good." "Insane!" grunted Castlereagh. "Agreed," said Vesey. He put the paper down. "I think we'll leave the madman to go his own way. He'll be caught soon enough. What we don't do is give him any assistance."

"Do we know him?" Cummings asked. "No," Vesey answered. "Nobody known to us." He picked up the next paper. "This is more worrying. It's the report from an accredited man in Bonaparte's army." Castlereagh interrupted. "Has Wellington got a copy of that one?" "Yes. This is a copy of his copy." Castlereagh nodded. The report would be vital information for his grace. Vesey went on to list the approximate numbers of men in the army, and the areas which were now completely under Bonaparte's control. Everyone looked grave. The news was bad, far worse than Vanessa had thought. "Will he win?" she asked quietly. Not a question she would have considered asking in public, but here, it seemed frankness was the order of the day. "Not if we can help it," Castlereagh replied. "I don't scruple to tell you it will be a close run thing, ma'am. He has numbers; we have seasoned men. They're tired. They've been fighting for ten years and more, and they want their rest. At home, it's worse. We have the new industries of course, but the old ones, agriculture particularly, are hit hard. We need peace now, to try to mend what we had to destroy. We need an outright victory." "Will you execute Bonaparte this time?" she asked. There had been talk of it before, and now he had escaped from Elba, the talk had escalated. Castlereagh shook his head. "I can't think it's wise," he said. "I'd rather put him away somewhere more secure. There are plenty of places more remote and isolated than Elba." "Bonaparte is tired too," Lord Vesey pointed out. "He knows this is his last throw of the dice." "It has to be," said Castlereagh. Suddenly, all the gaiety of Vienna, the balls, the shops, peeled away to reveal the true nature of the activities beneath. For all Vanessa knew, Prince Metternich was having just such a discussion in another part of the city. And Talleyrand, and Czar Alexander. This was why they were all here, and this was all that mattered. Glancing up at her husband's face, she saw lines about his mouth that had no right to be there on a man of two and thirty. He too had been fighting Bonaparte for ten years. Her heart went out to him. He'd had no private life of his own, no family life. His life had all been this, working for the defeat of the tyrant who threatened Europe with his territorial claims. She smiled and gave him his empty wineglass. Showing his surprise at her warmth by a slight widening of his eyes he returned it and poured a fresh glassful. Vanessa saw Emery watching them, and she ached for him too. The feelings she had for Emery hadn't abated, despite her strenuous efforts to suppress them. She knew him too well for them to go away all at once. "Wellington has just over a hundred thousand men," Vesey said, consulting the paper in front of him. "Blücher has another similar force. Bonaparte has a quarter of a million or more." "Dear God!" said Vanessa quietly.

Castlereagh shook his head. "It's going to be a close run thing," he repeated. "It won't be easy," Cummings said. Emery sighed. Lord Vesey studied at his paper. "Bonaparte is moving fast. We know what he wants to do, and so does Wellington. There's not a lot we can do to help him except expedite messages and wish him luck." "When do you think it will happen?" she asked him. "Weeks," he replied. It was early May now. "Are we staying here?" Vanessa asked. "The Congress will continue until we know what's going on in France and until we've made the decisions we need to," her husband answered. "Metternich wants to turn it into a permanent event," said Castlereagh. He yawned hugely and stretched his arms above his head before he remembered Vanessa's presence. He coloured up and begged her pardon. She told him to think nothing of it. "He wants a regular meeting of European leaders to decide its fate," Castlereagh added. "Don't think it'll work myself." "Hm," said Vesey. "Ad hoc seems to be the order of the day. He wants to put some order into it." "We'll see," said Castlereagh. "Anything else?" Vesey riffled through the papers. "Nothing new," he said. Picking up the small pile of papers, he went to the safe and unlocked it, placing them in a folder next to the leather boxes that contained Vanessa's jewellery. He locked it again and restored the key to his pocket. Vanessa stood up. "Thank you for allowing me to see what you do," she said to the company in general, who had all stood up when she did. "Thank you for your trust." She smiled at her husband and left the room, going back to her own. When she awoke in the morning it took her some time to remember the events of the middle of the night, and even then she wondered if she had been dreaming.

Chapter Eleven

Relations continued to be cordial between Lord and Lady Vesey, but the increased intimacy, which they had tentatively embarked on, was no more. Either he was too caught up in events to be concerned with his personal life, or he preferred matters that way. Vanessa had no way of knowing, and she was content to put her own affairs aside for the time being. The meeting had put things into perspective for her. She could wait, but it seemed Bonaparte couldn't.

The first time she attended the milliner's there was a small note tucked inside the elegant confection she chose to purchase. She had no idea what it said, because it was ciphered, but she passed it on to her husband, who received it with thanks. She ordered some ribbons from the same place a few days later, and received another note nestled in the parcel. A day or two later he came to her when she was having her hair dressed, and said abruptly, "I shall have to go away for a few days, but I don't like to leave you on your own." "Will you be long?" she asked. "No, I shouldn't think so." Another thought struck her, one his calmness had temporarily masked. "Will you be in danger?" He stared at her reflection in the mirror, but Vanessa couldn't tell what he was thinking. "No. I'm going to Prussia, that's all. I need to take something there personally. I'd feel uncomfortable entrusting it to someone else." Robbins reached for another pin, and blocked her view of him for a moment. "I'm sure I'll be all right," she said when she could see him again. "It's kind of you to think of me. Please take care." He put one hand on her shoulder for a moment. She touched it with her own. She thought he might have kissed her, but he glanced at Robbins and left the room. Robbins speculative gaze followed him for a moment before she turned back to her duties. Vanessa saw it in the mirror, but she didn't think the look was desire. There was no warmth in it. Vanessa was concerned by Vesey's plans, not for herself, but for his sake, but Prussia was one of their allies, and only over the border. He wouldn't have to cross enemy territory to get there. What did surprise her was how much she missed him. Considering the coolness that had fallen between them recently, a few days apart should have provided them both with a respite, but Vanessa missed his presence at the breakfast table, his company. She loved the way he explained things to her without in the least denigrating her, or putting her in an inferior position to him. His presence was a steadying factor, a constant in her new life, and she felt lost without him Lord Vesey's concerns about leaving his bride on her own were soon to be abated. The morning after his departure, her mother came to visit, bearing her eldest unmarried daughter, Lydia in her wake. Mrs. Marriott positively sparkled this morning. Her great dark eyes gleamed with barely suppressed excitement, and she fidgeted with the strings of her reticule while Vanessa calmly poured tea for them all. She knew her mother had news, and she was determined to make her wait, to retain control of the situation in this, Vanessa's own apartment. So she poured tea, and handed round refreshments, asking after the health of her mama and her sisters before she would let her speak. "Oh, Vanessa, who cares if Anthea's cold is quite better yet!" Mrs. Marriott exclaimed irritably. "I have such news!" Vanessa turned a face of polite enquiry to her mother, enjoying her impatience. "Yes, Mama?"

"It's General Allingham! He's asked me to marry him! Me!" She seemed genuinely surprised Which was more than Vanessa was. "I thought he might come up to scratch," she said calmly. "I never noticed a thing!" Mrs. Marriott cried. "That's because you were too busy looking after Lydia, Anthea and Eudora," Vanessa told her. She picked up her tea-dish. "He's been sweet on you since you got here!" "Oh, Vanessa!" Astonished, Vanessa watched a rosy flush suffuse her mother's cheeks. "I never thought anyone would care to take me on! Perhaps your marriage encouraged him to think that the other girls might be leaving soon. Perhaps —" "Perhaps he just wants you, Mama," Vanessa said, amused at her mother's sudden lack of self-awareness. "I thought he was squiring me for his sons' sake." Vanessa thought the forthright, strong-minded General Allingham could easily cope with her ebullient mother. "You are still a catch, Mama. You're an attractive woman, and your intelligence is above the ordinary, two things that will draw a discerning man to you. Didn't you notice anything?" "Not a thing," her mother confessed. "I accepted him, of course. Here's the thing. He wants to be married quickly. He says there'll be no problem with that. We can get a Special Licence just as you did." "Here in Vienna?" This perturbed Vanessa. She didn't know of the laws here. "Indeed," her mother replied happily. "Oh don't be such a goose, Vanessa! You don't think I thought of that too? That this might be an elaborate seduction scheme? Well, you can put that right out of your mind. I've seen an English lawyer here, and he assures me that the thing can be done all right and tight." "Are you sure?" "Oh yes. There's no need for him to plan elaborate seduction scenes. He wants to make this permanent." "Mama!" What her mother had said could only mean one thing. Mrs. Marriott was already the General's mistress. Despite the presence of her unmarried daughter, Mrs. Marriott shrugged. "Vanessa you should know more now than you did before your marriage! How do you think I managed for all these years after your father's death? Hm?" Vanessa was scandalised. How could her mother do this? Oh, she knew these things went on, but her own mother? Mrs. Marriott watched Vanessa with amusement, smiling in the superior way she always used with her daughters. She had gained the upper hand, after all. "It's hard, once you're used to married life, to have to do without the things you have become accustomed to. Once I got over the shock of your father's death, and discovered that no gentleman would consider taking my young family and me on, I allowed myself a few small dalliances. Not many, but enough. Vanessa, you're eight and twenty. Surely you realise by now that I'm more than your mother? I'm a woman, with needs and desires of my own! You've always shied from the physical nature of life, and I'm at a loss to know why. However, that is

your concern, and you cannot expect everyone to be as cold as you are. Lydia here guessed what was in the wind weeks ago. The only miracle is that this one has come up to scratch!" She sat back and picked up her dish of rapidly cooling tea. Vanessa stared at her mother in disbelief, and then her gaze transferred to her sister. "You knew?" "I guessed once before," Lydia told her. "You were always too wrapped up with Emery Graham to look about you! By the way, does he call here often?" Appalled by her sister's inference, Vanessa cried, "No!" but she was forced to amend her denial. "At least, not in the way you mean. He comes for business, that's all." "Well, I'm glad to hear that's over!" Mrs. Marriott declared. "You would be considered extremely fast if you were to take a lover so soon into your marriage! There's plenty of time for that once you've done your duty by your husband." Vanessa began to feel uneasy. "I know it happens a lot… but there are devoted couples, aren't there? Lord Castlereagh, for instance." Her mother interrupted her. "Yes, my dear, there are. Many, though I for one have never considered Lady Castlereagh as anything but strange! There are others, couples who married for affection, who somehow manage to continue that affection. For people like us, who marry from necessity, or by arrangement, we must be allowed our friendships!" Vanessa didn't like being put into that category. She sincerely wanted to strive for a successful marriage. Moreover, she couldn't understand why anyone would actively seek the part of marriage she found the most problematic. There must be something more to it, she thought, but she couldn't ask her mother. Perhaps it was, as her mother said, a question of friendship. "I want to ask you a favour, Vanessa," her mother continued. "Not only to attend my wedding in two days' time —" Vanessa gaped at the suddenness of it. "I want you to take Lydia in for a few days. Not for long, I promise you. I want to remove our belongings to the General's establishment. He has plenty of space, and most of all, I want a few days alone with him first! We plan to retire to my apartment, but space is at such a premium there, that our privacy would be severely curtailed. So, Vanessa dear, would you?" Vanessa blinked in surprise. "We only have the two bedrooms here." "Lydia can sleep in your dressing room," her mother said coaxingly. "I cannot but reflect that a few days with you will open her eyes to a part of society she has only so far seen at a distance." Lydia's pleading expression couldn't be denied. "Just a few days?" Vanessa said. Then she remembered her husband's misgivings about leaving her alone. "Very well, but only until Vesey returns. It wouldn't be practical after that." She meant the secret meetings that must remain secret, but her mother took it a different way. "Of course not," Mrs. Marriott replied. "He won't want a girl lurking in his wife's dressing room, will he?" The deed was done. The more she thought about the arrangement, the more suspicious she became. She had three sisters in Vienna, not one, so why didn't Mrs. Marriott ask her to take them all? It wouldn't

have been too much for her to ask, she was used to her daughters obeying her. Perhaps she had more consideration than Vanessa had thought. Later that day her sister's meagre belongings were delivered to the apartment, shortly followed by Lydia herself. She stood in the hall, wearing a pelisse much like the one Vanessa had been married in, looking distinctly wary. Vanessa met her herself and took her through to the drawing room, where tea was laid out. She liked Lydia well enough, but the girl had a distressing tendency to gossip, which she couldn't like, and the way she watched the passing gentlemen at public occasions was a little too blatant for Vanessa's taste. She couldn't deny her mother some happiness. For all her machinations, her thoughtlessness, Mrs. Marriott had done her best by her children. One thing Vanessa could improve was Lydia's wardrobe. She took her sister out the very next day and bought her a silk gown and a hat. She needed to look in at the milliner's, anyway. Lydia's delight was compounded by her own pleasure in seeing her pretty sister properly tricked out for once, but when Lydia opened the hat box back at the apartment, she found something inside which puzzled her. She found her sister in her bedroom, dressing for dinner. "I found this," she said. "It's addressed to you. How could it have got into my hatbox?" Vanessa met her maid's gaze in the mirror. She didn't know if Robbins knew about the notes, but she thought not. She picked up the note, addressed in plain English to her, in the bold flourish she knew to be her husband's style. "It's from Vesey. He said he would write to me to say he was safe and well. It came earlier today by private messenger, but I haven't had time to open it yet. It must have got into the box by mistake, perhaps dropped in there by a careless housemaid." It wasn't a very good excuse, but it was the best she could do at short notice. She put the note aside and waited until she was alone to read it. Breaking open the seal, she read; My dear wife, I trust this line of communication is working as well as it was when I left. I couldn't resist testing its effectiveness. I would be interested to know which day you received this, to see how speedy it is. My errand is going smoothly. I hope to be back with you in a very few days. Yours, V. So the message was to test the line! Vanessa felt absurdly disappointed as she put the note down on her dressing table. As though she should expect anything else! She was interrupted by a knock at the door. Putting the note away in a drawer, she called, "Enter!" Lydia came in. Robbins left and Vanessa waited until Lydia had left before she turned and addressed her sister. "Lydia, why only you?"

Lydia stared at her in bewilderment. "What do you mean?" "Why didn't Mama try to foist the other girls on me as well?" Lydia considered the problem, twisting one of her dark curls around her finger as she thought. "Because," she said, "You're newly married, and there's temptation in the way." Vanessa's jaw dropped. "You mean Mama put you here for propriety's sake?" "In a way." Lydia continued to twirl the curl. "They're gossiping, Vanessa." "Who are?" Vanessa demanded. "They," Lydia explained mysteriously. "Not the circles you move in, of course, they're too busy talking about the war." That's all you know, thought Vanessa. "The people we're mixing with. You matter here. Your Lord Vesey is an important man. So they watch for anything, and they know about Emery Graham. Now your husband is away, the gossip is increasing, and soon 'is she?' will become 'she is!'" Vanessa's shoulders slumped and she sighed. She'd hoped to leave the world of petty gossip behind when she married into political circles, but she should have known better. It followed them everywhere. "You see, with Emery Graham still here and your husband away, with me in your dressing room nobody can have any concerns." "Even my husband," Vanessa said. "Even so," Lydia agreed. "Mama thought you were out of sympathy with each other. So the least suspicion that attached to you, the better." Vanessa was taken aback. She hadn't expected her mother to behave in quite such a way which she had to admit, was sensible. Even if she kept to her resolve to hold Emery at a distance, she could still be suspected of wrongdoing if she were in the apartment with only servants for company. Mrs. Marriott became Mrs. Allingham in a very short, very quiet ceremony, in which the bride and groom only had eyes for each other. Vanessa thought they really must be in love. With all the experience of her eight and twenty years, she marvelled that people so old should feel the same as lovers just out of the schoolroom. The General was well circumstanced, and she was pleased that after thirty years of near penury, the new Mrs. Allingham would be able to command some of the luxuries of life. After embracing her daughters warmly, Mrs. Allingham was whisked away by her new husband to their love nest on the edge of the city. "Well!" exclaimed George. "Hardly seems five minutes since they met! Fast worker, m' mother!" He looked at Vanessa, elegant in dark green and her new straw hat decorated with matching ribbons. "Seems to run in the family," he commented with a smile. Vanessa flushed rosy pink. "That was a particular reason. Vesey had to come here, and had no idea when he could come back to marry me. It would have been unfair to leave me waiting for too long."

"He might have lost you," George remarked. "With Graham sniffing about like a basset hound, you might have gone off with him!" "Oh, George, no!" cried Vanessa. "Graham's still mooning round after you," George continued relentlessly. "You should send him packing." "I can't," Vanessa explained. "He's been told to work with Vesey for the time being." George pursed his lips in a long, low whistle. "I'll wager Vesey's not fond of that! He knows Graham was sweet on you, doesn't he?" She nodded resignedly. "Come on, old thing!" George said encouragingly. "Chin up!" They were in the open air so they began to walk up the street, the other girls following behind, chatting quietly. The General's sons had been present at the ceremony, but only one had remained afterwards, and properly offered Lydia, as the eldest, the support of his arm. George examined Vanessa's face with concern. "You're looking a bit peaky these days, Vessa. Sure you're not in the family way?" "No!" she said with certainty, and then, after a pause, added, "Well, I don't think so, anyway." George face relaxed into relief, and he gave his sister a fond smile. "Well that answers another of my questions. Thought he might not be…well —." "Oh George!" "Wouldn't have mentioned it, but the thought did cross my mind." "Why?" she demanded. She was angry to think of the malicious gossip, and now her brother seemed to be speculating about her. "Well…" He looked at her again, and then went on; "Well, it's hard to put your finger on it really. You don't seem to touch each other very much, and when you do, it's very…hesitant. You don't seem to be as intimate as most couples. Forgive me, Vessa, if you don't want to talk about it you don't have to, but I care about you, and I notice these things." Vanessa was surprised to hear her brother say this, and even more surprised that one she had always regarded as her junior should offer his opinion in this way. Who better? He was her brother, and he loved her. "It's not just one thing," she began quietly, glancing behind her. The others were far enough behind them not to hear. "We haven't had much time to ourselves, you see, and there's been so much to do since we got here! He trusts me, I think he considers me as his friend, but -" "You want more than that," he said firmly. "Yes, but I don't know if there is any more! I'm happy with what we have, but it's difficult at times." She paused, confused. "Vessa," he said. He lowered his voice. "Answer me this. Have you ever felt as though there's only the two of you in the world? Have you ever forgotten where you are? Who you are, even?"

"No." The phrases George used confused her. How could these things happen? She hadn't felt that way with Emery, even. "Then there is more," he answered. "Even without love, there's more. Do you love him?" Vanessa considered. Nobody had asked her that before, particularly not her mother. Love wasn't considered a prerequisite of marriage, could even be considered an encumbrance in some circles. "I…I don't know," she was forced to say. George grinned. "There's hope then. Listen, my love. You've got years yet. Don't worry about anything, not yet. As you say, he's very busy at the moment. Love will probably develop slowly for you, so be patient, and let it come." Vanessa thought of the times Vesey had come to her bed and she had enjoyed it, and understood what her brother meant. It was early days. She would be foolish to press her husband when he was under so much pressure elsewhere. She was pleased to hear that there was more, that there was something else to come. She hadn't been entirely sure. She looked up at her brother's handsome, kindly face. "Why George," she said. "How wise you are!" He patted her hand and they carried on to her apartment. Lydia proved an intrusive guest. She came into Vanessa's room every morning, and asked for Robbins' help. Of course, Lydia had no maid of her own, but her demands seemed to take precedence in her mind, as though her status as guest meant she could use every part of the household as her own. Vanessa let Robbins tend to Lydia, much to the maid's displeasure, as her status could be compromised and her work certainly doubled. Lydia also invited people Vanessa didn't know back to the apartment. This was more worrying, as there were things in the safe that demanded a more discreet use of her home. After the first day, when Vanessa came back from shopping to find the drawing room full of chattering young people, some of whom she knew only slightly, Cummings came to her and asked her for a word. They went into the study. Even Lydia hadn't penetrated that far. Vanessa was able to assure the worried secretary that once her sister went, so would her guests. "She seems to have taken all of Vienna to her heart," she said. "Is there anything we should be careful of in the safe?" "Oh yes, ma'am!" Cummings replied with fervour. Vanessa noticed that when he was agitated, his Scottish accent became more pronounced. She liked that; it made the man more human. "The list is in there!" Vanessa sighed. The list of agents in France. "Then we keep this door locked," she said, indicating the study door. "I'll give instructions that the servants aren't to come in for the time being. Only you, me, and Meredith have keys. And his lordship, of course, but he gave me his keys for safe keeping." "Good," said Cummings, and then, in a display of friendship that surprised her, grinned. "I'm sorry to be such a worry-wort, but there's more than honour at stake. Where did you put his lordship's keys?"

"I locked them in the safe," she answered, returning his grin. His laugh was surprisingly infectious. They went outside and Vanessa locked the door. She removed the key and slipped it into her pocket. Gowns were a little fuller this season, and pockets were being worn again, at least with daywear. "The study will get dreadfully dusty, but it can't be helped," she commented. Both on edge, when they heard a noise behind them, they turned quickly, but there was nothing to be seen, so they continued back to the cacophony in the drawing room. Vanessa became a little concerned when two more days passed and she didn't hear from her husband. She convinced herself that she was being foolish, so she continued to go about in society, taking her sister with her. Lydia's society manners were excellent, drilled into the Marriott sister from babyhood by a mama who knew it might be their only asset. They went to a display of the marvellous horses of Vienna, called a carousel, and marvelled at the immense control and training it took to put on such a graceful display. Riders smartly uniformed in yellow breeches and brown military coats put the animals through an elaborate dressage. The carousel was a popular venue. All fashionable society went there at one time or another, and the townspeople too. Just as at the theatre, they sat in different parts of the arena, the ordinary folk rigidly separated from the more noble spectators. The nobility, of course, got the better seats. Lydia was delighted when Vanessa was approached by several of the highest members of society. "You know Prince Metternich?" she asked after he had gallantly kissed Vanessa's hand and assured her that he would be there on the instant, should she wish a male escort in her husband's absence. This was during one of the pauses between patterns, while they set up for the next, attendants scurrying around with pieces of equipment, small jumps and course dividers. "Yes," Vanessa replied. "We have to, considering Vesey's position here. We've entertained the Prince and some of his friends for dinner," she said, not without some smugness. Her sister's round 'O' of admiration paid her nicely. "They're very intimate little dinners," she added, "they talk nothing but business." When Lydia looked disappointed, she added, "We've been invited to dinner at the Hofburg. One of the state dinners." "Oh, Vessa! Can we come too?" Vanessa laughed. "I don't make the guest lists, and the others, the small dinners, are essentially for business." "Where is Lord Vesey?" Lydia knew Vesey was away, but not where. She hadn't asked before. "He's gone to Prussia," Vanessa replied promptly. There was no reason to dissimulate, especially to her own sister. "He said he wouldn't be gone long." "Here's Mr. Graham!" said Lydia. "And Mr. Allingham! How pleasant!" For approaching them, in this interval between acts, were the gentlemen in question. Vanessa sighed, but gave them her hand to kiss. The programme was about to recommence, so Lydia said, "Why don't you join us? You'll only create a commotion, going back to your own seats!" Vanessa's heart sank. She didn't want to be seen in public with Emery, especially with Vesey away. She couldn't deny her secret pleasure

at having him close to her. They sat side by side and watched the next act. When Vanessa glanced over to her sister, apparently sitting raptly watching the beautiful white horses, she saw her hand was tucked into that of Mr. Allingham. That, she thought, was taking flirtation too far, and she resolved to speak to Lydia about it. When Emery touched her hand she gently moved it away, but she took some comfort just by his being there. She didn't need to touch him, she thought, just knowing he was there was enough. She felt she needed comfort that night. "Are you well?" Vanessa saw he was looking at her hands, tightly clasped together in her lap. She deliberately relaxed them. "Perfectly." He lowered his voice. "You seem tense. Vanessa, I cannot think your husband is treating you well. May I visit you, see if I can help?" "No, you may not." If Emery had known Vanessa wanted comforting, if he had seen her past her front door, if her sister hadn't been with her, who knows what would have happened? Vanessa went to bed with a headache that night. She tackled Lydia about her behaviour the next day. "I saw you last night," she said, "Your hand in his. What do you think you're doing, Lydia? Anyone could have seen, and drawn the wrong conclusions!" She was surprised when Lydia put her chin up defiantly. "I don't care!" she declared. "I love Cornelius, and he loves me!" With an effort, Vanessa remembered that General Allingham's eldest son was called Cornelius. "Then he should court you properly," she said, "Not use these havey-cavey methods! Holding your hand at the Carousel!" "Well, we hope someone will see us!" said Lydia. Tears stood in her soft grey eyes, so like Vanessa's own that she nearly teared up in sympathy. "Then there will be talk, and then Mama will be forced to…to —" "What? Let you marry? What possible objection can she have in Cornelius Allingham?" Vanessa asked. "He's attractive, well off, certainly well able to support a wife, and respectable! That's all she ever wanted of a suitor of ours!" Lydia wiped away a tear. "Not if she's married to his father!" she cried. "What has that to do with anything?" Vanessa demanded, totally confused. "We're not related. There can be no objection!" "Except in mama's mind!" Lydia cried. She wept openly. Vanessa held out her handkerchief, which her sister took gratefully. Lydia blew her nose noisily. "I have loved him since I first saw him!" she declared.

Vanessa thought of Cornelius Allingham's pockmarked skin, and wondered how it could be so. It would have taken her a little longer to accustom herself to his appearance, she thought. He was a pleasant man, and love could come in time. "He was so kind, so thoughtful! He wants to look after me, take me home, cosset me, and that's all I've ever wanted, Vanessa!" Lydia paused to blow her nose. "It's all very well for you, this meeting new people all the time, talking to Princes and Kings, having them for dinner! I couldn't do it, and I don't want that kind of life! Cornelius doesn't, either. He says he will see his father today, but I'm so worried!" "Have you spoken to Mama about it?" Vanessa queried gently. She moved over to the sofa and put her arm around her sister's shoulders. Lydia wept convulsively. "Yes, Vessa, yes! She says said no, no, never will she allow her daughter to marry her future husband's son! At least," she amended in a more sensible tone, "He was her future husband then. I can't bear to be his sister, I want to be his wife!" Assuming that Lydia meant the son, not the father, Vanessa made suitable soothing noises. "I'll talk to her about it, try to make her see. Perhaps she has something against love." She let her mind stray to her own situation. "No, for she says she loves the General! She can't accept that I love Cornelius! Oh Vessa!" Lydia burst into a fresh bout of weeping, making Vanessa fear for her new silk gown. There was nothing to do except comfort Lydia, but she determined to break into her mother's seclusion to discuss the matter.

Chapter Twelve

Vanessa left her sister sleeping off a headache engendered by her storm of tears and, taking Robbins for respectability, sallied forth to confront her mother. The new Mrs. Allingham was surprised to see her, to say the least, and not a little alarmed. She came into her little parlour in a state of undress, having obviously decided not to get up that morning. Pulling her robe closer about her, she sat down. Her hair was freshly brushed and hastily tied back in a simple queue, contrasting with her daughter's carefully arranged coiffure and fashionable blue gown and spencer. She accepted Vanessa's kiss and asked, "What can have brought you here, Vanessa? You must know how newly marrieds are!" No, Vanessa thought, not like that she didn't, and she felt glad of it. To be in undress an hour before dinner wasn't something she wished to know about. "I came to see you about Lydia," she said without preamble. Perturbed, her mother said, "Why? What has she done now?" "You know about Cornelius Allingham?" "Unfortunate, but yes," Mrs. Allingham answered. "I have forbidden it." "Why? What objection can you have?"

"I would have thought that was obvious." Abruptly, Mrs. Allingham stood up and went over to the window. She stared out into the dreary street beyond. "I've married the man's father. How can I let her marry the son?" Vanessa was appalled. "So not only do you deny my happiness, you deny Lydia's as well!" Mrs. Allingham wouldn't look at her, but she replied, "I ensured your happiness. I wouldn't let you marry into poverty." "Emery isn't indigent, merely short of funds!" Vanessa cried. Mrs. Allingham did turn then, and met her daughter's angry, accusatory stare. "You know what it's like to live always wondering if you can afford that gown, that piece of ribbon." She swept a hand out, to show the shabby little room. "This is all we had, while you were occupying your fashionable little love nest! Look at it, Vanessa! Isn't it familiar? Doesn't it look like hundreds of rooms we've rented in the past? We've eked an existence in places like this, tried and tried to make our fortunes, and nothing! What you don't know is how desperate you can get, faced with the same future, knowing no one will look at you twice when they know you have six daughters and are as poor as a church mouse! You don't know what that's like because I never told you, never showed you!" Her vehement expression, and low, emotion-laden voice spoke of the years of want. Vanessa had accepted it as her lot, but her mother, the daughter of a prosperous man, had once known more, and would have understood what she was missing more than her daughters. Vanessa had been cold in the winter, shared a crowded room at an inn to save money, but apart from such obvious discomforts, she'd always lived like that and until recently never known another life. Mrs. Allingham took a few deep breaths to bring herself back under control, her magnificent bosom heaving with the effort. Then she glanced at Vanessa and said, "So I couldn't let you marry Emery Graham and face all that for yourself! Believe me, my dear, love wouldn't have lasted long in those circumstances! Did you think you would always love him, never tire of him?" Vanessa nodded. Why had she brought Emery in to the conversation? It was still too painful for her to think of him, like a wound she must prod from time to time to see if it still hurt. Now her mother was poking about, and Vanessa resented it. "Well it doesn't work like that," Mrs. Allingham continued relentlessly. "You would have tired of it, as I did, watched Graham's efforts to make money with a more and more jaundiced eye. All your father's schemes came to nothing, and the depression just dragged the land further and further down! He mortgaged it once, but came about on 'Change the year after, and so was able to redeem it. All our good luck that year was wiped out by the bad luck of the year before. It was always like that." She took a turn about the room. "I knew you were sincerely attracted to Graham, but I couldn't see you make the mistakes I did. Your father was a good man, but he had no idea of how to make money, lasting money, and so we lurched from one year to the next, always hoping. Well let me tell you, my dear —" She turned to face Vanessa directly. "Hope is the cruellest thing of all. Constantly seeing it dashed takes the heart out of you. I didn't want that for you, you were better than that." She paused, and mother and daughter looked at each other in silence. Vanessa had never been fully aware of her mother's anguish. She had always known her mother as a strong person, facing everything with fortitude and cheerfulness. She had never been aware until recently of what lay underneath that bold façade, and now she felt selfish and uncaring.

"So now I'm married to a rich man I don't —" she paused. Shocked, she realised something else, but firmly put it aside for later. "Yes?" said Mrs. Allingham. Vanessa refused to talk any more about that. Mrs. Allingham did. "You don't love? You've married a good man, one who will look after you, give you what you need. I was delighted to give you over to him. If you don't love him now, you will." Vanessa refused to discuss the matter with anyone else. It wasn't fair to Vesey, to discuss him in that way. She wasn't sure any more, not sure at all. She turned back to the reason for her visit. "So why not let Lydia have her Cornelius?" "Because he's my husband's son." "No relation of ours. There can be no objection. He's comfortably off. He loves her, wants to look after her and has the means to do so. voilà!" she lifted her hand in a gesture so like her mother's of a moment before that she immediately dropped it. "You've lost another daughter!" "When you put it like that," Mrs. Allingham replied smoothly, "It sounds almost possible. I don't think I could live knowing that what I'm doing with the father, she's doing with the son." "Foolish!" Vanessa cried. "Don't think of it!" "Oh, but I think of it a lot," her mother murmured, her voice dropping to a soft purr. "Vanessa, I think I must have what is known as a sensual nature. I took a lover or two when I was a widow, but it was infrequent, and only when I felt driven to it." Considering what Mrs. Allingham had confessed to a few days before, Vanessa wasn't so sure about that. "I know some people - nuns come to mind - who can effortlessly sail through life without touching a man, but I know I can't." "Mama!" "What?" her mother smiled slowly, having gained, yet again, the upper hand. "Please be honest about that part of you, Vanessa. I can see it in you as well, my dear. You have a sensual nature. If you can't admit it to me, admit it to yourself." Vanessa swallowed. She knew nothing of the kind, but to get in to an argument about it with her mother would only be to her detriment. "So you won't allow Lydia to marry Cornelius Allingham?" "No," her mother said with decision. Vanessa stood up, her errand done. She had no desire to stay in this house any longer. As she reached the door her mother said, "Just one more thing." Vanessa turned round. "I did this for me," her mother said softly. "I do love my new husband, and he seems to feel the same way about me. In a few days we'll appear back in society, as respectable as you like, but for now, we're our own masters. Respect that, will you, and don't come back here?" Vanessa nodded. She had no desire to return. She left without looking back.

She conveyed the sad news to her sister when she got home, and comforted Lydia when she cried. They were to dine out tonight, at a grand dinner at the Hofburg, but neither sister felt like celebrating. It was only the thought of attending such a grand occasion that persuaded Lydia she should go at all. As Robbins prepared Vanessa for the evening, Vanessa let her mind go, covering the disturbing ground her mother had opened up before her. Was she sensual? What did it mean? Being in a state of undress in the middle of the afternoon, enjoying what she had thought a necessity? If she was, why didn't she feel that way about Emery? She knew she loved him, clung to the knowledge like a drowning woman to a piece of driftwood. She had always loved him. When he was near her, she felt happy, content. It was all she wanted, all she had ever wanted. She never thought of him like that, near naked, touching her. That thought was for her husband. Ever since she had seen him at the gymnasium, she'd had a secret desire to touch his bare skin. She'd never felt that way before about anyone, and couldn't imagine why she should feel it for her austere husband. Or refused to let the thought in, refused to think of it. So far Vesey had shown her a proper attention, but had shown no inclination that he wanted to take it any further, especially recently. She didn't care to imagine if she should become physically enamoured of him, and have to beg for his attentions. Impatiently, she motioned to Robbins to clasp the necklace she'd chosen about her neck. The maid came forward, holding the pretty confection. "Where did you get to this afternoon?" Vanessa asked. It had been Robbins' afternoon off, and her enquiry was casual, intended to make conversation. She was surprised when she saw the maid flush. "Nowhere in particular, milady," she replied. "Do you like it here?" Had her maid found a lover? Goodness, was everybody in Vienna busy, except her? "Yes milady, I like it well enough." "Have you made any friends?" "Some," replied the tight-lipped girl. When she'd employed Robbins the girl had been jolly, happy go lucky, but since she'd become Vanessa's maid, she'd been far more grave, as though the troubles of the world had settled on her shoulders. She would make further enquiries, Vanessa thought, puzzled at the change. Never had she felt less festive than she did tonight. Whatever she felt about her husband, she was definitely worried about him. She had heard nothing from him since that note from the milliners' and she was beginning to be deeply concerned. When she went out to the drawing room George, Lydia and Mr. Cornelius Allingham waited for her. She couldn't object to Mr. Allingham's presence, and her mother wouldn't be appearing for another day or two, so she let it go. Let her sister enjoy her beau for now. The dinner was grand, glittering and bristling with excitement. Everybody talked about Bonaparte. He had left Paris and headed for the Low Countries. Dispatches had arrived that day and Talleyrand informed the throng of the results. The armies were equally matched and it would be a close run thing. The confrontations would be well away from Austria, so the ladies were safe. After dinner, in the great white and gold drawing room, Talleyrand managed to pin Vanessa down in a quiet corner. She knew better than to trust him, but he was nominally on Austria and Britain's side. In reality, of course, she knew he was on his own side.

"Have you had word from your husband?" he asked. He turned away, to ensure there were no eavesdroppers, then back to Vanessa again. "He is well, and should be back soon," she replied, hoping with all her heart that it was so. She watched the movement of his impressive nose, big enough to resemble the beak of a puffin, and waited to hear what he would say. "Hm," was the thoughtful reply. "He has a paper I should like to see. I suppose you know the one I mean?" "Why should I know it, sir?" she asked. "He told me he has every confidence in you, milady," was the startling reply. "He said if I had a message for him, I might approach you." "Have you, sir? A message for him?" "Oui. I would like to give it to him personally, if that is possible." Vanessa thought all Talleyrand wanted was to see the paper, and she thought she knew which one he meant. "I shall have word sent to you when he returns," she promised. Smiling down at her as if they had been flirting, he gave her his arm and took her over to a chair where Emery waited. Smiling at Emery, she thought how handsome he was. "Do you enjoy all this?" she asked him. "Do you?" he countered. She glanced around her, taking in the scene. "Oh yes, I do! I enjoy the thinking, the devising of schemes, the knowledge." "I'm not sure I do," he replied. "Oh," he continued bitterly, "I have no plans to give it up, I can't afford to. Hareton will have his reports, and I'll do what I can to help. I don't seem to have a natural gift for it, as you have. I saw you just then. Did you have to lie to him?" "No," she said steadily. "I try not to lie." "I know," he replied, and then smiled. "It's one of the things I love about you." "Emery!" "I think most people know how I feel about you," he pointed out, "Otherwise, why should Talleyrand bring you here to me? They don't know how you feel, because you're better at hiding your feelings." "You're my husband's aide," she pointed out. "I have to see quite a lot of you." "I wish you could see more!" he sighed. "This is neither the time nor the place," she said firmly, rising from her seat. Emery stood up with her. "I have some news," he said. "I'd like to tell you in private. Can you slip away for five minutes, just to talk to me?"

Vanessa was surprised but intrigued, so she agreed to slip away when she could. There were plenty of small salons and corners in this barn of a palace. As long as they weren't away for too long, with so many intrigues going on, she thought she might just take the risk. She would have to be careful, that was all. The evening passed interminably for Vanessa, in intrigue, cards and gossip. Several times she helped herself to glasses of cold white wine from the refreshment table near the door, waving away the servant's offer of help, hoping to slip away. Always, it seemed, someone noticed. Despite her own agitation, she couldn't help but notice how well her escort for the evening, her brother George, had slipped into his new military role. He must be doing well, because he had earned a promotion already. It had cost all the money he had to buy his commission and set himself up with the correct equipment, so any promotion must come out of merit or prize money. Someone thought well of him. She was glad for him, and glad for something else to think about but wondering what Emery wished to say to her in private nagged at her mind. She admitted to herself that the thought of being alone with him for the first time since her marriage made her palms sweat, with a mixture of nervousness and agitation, but she promised herself she would listen and then come away. The company divided at one point, some to go to a smaller adjoining card room, others to participate in some impromptu dancing - as impromptu as this place ever got. Vanessa had no doubt the dancing had been planned in advance. Still others gathered for serious discussion. Vanessa deliberately let herself be seen in the card room for a while, then in the ladies' retiring room, so that people would remember her elsewhere than in the ballroom. When she went to meet Emery, everyone who looked for her would expect her to be somewhere else. She knew this part of the Hofburg quite well now, and headed for a room that she knew should be quiet. She heard quiet footsteps behind her, and glancing back, saw Emery had seen her and followed. She went to the gallery over the gymnasium. She smelled the lingering odour of stale sweat, not one she was fond of, but one she could put up with. As she'd expected, in a very few moments Emery joined her. He carried an unlit candle in a holder and she wondered why. They sat on a bench, the candle at Emery's side. He looked at her for a long time then he leaned forward and kissed her. She responded, but drew away gently after a moment. "Emery," she said, "is that why you wanted to see me?" She retained just enough control not to let his embrace get out of hand, but she feared for it. "No," he said, "it was too good an opportunity to miss." He watched her gravely. She let him gather his thoughts. "Vanessa," he said, "I've had a letter. Such wonderful news!" He fumbled inside his pocket and drew out a folded paper. He handed it to her, but she refused to take it. That must have been what the candlestick was for, so she could read the letter. However, someone might see the light and wonder, so she thought it better it remained unlit, and refused to take the letter. "Tell me what it says." With a voice slightly tremulous with emotion, he told her. "My American investments, the ones I thought were lost in the war? They weren't. The news has taken two years to reach me. Oh, Vanessa, I'm rich!" She stared at him in bewilderment. One elegantly gloved hand curled tightly around the other. "Rich?"

"Not as rich as your…as Lord Vesey, but rich enough! I can support a wife in comfort now!" Vanessa felt the tears behind her eyes and willed them not to come. Six months. If this letter had come six months ago she would be married to Emery now, happily settled somewhere with her mother's blessing. She'd never have met Lord Vesey, or met him casually, in a ballroom somewhere. He would have meant nothing to her. "Are you sure?" she asked, feeling numb and stupid. "Yes, there's no doubt, no doubt at all!" "I'm pleased for you, Emery," she said dully. "Will you go?" "Will you come with me?" His question rocked her. She thought she'd heard wrong. He grasped her hand, pulled her to him and kissed her again. She felt his kiss as she might feel one from an old friend, something she'd not felt for a long time. There was somebody in between them now, and she couldn't -wouldn't betray him. Emery released her and searched her face, as well as he could in the dim light shed from the lamps glowing at the back of the gallery. "People do it all the time," he assured her. "We can call ourselves married. No one there will be any the wiser. A new country, Vanessa, a new start!" "You mean - go to America as man and wife?" "Yes!" Vanessa had no doubt Emery would make a success of the venture. He was a good man. All he'd ever needed was a start, and something he could build on. He would have worked at his political career until it was successful, she was sure of that, but she also knew this new prospect would be better for him. He didn't enjoy the diplomatic life as she did, had no feel for it. Vanessa had to admit to herself that she loved the life she had here. Her husband's diplomatic career suited her well, gave her all the purpose, all the excitement she'd lacked before. As the wife of a pioneer, one with some money behind him, that would give her purpose as well. Two lives, two enticing lives, two careers, both equally fulfilling. Two men. How could she choose? She knew Emery was right. Since divorces were so hard to come by, many people simply didn't bother, but 'married' somebody else. It happened all the time amongst the working people, and sometimes amongst her sort. A generation ago the Devonshires had lived in a ménage à trois, the Duke, the Duchess, and his mistress, the woman he married after Georgiana's death. It had been scandalous, but society had never ostracised them, had never turned its back. In America, she could start again. Nobody would know she'd once been Lady Vesey. She could be Mrs. Graham for the rest of her life. "Vanessa, say yes. Please say yes!" She stared unseeingly at the man she had waited for. It had been so long. Too long, maybe. How could she know? His open, handsome face with the lock of brown hair above that wouldn't lie straight, the soft grey eyes. She knew it all so well, had studied him so often!

"How can I?" she asked. "Not yet! Can I think it over?" "Don't you love me?" he whispered urgently. "Yes, yes, of course," she replied soothingly, almost by rote. "I would have to leave everyone and everything behind! I would only have you, Emery, and while we always said we only ever needed each other, it's such a change. Such a shock! Let me have some time to let it sink in, please!" He continued, carried away by his passion, by his change of fortune. "I know you don't love Vesey. There's nothing between you, is there? No exchanges, no intimacy! I've had the opportunity to watch you, and I've said nothing, because I could offer you nothing before, but now, Vanessa! Has he even touched you?" "You mean…?" She left the words hanging, staring at him, then continued, in a small voice, "If you mean am I still a virgin, the answer's no. You asked me once before. Why do you ask me again?" "Because I don't believe you." He frowned. "Or I didn't." He looked away, flushing. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." He turned back at her, something like anger on his features. "Has he hurt you? If he has I'll take you away tomorrow! Tell me, Vanessa!" She shook her head. "No, he's never hurt me, and I don't think he ever would." "Done his duty has he?" Emery said bitterly. "Keeps himself apart? Oh how lonely you must be!" "No." She hastened to assure him. "We're friends. Most of the time." Turning away from the burning intensity of Emery's gaze, Vanessa looked down to the shadows beneath. She was forcibly reminded of seeing her husband there, gleaming with sweat, panting with exertion. And the feelings that had so confused her at the time. She turned her attention back to Emery. "We must go. We'll be missed." He saw the sense in that and stood up, taking her hand and helping her up too. Before leading the way outside he drew her to him and gave her one last kiss. "I'll come and see you tomorrow," he promised, then he turned and led the way out of the gallery.

Chapter Thirteen

Vanessa became tired of answering questions about Lord Vesey's absence, so she planned to leave as soon as she could, pleading a headache. It wasn't entirely invented. She hadn't slept well the previous night, and Emery's news had compounded her confusion. She desperately needed some rest. Lydia was willing to go home with her sister earlier than usual. Vanessa allowed Mr. Allingham to accompany them. In the carriage, Lydia put her hand over her sister's. "What's wrong?" said Lydia softly. "Many things," Vanessa replied. "I'm worried about Vesey, and about you, and I don't know what to do about Emery." "Why?"

Glancing at Mr. Allingham, she saw he had the tact to stare out of the carriage window, but she didn't care if he heard. The wine she had drunk, combined with her lack of appetite had engendered in her a recklessness she usually tried to avoid. "He won't let go," she said. "I want to try to make my marriage a success, but Emery says he still loves me. Now his ship has come in. He has investments in America that he thought were lost, but it's not so. He says he can support a wife. Lydia, he wants it to be me!" Lydia said nothing, just stared at her sister. "Since Lord Castlereagh told Vesey to look after Emery, I see more of him than I should. Every time he looks at me, touches my hand, it reminds me that he loves me. I can't settle, Lydia." She saw her sister's concerned face, outlined by the light of the full moon. "Before Emery came, things were beginning to go quite well, but now, I feel so unsettled, I can't put my mind to anything. Vesey should have been back by now, I'm sure of it." "So you are worried about him? You do care?" "Oh yes, yes, of course I do! He's a good man, it's just that -" Lydia patted her hand soothingly. "I know, I can see what you're going through. Has it occurred to you," she lowered her voice even more, "that if Vesey was to be killed on this trip, it would solve your problems? You would be a rich widow, and you could marry your Emery!" Vanessa snatched her hand away. "No. No! How could you say - even think — such a thing!" She was appalled by her sister's notion, one that hadn't occurred to her before. It was true, so why should the thought fill her with so much horror? Her attention went back to Lydia; she was ready to excoriate her. Her sister held up one hand to stop Vanessa's flow. "I said it, my dear, to make you think." She paused and glanced over at Mr. Allingham. "I hope you don't mind, but Cornelius and I have seen something of your dilemma over the past few days. It occurred to us both that perhaps you're not thinking straight, my love!" Vanessa couldn't imagine what her sister meant. Or didn't want to. Lydia, seeing her confusion, tried to explain. "Think, Vessa! If your husband was killed, how would you feel?" Vanessa put her hand to her cheek, now heated, as the realisation hit her with the suddenness of a fist. Lydia carried on. "If somehow he wasn't there…if his absence didn't involve his death, would you marry Emery, would you be completely happy with him?" Vanessa stared at her sister's face, totally transfixed. She gasped in amazement as she realised what had been creeping up on her since she married Lord Vesey. "No," she whispered. "No, I wouldn't." Lydia took Vanessa's trembling hand and patted it soothingly. "I thought not. Just things I've seen. I owe you something. You've been so kind to me, even when I've found myself laughing too much, and flirting too much! I know you don't like that, but I'm not like you. I find discretion hard, and I love these parties and all the attention! You've not scolded me, you've put up with me, and all at a time when you've been worried and in turmoil! For what it's worth, I think you're worrying unnecessarily. Vesey hasn't gone anywhere excessively dangerous, and he can't be more than a day or two late. You concern is just an indication of the way you feel about him, isn't it?"

Vanessa had to admit that her sister was right. The carriage drew up outside the building that housed their apartment, and Lydia gave her hand to Cornelius Allingham. "I must say goodnight, Cornelius. I need to look after my sister. You understand?" "Of course," Mr. Allingham replied, taking her hand and kissing it fondly. "Do take care, and I'll call as soon as I may!" Even in her current state of agitation Vanessa couldn't help reflecting what a good couple they would make. Mr. Allingham helped them to alight and then got back into the carriage for his journey home. She and Lydia went upstairs to the apartment and let themselves in. The usual footman was on duty in the hall, waiting for their return. Vanessa said, "You may go to bed now, Jackson." She led her sister through to the drawing room. Lydia went over to the sideboard, where three decanters rested in a tantalus, and poured them a glass of brandy each. Vanessa took hers with murmured thanks and sipped at the fiery drink. She felt her shock melt, as the liquid seemed to flow through her veins. Then she looked up at Lydia who sat next to her, the tawny liquid in her glass nearly untouched, and smiled shakily. "Dear me!" she said softly. "What an idiot I am, dear sister!" Lydia smiled in return. "Not at all," she said. "I think it's because I came to your household fresh, that I saw it at once. I'm in love, too," she added softly. "I'm so sorry about that," Vanessa said. "I did my best, but Mama won't be budged. What about the General?" "He says whatever his new wife says must be the case," she said sadly. "I doubt he has any real objection, but this is too early in his marriage for contention. He won't argue with his new wife just yet." "Can you wait?" Vanessa asked. "We think we may have to," her sister answered. "But not forever. Look what happened to you!" Vanessa was forced to agree. What had begun as a passionate devotion had become, over the course of six years of hopeless waiting, a habit. She paused to think about it. As she put down her empty glass and leaned back in her chair, she heard the key in the door. It could only be one of two people; Mr. Cummings or her husband. She waited, hardly daring to breathe. After a moment the door to the drawing room opened. Lord Vesey came in. "Chris!" Forgetting everything else, Vanessa leapt up from her chair and threw herself at him. Emboldened by brandy, she flung her arms around him and lifted her face for his kiss. If it had been a dry, public kiss, or if he had refused to kiss her it might have been disastrous, but at this vital moment in their lives, he responded as she wanted. He folded his arms around his wife and kissed her. This was nothing like she had ever experienced with him before, deep, passionate and longing. Forgetting her sister, forgetting everything else she did her very best to return it, and was rewarded by the merest flicker of his tongue on her lips. She tightened her hold

on him. With a small sound he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, and she welcomed it, responded warmly. He kissed her repeatedly, as though he never wanted to stop, and she let him feel her fervent response. She didn't know how long they stood there quenching their thirst for each other. When they finally let go, Lydia had gone. She saw his glance across to the empty chair and the two glasses and then he looked back at her in silent query. "My sister Lydia," she explained. "She's been keeping me company while you were away. She's sleeping in my dressing room." "Then I suggest," he murmured, his lips against her hair, "That we adjourn to my room tonight." She reached up to kiss his cheek. Releasing her, but keeping one arm about her waist, he took her out the drawing room and across the corridor into his bedroom. Vanessa hadn't been in there before, had only put her head round the door once. The chamber was as elegantly furnished as the rest of the apartment. Scattered around were his personal belongings, making this room as much a part of him as all the other impersonal rooms she guessed he'd stayed in over the years. Standing in the middle of the floor was his valet. Vanessa flushed. Vesey kept a firm hand around his wife's waist. "I won't need you tonight, Cardew," he said. The man bowed and left. Lord Vesey turned to his wife's flushed face. "Vanessa?" "I…I'm sorry," she faltered. "I just…I missed you so, and I was worried! I don't want to disgust you, but oh, Chris, I've been so stupid!" "Why?" He kept his gaze on hers, waiting for her answer, his hands resting lightly about her waist. "I didn't know. Oh, dammit, I love you, Chris, and it took my sister to point it out to me!" The dam finally broke. "Oh Vanessa my love!" he said. He took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly, then broke away and gazed at her, something like hunger in his eyes. "I'm sorry Vanessa," he said. "I can't be careful any more! Can you bear it, may I love you properly?" "Yes, oh, please!" she said, and was rewarded by another kiss, bruising in its intensity. She felt his hands at the back of her gown, but eventually he had to concede defeat. With a shaky laugh he confessed; "I've never been clever with women's gowns! How the hell do you get out of this thing?" With a laugh fully as shaky as his she turned in his arms so her back was to him. "You undo the buttons," she told him. He complied, but he found the long line of tiny buttons difficult for his large hands. "They do this on purpose," he said. "What?" "Make it tricky," he replied. "What if I pulled?"

"All the buttons would pop off and my maid would waste her time in the morning picking them all up and sewing them back on. Everybody would know what we…what we—." He chuckled. "As to that," he replied, "I don't care, but I don't want to waste your maid's valuable time!" He finished undoing all the buttons, and slipped the gown off her shoulders, kissing her skin as it became visible to him. She shuddered and leant back against him, letting the gown fall away. "Unlace me now," she told him. He did as he was told. While he did that she loosed the strings of her petticoat, so that when she turned back to him she was left in only her chemise and stockings. His smile was one she had only seen rarely before, not the public, smooth diplomatic smile but one just for her, filled with warmth and love. He shrugged off his coat, threw it over a nearby chair, and then knelt at her feet. Gently lifting her chemise, he undid her garters and slowly rolled the stockings down her legs, kissing the exposed flesh as he went. She shivered at his touch. Then he stood up and faced her. She smiled at him and put her hands down to draw her chemise over her head. Naked, hiding nothing, she met his gaze boldly. Then she reached her hands up and unpinned her hair, letting it fall down her back in a silken stream. He stared at her, taking his time, letting his gaze travel up and down the length of her, and eventually he said, "My God, Vanessa, you're so beautiful!" "I thought," she told him, "that you might not like me, that it might not be what we were supposed to do." "Who cares what we're supposed to do?" he asked fiercely. "Wait! Only a few minutes my love!" She went and lay down in his bed, waiting for him, watching him remove his clothes. It seemed that he deliberately concentrated on taking them off properly, but he glanced over at her from time to time ,as if to ensure she was still there. She thought she saw his hands tremble. He laid the pearl pin she'd given him carefully on the dressing table and threw the rest of his clothes over a chair, only pausing to pick up her discarded gown and throw that over his garments. She watched him as frankly as he'd watched her, shivered when she thought that she'd soon feel that powerful chest touch her breasts, skin to skin. She dared to investigate further, and for the first time saw what an aroused man looked like. He followed her gaze and smiled. "No good trying to hide how much I want you," he commented wryly. Drawing the covers back, she held out her arms when he came to the bed. He didn't pause, but swept her up. She felt his warmth, felt him hold her tight. His lips found hers, and increased her need, that need she only dimly understood. He caressed her, made her shiver again with desire, but he didn't immediately move over her, as he had in the past. He passed his hands over her body, cupped her full breasts and rubbed his thumbs over the nipples until they shrank into hard peaks. She caught her breath at the sensation. One hand moved farther down. She moaned when he found the most sensitive part of her, now slick with desire, and slipped a finger inside. His thumb moved over another part, a peak of flesh she had been

unaware of until now, and it rose to meet him. Her eyelids flew open. "Chris?" she whispered, confused by a sensitivity that was almost unbearable, something she had never felt before. "Hush," he murmured lovingly. "Let me do this for you. Trust me, my darling." She moved against him, feeling the warmth increase inside her. He continued to move his hand, massaging, pushing until the warmth heated into a crescendo of throbbing pulses. She strained against him and cried out in the throes of something she'd never felt before and had no name for. "Oh Vanessa," he murmured, "Vanessa, I love you, I love you!" When he moved his hand away, she felt him move over her and enter her. How different from before! She wanted him so much that he slid inside, meeting no barriers, no resistance, only warm, welcoming flesh. She heard his sigh and answered it with one of her own. "Chris," she murmured, and then, louder, "Oh Chris!" When he pushed harder, she responded with cries of surprise, of bliss. "Oh yes, yes," he cried, "Let go!" The warmth she'd felt once before suffused her whole body. She cried out in joy when it increased, surged through her and then completely overwhelmed her. She arched her back, pushed up to meet him, only to feel his strong, urgent thrusts closer, until it was all she knew, all she wanted. He slipped one arm under her waist, pulled her up to him as she called to him. She heard him say, "Vanessa. Open your eyes, look at me." She obeyed, and saw his dear face. Reaching a hand up, she touched his cheek and watched as he turned to kiss her palm. The roughness of a day's stubble grazed the sensitive part of her hand, and she laughed a little. He turned back to her and laughed himself, from sheer joy. She slipped her hand behind his head and brought him down for a kiss. He broke away, gasping, and with one loud cry, pushed hard inside her. She felt his pulsing, shattering orgasm explode within her, and rejoiced that she could bring him to this height of ecstasy. She watched as he lost his senses for that short moment. This was true power, the giving of herself and receiving his love in exchange. Uncaring, unknowing, he fell back on to her. In a moment, he had come to and rolled off her, but reached out an arm and drew her to his side. She felt his warmth, put a hand up to lay it on his chest and looked up to find him regarding her, soft, warm and loving. "I didn't think you loved me," she said. "After what we've just done? Can you doubt it?" "No," she admitted. "Why shouldn't I love you?" "I thought you wanted a hostess, perhaps a mother for your children, and later, I thought you might want my friendship," she said. "I didn't know you loved me." "I've loved you from when I decided to follow you to Bath from London and ask you to marry me," he told her. "That would be…oh, months! I can prove it, too." Laughing when she frowned sceptically, he

said. "Take your wedding ring off." Puzzled, she did as she was told, and then sat up in bed, to get closer to the candle burning on the nightstand. The ring was engraved inside, something she hadn't been aware of before. It read; "V with love C." She turned back to him, smiling. "I've been wearing this and not realising? Oh, Chris!" she went back to him, slipping into the circle of his arm as though she belonged there. He kissed her gently. "When did you know? When did you decide that you loved me?" "Tonight," she confessed. "At least, I think I must have loved you for some time, but I didn't realise it until today. I only recognised it properly when Lydia asked me how I would feel if you were killed on this trip, leaving me rich and free to marry Emery Graham." The smile left his face; he watched her closely. "And?" "The thought filled me with such horror. I knew then. Then there's this." She moved her hand across his powerful chest in a caress. "I'd never seen you properly before I saw you in the gymnasium that day. Mama had said she wanted to see the horses, and then when she saw the viewing gallery for the gymnasium, she changed her mind." "I might have known I'd have her to blame!" he said. "Go on!" "Seeing you at a distance, watching you like that, I wanted to touch you. I think it was desire, but I knew I had reacted to you in a way I didn't expect. It was a surprise." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I'm sorry I was so angry, but I was trying to work through how I felt, what I should do." He tried to explain. "I've always wanted to make love to you properly, from our first night, but I was worried I might frighten you. I decided to be slow and careful. I didn't know what it would do to me. To hold you, to feel you, and then to have to hold back. I think it did more to me than I'd thought! I needed the physical exercise I found there, just to keep my resolve." "You might have frightened me at first," she said. "Later I thought you'd lost interest in me, or your work was taking all your time." "That at least is true," he confessed. He moved his hand over her, caressed her, smoothed the skin between her breasts and her hips. "Matters are running out of hand, and I thought it might be better to leave things be for now, instead of trying to rush them and maybe ruin them forever. If you hadn't kissed me like you did tonight, that's where things would still be." She smiled. "I'd just drunk a glass of brandy. To steady my nerves, I thought." "Then remind me never to travel without brandy," he said, smiling back. "It certainly gave me the courage I needed." He drew her to him and kissed her again. "Are you tired?" "A little." "Then sleep." "You won't go?" He laughed. "Where would I go? This is my bed!"

Sleepily chuckling, she told him, "Then I won't go." Struck by another thought she opened her eyes to see him looking at her. "Why did you leave me before?" "Because that's what gentlemen do," he answered her. "You're supposed to want your privacy." "I want to wake up and touch you," she told him. "And kiss you." "Carry on like that," he commented, "And you won't be getting any sleep for some time!" She lifted her face for his kiss, but found her eyes closing again. She was asleep before she realised it. She was woken by his touch, the feel of his soft kisses on her shoulders and back. He must have felt her stir, because he said, "I'm sorry, my darling. I woke up, felt you next to me and couldn't resist. Perhaps that's why we should sleep in separate rooms!" She turned round so she faced him. She couldn't see him: it was dead of night and the candles had long since guttered out. "All the more reason to share a bed," she said. He laughed and kissed her. No question of polite, dry kisses now. She put a hand up to feel his face, and curled her hand around the back of his neck. "I'll be yawning over the conference table tomorrow!" he said. "Or today." "What time is it?" "I have no idea. Late. Or early. Don't forget we came to bed earlier than usual." "So we did." She pulled him down for another kiss, and then she chuckled. "I didn't even ask you how your trip went!" "I did what I wanted to do. I had some information to pass on which Blücher should receive very soon. About numbers. I had to be careful, there seemed to be people on every road, all asking questions." He paused. "I was determined to come back, to see what we had. That's why I was ready for you, though your welcome was more than I'd hoped for!" "It was more than I knew," she admitted. "I have the feeling that I've only begun to find out." "We'll learn together," he said. "I'll learn what you like, and try to make you as happy as I can. I love you, Vanessa." "I love you, Chris." He moved over her again, and bent his head to kiss her, then began to move down her body, kissing her as he went. She gasped, delighted when he took a nipple into his mouth, teasing and sucking until it peaked, and then moved on to the next one. When he reached the sensuous heart of her, she thought he would come back up the bed, but he didn't. He continued to kiss and tongue her, touching parts of her she never knew existed before tonight. Spreading the warmth with his kisses and caresses, until she cried out in joy and he came back to her. She almost pulled him into her this time, feeling the hard muscles of his backside under her hands contract when he pushed deeply, over and over, reaching her inner self with his exertions. She was hardly aware of calling out, but it was as well his dressing room and her bedroom lay between them and Lydia, or she would have woken her sister for sure. She had never been so happy, so fulfilled, so blissful as his

lovemaking made her. For one brief, treacherous moment, it passed through her mind that it wouldn't have been like this with Emery. Chris kissed her neck, her mouth, thrust his tongue into it, mimicking his movements below. When he pulled away, panting with his exertions, she cried out, "oh Chris, Chris!" as everything inside her seemed to surge up under his body, reach a pinnacle of rapture and then travel higher still under his demanding loving. She faintly heard his answering, "Vanessa! Vanessa my love!" as he too reached his climax and shuddered deep inside, seeming to send the whole of himself spinning inside her. They lay together for some time, getting their breath back, until he rolled to one side and took her with him. He hadn't withdrawn from her, seeming reluctant to go but naturally, he left her and she curled up in the shelter of his arm. Without another word they fell asleep again, wrapped up in each other. When Vanessa woke up again it was daylight, and she was still in her husband's arms. She moved very gently, so as not to wake him, and studied at him in clear daylight. The bed they had used was in the French style, with drapes on the head only, meant more for decoration than to be drawn, so they were still tied back. The shutters were partly open, so she saw him clearly, as he lay asleep and vulnerable, holding her close. Vanessa wasn't a small woman, but she felt small here. His propensity for physical exercise had given him a powerful physique. His strong head was thrown back against the pillows, his fashionable haircut in loveable disarray. Vanessa knew her own hair was more than tousled, and she longed for a brush, but she daren't move in case she woke him. How could she have been so stupid, she thought. How could she have ignored that feeling of excitement mingled with comfort when he was close? She remembered putting it down as friendship, respect, but that was what she felt for Emery, not for Chris. She sincerely wished Emery every good fortune, but she knew she wouldn't be going anywhere with him. Oh, America! She had forgotten America! He'd said he would call on her today! She didn't know what Chris' plans were for the day, but she hoped they would include her. She would have to see Emery, to explain to him, but she wasn't looking forward to it. She leaned against her husband once more, then heard the door to the dressing room open, and close as Cardew realised his master wasn't alone. It would be all round the house soon, she thought. The slight sound must have roused him, because when she looked up at his face his eyes were open, soft and loving. "Good morning," she said. "Good morning my love," he replied. He moved his hand over her. "You feel wonderful," he informed her. "I was thinking the same thing." She smiled up at him and he kissed her. "What are you doing today? Your valet just came in." "If Cardew's just been in, then it must be time for me to get up," he said. "I'm sorely tempted to stay here." "You can't do that! They'll be waiting for you!" she was flattered, just the same. "We can come back here tonight."

"I have every intention of doing so," he assured her. He slid down the bed so his face was on a level with hers. "What are your plans for the day?" "I'm going to make arrangements for Lydia to go to General Allinghams' —" She broke off when she saw his puzzled frown. "Oh, I didn't tell you, did I? Mama's married General Allingham!" "Good God!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think I'd been away that long!" "Special Licence," she told him. "I'll say this for your family - they're quick workers!" He was amused, leaning forward to kiss her again. She smiled too. "They seem very happy together," she said. "Mama says she loves him, and I think she'll make him a good wife." "If not a complaisant one," he remarked. "So the girls have been sent to General Allinghams', while Mama and the General have a few days together by themselves. Poor Lydia!" "How so?" "She's fallen in love with Cornelius Allingham. Now Mama is Mrs. Allingham she won't hear of their union, but there can be no objection, can there, my love?" "Not in law." He leant forward and gave her a series of small, sipping kisses which made her laugh. "I don't think I can get up," he said. "Not if you stay here." "I thought you had mistresses before!" she said teasingly. She didn't really mind now. "It doesn't compare," he answered. "In any case, there were only two." "Two!" "At different times, my love. I had hardly set up one when I met you and lost interest in her. Do you remember, when I asked you to marry me? I promised to give her up?" "Yes." "Damned expensive that was!" he said. "I thought we'd defeated Bonaparte and I could settle down with the statutory wife and mistress. I didn't know the wife would be you, and I didn't know I would fall deeply in love before the season was out." She was still sceptical. "I never had much time for love before," he explained. "It never seemed as important as it does now." She leaned forward to kiss him and then gave him a little push in the middle of his chest. "Go on, get up. You can send Robbins through to me with my robe, and I'll get out of your way." "Oh no," he protested. "You could never be in my way, sweetheart." "Ooh," she said, laughing, but he obeyed her and got up. When he threw back the sheets, he looked at her, wantonly naked, luxuriously warm. She smiled back and undulated her body for him to admire. Sighing, he went into the dressing room to find his valet.

Left alone, Vanessa stretched languorously. This was far, far more than she had expected, so wonderful she couldn't have imagined it. The thought that she could look forward to more nights like this made her shiver delightfully in anticipation. Snuggling down into the sheets she smelled him on the pillow a male scent she could start to get used to. She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes.

Chapter Fourteen

Lydia came into the dining room just after Chris had left it to go to the Hofburg. "Vanessa!" If she had seen the lingering kiss his lordship had bestowed upon his bride before he left, her next question would have become redundant. "Is everything all right now? Have you made up your mind?" "Yes," said Vanessa. She kept her head down while she buttered a roll. Then she met her sister's gaze frankly. "I'm very happy." "Good, that's how it should be." Lydia went to the sideboard and began to help herself to some food. "Mama's happy, so that's all right." "Oh Lydia!" Vanessa cried, conscience stricken. "Truly, I'll do my best with Mama! I won't give up." "Neither will we," said Lydia. "I saw what happened with you and Emery Graham. I won't let that happen to me." She sat down next to her sister. "Yes," Vanessa agreed sadly. Although it had worked out so well for her, she worried for Emery. She had been his world for the last six years. Today, she would have to tell him it was all at an end. She had to end it, she couldn't let it drag on, leave him any hope at all. She couldn't be unhappy today. She beamed at Lydia. "Emery won't call until later on, and Chris will be busy at the Palace. Shall we go shopping?" She should call in at the milliner's anyway. Later that day, they returned laden with several enticing bandboxes to find that Mr. Graham had called twice already. Vanessa was sorry at once. She didn't want to cause him any more anguish than she had to, and she didn't want the forthcoming interview hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles. The maid brought in some tea. Wonderful how thirsty one could get after a successful shopping trip, Vanessa thought. They sipped gratefully. "I'm so grateful to you, Lydia!" Vanessa said after she had poured them both a second dish. Lydia opened her mouth slightly in surprise. Vanessa had already demonstrated her gratitude by buying her sister a very pretty, warm shawl. Although it was May, and becoming more temperate, this wasn't the best of springs. The weather was still cool. The thin, muslin gowns the Marriott girls wore weren't much protection against a lazy wind. Vanessa explained the reason for her gratitude. "If it weren't for our talk last night, Chris and I would still be dancing around each other trying to be careful!" Lydia laughed. "I could see that, even before I talked to you! You were always so careful, both of you, as though you were afraid of damaging something precious." She accepted her second dish of tea. "When I met Cornelius and fell in love with him I understood. You didn't want to damage what you already had, and daren't go on to the next stage. Love is precious, isn't it?" "Yes, it is precious," Vanessa agreed. "We've made a start, Chris and I, and I think it's going to be all

right." Lydia touched Vanessa's hand for a moment. "I'm so glad. Cornelius and I have been talking, and we've decided not to wait too much longer." "Whatever can you mean?" "Please don't tell anyone, but if Mama won't agree, we're going to elope." "Lydia!" "We're both sure, we know we could make a life together. I won't wait as you did," Lydia said. "Mama will come round, and even if she doesn't I can live in comfort with Cornelius without her approval." Vanessa put down her tea dish. "You'll be ruined! Please don't do it, Lydia Think very, very carefully." "We've thought, long and hard. Really my dear, we can see no other way." The sisters stared at each other for a moment, and then Lydia added, "it's only a last resort, so you're not to think about it." Vanessa couldn't see matters coming to that pass. Her mood was so sunny it wasn't too difficult to comply with Lydia's request for silence, at least as far as her mother was concerned. Besides, Lydia might be right. Vanessa couldn't have eloped with Emery. He could hardly support himself, much less a wife, and Vanessa had needed some security, for her future children if not for herself. Cornelius Allingham had a small independence, enough to support a wife. Her mood plummeted when she heard the doorbell and Emery's card was brought through to her. "I'd better see him alone," she said to Lydia, who nodded and left. Vanessa stood to receive Emery. He came in, and when he saw her welcoming smile, his face relaxed. They exchanged inconsequential talk until the maid had come and replaced the teapot with a fresh one. Then Vanessa wasted some more time pouring tea. She managed to establish a kind of ease between them, but the tension crackled in the air. Eventually Vanessa put her tea dish down and confronted Emery, her hands folded demurely in her lap. "You want an answer," she stated. "If you're ready," he answered. "I think I sprang it on you far too quickly last night. Please forgive me, Vanessa, I shouldn't have been so eager." "It doesn't matter, Emery, I don't think you can put that kind of information any other way. How did you feel when you opened the letter?" "Shocked; I didn't take it in for some time. I had to read it about ten times before I realised it was true!" "Can you be sure?" She wondered if Emery wasn't perhaps putting too much trust in one letter. "Yes, because it says things only my investment partners know, and I trust the sender implicitly. I know his writing." Emery drew the well-worn piece of paper from his pocket. "There's no doubt, Vanessa, none at all," he said sincerely. "What I thought was lost is regained and returned tenfold. Even if I sold out now I'd have enough to live on comfortably." "I'm so glad," she could say. "What do you plan to do?"

"I want to go to America and increase the investment. I'll consolidate some of it, and reinvest the rest. Oh, Vanessa, there are so many opportunities in America! It's a new country, just coming in to its own! It's huge, you have no idea how large it is!" She let her face relax, pleased by his enthusiasm, the relief that he had something else, after all. He carried on. "There are plains so wide you can see for twenty miles or more at a stretch! New, beautiful cities, stretching right down the coast! You can choose your climate; the place is so big! Oh, Vanessa, you'll love it!" He stopped and watched her, waiting for his answer. Vanessa didn't say anything at first, just looked away from him at the elegant apartment, furnished by someone else. It would be occupied by someone else before too long. She didn't care. Her home was with Chris now. Emery's offer didn't even tempt her, but she could break her heart that it had come too late for them. It had tempted her only briefly last night. She couldn't have lived with the devastation she would leave behind, even if she hadn't loved her husband. Chris' career would have been endangered, her mother and sisters' lives ruined by her scandalous action. Lydia had forced the realisation on her of where her love lay before Vanessa gave Emery's news a chance. "It sounds wonderful," she heard herself say. She let a silence fall between them before she began to explain. She'd been thinking about what she would say all day. Now the moment had arrived she didn't want to make a mess of it. Emery had been wholly devoted to her for the last six years. This would come hard, and she was so pleased he had some good news that might help him accept the bad. "When I met you, six years ago," she began, speaking slowly, "I thought you were exactly what I wanted. Mama's refusal to our marriage came as a blow, but I reasoned that if we waited a little while, proved to her our devotion was genuine, she would come round in time. She had six of us girls to settle. I thought she might let me go. I was the eldest, you see, and if I stayed single long enough she would be glad to be rid of me." Emery listened to her in silence; she knew he was eagerly waiting for that one word which wouldn't come. "Well, we waited and waited. I refused several flattering offers, some of which Mama wasn't even aware of. I think the nail in the coffin of her acceptance of us was Jane's marriage. Paul was only just acceptable, but he has fine relations, you know, and might make a bishop in time. So he was accepted where you were rejected. It's not fair, but Mama has been talking to me about several things recently, and I can understand her reasoning, even if I don't condone it." "I don't scruple to say that I find your mother a mercenary woman," he said grimly. "She married for love, to a man with no money, and lived in poverty, on her own for the most part for too long. I can understand her better now." That last statement surprised Vanessa as she was saying it, but it was true. "She wanted better for us. So you see she did love us, in her own way." "If she loved you, she would have wanted to see you happy," Emery said. "Yes, but she didn't think I would be happy married to a man with no money. To do her justice, when I refused Sir Barnaby Thorne, she said she would never have accepted him on my behalf. He beat his first wife you know, and may have hastened her to an early grave. He was very rich." "I remember," said Emery. "He went and married someone else the next month."

"He just wanted a brood mare." Vanessa dismissed him and the memory of Sir Barnaby's thin lips on hers when he tried to kiss her. It had felt profoundly wrong. She knew she would never have been happy. "When Chris - Lord Vesey - offered for me, I could find nothing objectionable about him. He offered me the kind of life I was drawn to, where I could be useful." "I never expected you to accept him," Emery said, "Much less marry him." "What else could I do?" she said. "George was going abroad with the army, and I wanted to take care of him. I thought I might have some influence as Lord Vesey's wife, be able to help George, get him posted somewhere safe. I've come to see that George is a grown man, he doesn't need his big sister any more." She felt some comfort when she thought of George. There would always be something special between them. "He's going back tomorrow, and I can only wish him good luck and God speed." She saw Emery watching her, waiting for her to say yes. "George gave me some very good advice the other day," she added. "I love this life, Emery, the intrigues, the importance, the feeling of being at the centre of things!" "If you stayed you might never have a permanent home, might never settle anywhere," he protested. "That's true," she confirmed. She looked down at her hands, resting quietly in her lap. Not a tremor. "I have a home, of a sort, and I find that's enough." She let the intimation of what she was saying sink in for a moment before she said; "So I have to say no, Emery. I'm sorry. I wish you nothing but good fortune in your future life. If you should want to, I'd love to hear from you. But I can't go away with you." "You want to stay with Vesey?" he said, disbelieving. "Yes," she said simply. She looked away, down at her hands and the simple gold band gleaming on her finger. "You don't know what sort of man he is!" "I think I do," she said quietly. "No, Vanessa! You're a gently reared girl, how could you know about the things he does?" "He tells me." Emery's eagerness had changed to anger, or disappointment. His mouth turned down, his eyes creased under a frown. "You should know what he does!" he said. "I think I do." "No - you don't know the half of it! Oh, Vanessa, Vanessa, can you stay with a man who…who visits houses of ill repute!" So that was it. "Yes," she said. "Vanessa, I didn't want to tell you this, but he visits a certain house in the city at least once a week!" He moved to sit next to her on the sofa, and took her hand.

She was shocked at how little his touch meant to her, where once it had been the entire world. "A house of ill repute?" she asked. "Yes, yes. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you!" "I still won't go with you, Emery." He began to get angry, she could see it. Undirected anger, which might settle on her husband before too long. "Vanessa, you can't stay with him, a philanderer, a…a man-about-town!" "Is it always the same house?" "Yes! All we aides know!" "Why do you think he goes?" Vanessa pulled her hand away. "Because," said a new voice, one that brought a thrill to her throat, "It's a poste restante you fool!" Chris entered the room and walked to the front of the sofa. It stood with its back to the outer door, and he must have come in quietly, probably using his own key, as was his habit. Emery's voice had risen considerably during the last five minutes, and Vanessa's inner turmoil had blocked her ears to household noises. They both regarded at him with differing emotions, but the damage had been done. Neither Vanessa nor Chris hid their love for each other now. There was no need. Now Emery had been refused, Vanessa reasoned, it was best he saw. She doubted he would believe it if she merely told him. Emery stood up, but Vesey waved him impatiently to sit down. He took the seat Emery had left, the one next to Vanessa. After that first smile, he didn't take her hand, nor did he look at her particularly. Vanessa too, had regained her outer calm. "Vanessa goes to the milliner's quite frequently these days," Chris told Emery. "She knows about Madame's. I told her when I asked her to go to the milliners', but I think I should give that particular port of call a miss from now on." He turned his head then, and exchanged a smile with his wife. "I can't have people coming to the wrong conclusions." He turned back to at Emery. "Would you like to go, Graham?" Emery blinked. "Good God, no!" he cried, appalled. "Someone has to," Vesey said. "It's a valuable source of information, and someone has to keep Madame happy." He glanced at Vanessa, and added, so there should be no misunderstanding, "She's paid very well for her discretion, and her help." "So is the milliner," Vanessa added dryly. "She must be the most expensive in Vienna!" "You look so charming in them!" Vesey leant back against the corner of the sofa so he could see his wife and her admirer at the same time without turning his head. "I spend far too much on fripperies," she said, feeling guilty. "Part of the job," he replied carelessly. Then he turned to Emery, whose expression had undergone a

change, from eagerness to tension. His mouth set in a hard line, his frown deepened, he looked at them, and couldn't ask the question. "Trying to poach my wife?" Chris asked carelessly. Only Vanessa realised his seeming carelessness masked a deep concern. She heard the edge of anxiety where others would hear only a fashionable drawl. It touched her that he could still be unsure. "I have an investment in America which means I can support a wife," Emery answered boldly. "Even if she's mine?" "No one would know that over there, unless you made it your business to let them know." "I don't think I would do that," Vesey replied. "I believe in justice, but life is too short for revenge." He glanced at Vanessa, who seemed to be studying her wedding ring. "He's right you know," he told her. "You could do that." "I know," she said. "But I won't." "Would you have gone last week?" he asked. She knew he meant. Would she have gone before last night? She shook her head. "Not when I thought about it. How could I do that to you, to my family?" Then she turned to Emery. "Apart from everything else," she began, "I made Chris some promises he's entitled to expect me to keep." Emery nodded, all the colour drained from his face. He was beginning to understand. The tension in his face showed her that. Vanessa felt desperately sorry for him. "Emery I think it was just too long. I'm sorry. Perhaps I'm fickle, or perhaps no one can wait six years and keep that first feeling. I've changed." "Yes," Emery replied slowly. "I see that." He stood up and bowed. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time." "Never that," she answered. "Never that, Emery." She stood up too and held out her hand. He touched it briefly. "Will you go to America?" "Yes, I think so," he replied, then he turned to Vesey. "If you can spare me?" Vesey bowed his head in agreement. "The Congress is almost at an end, the Treaty done. There's nothing to keep you here much longer." "I'm so sorry," Vanessa repeated to Emery. "There was no other way of telling you." "You had the courage to tell me directly," he answered. "Others might have written a letter." She was shocked that he could think so. "That would be a dreadful thing to do!" She paused, uncertain of what more to say. "Will you write to me?" "No," he replied. "Not at first, anyway." "Will you let me know you've arrived safely?" A strong note of bitterness entered his voice "Do you care?"

"Yes of course!" "Very well." He pulled his hand away and gave her a formal bow, deliberately reminding her of the first time they met, in a ballroom in London. Nodding to Lord Vesey, he left. Vanessa went immediately to her husband, and he folded his arms about her. She cried a little, out of pity for the man who had loved her for so long, and from relief, that she had told him. Vesey said nothing, just smoothed her hair, and held her tight. When she pulled away a little and looked up at him he smiled reassuringly at her. "Wait," he said, and felt in his pocket for his handkerchief. "I'm sorry," she murmured, as he busied himself drying her wet face. "You're the last person I should have come to." "The first," he corrected her. "Weeping over a lost lover?" she tried a watery smile and was rewarded by a warm one from him. "Just weeping," he answered. "It's over now. You can both start living your own lives." Settling her against his shoulder, he leaned back on the sofa to make them more comfortable. "My turn to talk," he said. "You just listen. When I first told someone I was interested in you, it was at Almack's last year. I was told to leave you alone, since you had never been interested in anyone but Emery Graham. I was interested in you. Oh, not for your own sweet self, not then, but because I wondered what such a lovely woman was doing in a girl's muslin gown. It piqued my curiosity. Then I asked you to dance, and your mother said no, not the waltz. I began to understand. I think she wanted to keep you young to keep herself young, and Graham was your rebellion." She wondered if he was right. "I did love him," she said. "I'm sure you did," he answered, not in the least put out. "But you were so cold to me, the way you must have been with everybody else! Was it a habit, my love?" "Yes," she admitted. "I already realised that. I didn't want for interest, but they would move on if I was cold to them." "Except for me." "Except for you." He gave her a gentle kiss. "It's probably why it took us so long to well, never mind! I was astonished to find I was falling in love with you, and determined to woo you gradually, to try to break through that icy reserve. Your mother gave me every encouragement; I was never denied your house. Then Bonaparte escaped and it all started up again. I had little choice; I had to make my desires known. Why did you accept me?" She knew better than to dissimulate. "Because you would be able to help me look after George. I was accustomed to regarding him as my little brother, you see, and I couldn't bear him to go abroad with no one to care for him! He doesn't need me. That was foolish!" Chris watched her gravely.

She continued to speak, feeling safe and warm. "And because I liked you. I never liked any of my suitors half so much. And," she added thoughtfully, "because this life interested me, excited me, and I thought I could be useful to you." She shifted a little in his arms, and he adjusted himself to her. "I was tired of being constantly criticised all the time as Mama used to!" "As you should have been," he said. "I saw how she denigrated you, made you wear the clothes that were too young for you, told you how to sit, how to behave! You know the first time I saw you outside, you wore a light summer gown and a shawl, even though it was October, and I longed to hold you, just to warm you up!" She laughed at that. "Mama said my arms were one of my best features." "So they are, but not when they're covered in goose pimples! Did you never realise she was keeping you young, so she wouldn't seem so old? " "She doesn't look old! Oh!" Vanessa stopped when she realised this was probably true. Her mother dyed her hair to rid herself of the grey, wore colourful, youthful gowns, kept her daughters in girlish muslins. Only her constant search for good husbands for the Marriott girls declared her desire to rid herself of them. Dare Vanessa hope things would improve for her sisters now their mother had remarried at last? Her worries lifted from her. She smiled. "Come, that's better!" he drew her to him and kissed her properly. "Oh Chris," she murmured when she could. "What is it, my darling?" "I do love you!" He kissed her again, then, and when he finally let her go, he said; "There's one of those interminable dinners at the Hofburg tonight. Shall we go to bed instead?" "Chris! We'll be missed, and then they'll guess! I don't think I would be able to face any of them again!" "We'll send your apologies, tell them you're ill," he coaxed. "No!" she relented a little. "I could get the headache, so you have to take me home early." He laughed. "Very well." Many of the more than averagely perceptive people at the Hofburg dinner that night noticed how attentive Lord Vesey was to his bride, how they occasionally exchanged an intimate smile, how she glowed. With the negotiations nearly over -pending Bonaparte's defeat - the mood was more festive, the laughter more frequent. At one point Prince von Metternich turned to his neighbour and murmured, in his own language, "I think the new Lady Vesey is out of the running now! Shame!" His friend nodded his agreement. Metternich winked at the same person when, a little later, Lord Vesey said he was taking his wife home, as she wasn't feeling well. "She needs her bed," he murmured. "Or his," the friend replied.

This time Vanessa allowed Robbins to get her ready for bed. Eager to go to her husband, Vanessa didn't put her jewellery away in the safe, as she usually did, but put the jewellery and the key in her reticule, and after Robbins had left, pushed them to the back of a drawer. She hurried through to her husband's room. Chris was already in bed. He smiled his welcome and threw back the covers to let her in. Vanessa paused to take off her night rail then she went to his waiting arms, feeling with joy his warmth and hard maleness. "It seems strange that this is allowed," she said. "It's not only allowed," he answered, "It's expected." She couldn't say any more as he pressed his mouth to hers for a deep, longing kiss. He drew away a little, so she could see his face, see her love reflected in his eyes. "I've been looking forward to this all day," he confessed. "Castlereagh had to call me to order this morning; the first time I've been caught wool-gathering since I was a tyro!" she laughed. He lifted her on top of him and drew her to him for another kiss. "He made a very good suggestion, though," he went on, smoothing her back with gentle hands in a series of caresses. "He said that when this was over, as he's sure it will be very soon, we should go home." She had closed her eyes, relaxing under his hands. She opened them at that and looked at him questioningly. "Did you forget? I have an ancestral home, in Hertfordshire; Vesey Court." "I had forgotten," she confessed. "I thought my home would be with you, but I never thought any further than that." "We may not be able to spend much time there," he told her. "I don't want to give up my career, just because one part of it is done. Though it will be strange; going into a meeting and not hearing Bonaparte's name mentioned ten times in a minute!" They laughed together, perfectly at ease. She bent and kissed him, and one of his hands went behind her head, cradling her and holding her close. They would have abandoned everything else to love, but the apartment was suddenly shaken by the slam of the front door. Vanessa lifted her head and they stared at each other for a moment. Then they heard noisy sobbing, disappearing as someone passed down the hall. The closing of a door muffled it. It could only be one person; Lydia. Vanessa recognised the sound. Vanessa sighed. "I have to go to her," she said. "Will you wait for me?" "Need you ask?" he said. "Perhaps I'd better come too. Your sister isn't given to noisy displays of distress." She realised he was right. Quickly she got out of bed and picked up her dressing gown, fumbling in her haste as she fastened the froggings at the front. He followed. "I'll go to the study," he told her. "Bring her there if you need me." She smiled her acknowledgement and went out the room. Her new found love made her feel strong. She was sure she could help. Lydia, dressed in evening wear, sprawled across her narrow bed, sobbing as if her heart would break. Vanessa immediately went to her and put her arm around her shoulders. "Lydia! Whatever's wrong?"

She would have wagered good money on the first word Lydia would say, and she would have won her bet. "Mama!" Lydia wailed. "She has prevailed upon the General to send Cornelius away! He has a plantation in India, and he proposes to send Cornelius there! Without me!" She burst into a fresh bout of crying. Vanessa could do very little but put her arm around her sister's shoulders and soothe her until she had calmed down a little. Afterwards, when the torrent had subsided to a series of sniffs and small sobs, she persuaded Lydia to come with her into her own bedroom. Vanessa sat her sister on the bed while she fetched a washcloth. When the tearstains had been wiped away, she sat down and took Lydia's hand. "What do you want to do?" she asked. Lydia's ravaged visage tore Vanessa's heart out. "I want to marry him, I want to be with him! Vanessa, I'm six and twenty, I can do as I please!" "So you can," Vanessa agreed. "How?" Lydia sniffed. "I don't know." Vanessa sat on the bed, her arm around Lydia's shoulders, and thought hard, while Lydia told her about the circumstances of her mother's ultimatum. "They came to the house today, and Cornelius and I were alone!" "Were you doing anything - improper?" "No! That is, we were alone, which is itself improper, but we were discussing what to do, how long we should wait, and…and enjoying each other's company!" Probably allowing him a few small liberties, Vanessa thought. "Mama and the General came in, and saw us. Mama was so wild, Vanessa. I thought she would have an apoplexy!" "I don't know why she should be so distressed." "Vanessa, I don't think she wants any of us married at all!" Lydia looked at her sister, a new thought dawning in her eyes. "No, that can't be so!" Vanessa cried. "She tried for years to marry us off! Until recently, if she had been left with us on her hands, we would all have been destitute!" "Better to be destitute in company," Lydia pointed out. Vanessa refused to believe it. "She had no objections to my marrying Chris. She positively welcomed it." Lydia shook her head slightly. "I think she had her reasons for that. Vesey is wealthy. It meant she could apply to him in the future, if she found herself short of funds. You were becoming difficult, with your stubborn devotion to Emery Graham." Vanessa flushed at the reminder. "He's going to America," she told her sister. "Is he? I'm glad," Lydia said. Thinking about someone else's problems seemed to help to calm her overwrought sensibilities. "He'll be able to start afresh there. The last six years have prevented him from developing a useful life. All his thoughts have been for you, and a man should have other interests, don't you think?"

Considering it anew, Vanessa was forced to agree. "I'm glad he's going," she said. "I don't want him to witness my happiness with someone else." "Are you happy?" Smiling, Vanessa nodded. "I'm glad," her sister said. "I think you'll be very happy. Especially since you'll be out of Mama's orbit!" They both laughed, Lydia's laugh a little watery. There came a soft knock at the bedroom door. When Vanessa went to see who it was, she found her husband waiting. Taking his hand, she drew him into the room. "Mama has persuaded the General to send Cornelius away," she told him. "Has he gone?" Vesey asked, looking over to where Lydia sat miserably on the bed, her shoulders slumped in a position of despair. She shook her head, seemingly talking to the counterpane. "The day after tomorrow, Mama says." "Then we must act quickly." Chris replied. He picked up Vanessa's dressing table chair and came to sit near to the sisters. Vanessa had rejoined her sister on the bed. "Do you mind if your mother casts you off?" he asked. Lydia shook her head. "As I understand it, your Cornelius has a separate source of income?" Lydia sniffed and applied her handkerchief to a freshly running nose. "Yes. He inherited an estate in Derbyshire from an uncle." "Very well. Excuse me a moment." He left the room, only to return very shortly. "I've given orders for the carriage to be brought round, and I've sent for your Cornelius. The man has orders to say it's official business." Both sisters stared at him big eyed and bemused. "Wh-wh-what?" Lydia faltered. "You, my dear are already packed for your removal to the General's house in the morning?" "Yes, sir." "Then there's no reason why you shouldn't go tonight," he said with satisfaction. "I only wish the affairs of nations could be so easily settled! I suggest you go to England, but not immediately. Find a pleasant hotel in the middle of Prussia. Somewhere out of the way. You can be married in Berlin, if you wish, I'm sure you'll find someone to marry you there." Lydia stared at him. Her mouth dropped open. "Why how clever!" Vanessa cried. "She's fully of age, and her dowry is nothing to signify! I'll wager Mama refuses to pay it, though," she added, turning to Lydia. Her sister seemed to have lost all the powers of speech.

"You can't travel like that," Vanessa continued. Lydia was dressed for the evening, in one of the inevitable white muslin gowns. "You'll have to change. Have you something?" Lydia nodded, and Vanessa took her hand, and drew her to her feet. "Come on." She touched her husband's shoulder as she passed, and felt his hand cover hers for a moment in response. Lydia had left a gown and pelisse out, to wear in the morning. Vanessa helped her dress, and tied her bonnet over her sister's pretty curls, all the time chatting. After a time, Lydia seemed to come to. Emerging from her own thoughts, she said, slowly, "After all, there's no reason why not. My only regret is, that I won't see Mama's face!" She grinned suddenly, her tears forgotten in this new hope, the hope of a happy life with the man she loved. When they went back into the bedroom, they found Lord Vesey waiting for them. Then the doorbell rang. The footman his lordship had roused to send for Cornelius answered the door, and as he had been ordered, took Cornelius through to the study. They went to join him there. No one could have doubted the couple's devotion, had they seen the look of delight that crossed their faces when they caught sight of each other. Lydia immediately went to her beloved's side and took his hand. In as few words as possible, Lord Vesey outlined his plans. Cornelius frowned. "Isn't it highly improper, my lord?" Vesey shrugged. "We're at war, Allingham. I had to marry Vanessa with a Special Licence, when I was ordered to return here. Marriages which may seem highly irregular under any other circumstances may not be so difficult now." Allingham regarded at him for a moment, then nodded. "It seems to be the only way," he said. "Now, about money," said Chris. "Have you any?" "I've brought what I have, my lord." "I'll wager it's not enough." Putting his hand into the pocket of his dressing gown, Vesey drew out the key to the safe. He unlocked it, felt inside and drew out a small bag. "Gold is probably best, under the circumstances," he said. He threw the bag to Cornelius, who caught it automatically. When he felt the weight of it, he protested at Vesey's largesse. "I couldn't possibly!" "Yes you could," Vesey replied. "For a start, you'll help me confound Mrs. Allingham, which I've been wanting to do for a while." The two men exchanged a particularly knowing grin. "You can pay me back, if you like. I'll give you the direction of my London bank and you can repay it there, when you have the time." "A loan," Cornelius said. "Yes. On those terms I'll accept it with thanks. As to the former sentiment, yes, I would like to confound Lydia's designing mother. You must write to me and tell me her reaction." "It will be a pleasure." Vesey turned and locked the safe. At the same time, the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the carriage.

Realising that she wouldn't see her sister again for some time, Vanessa embraced her warmly. The morning intrusions, the noisy friends, all was forgotten in sibling affection, as they tried not to cry and promised to write soon. "You can take our carriage for the first stage, and pick up a chaise when you can," Vesey said. "I have a feeling we'll need it ourselves before too long." The men shook hands, and Vanessa went out to the hall with her sister. "Be happy," she said simply. Lydia smiled in response. "I'm sure I will be," she answered. Without looking back, she took her beloved's arm and left the apartment. The footman bearing her belongings followed behind them. Vanessa turned to Chris, and took both his hands in her own. "How clever of you! I'm sure they'll be happy, Cornelius is such a good man! How long do you think it will take Mama to realise what has happened?" "The best part of tomorrow morning, I should think," he replied. "When Lydia doesn't appear at the Allinghams', I think we can expect a visit." Vanessa thought of her mother's rage. "The whole thing is nonsense. Lydia was convinced Mama wanted to keep the girls by her, not allow any of them to marry." He raised an eyebrow. "It makes some sense. She can save the dowry money and have companions for her old age. The old King felt much the same." He meant the Regent's father, George III, now declared hopelessly mad. When he'd had his senses, he'd made it very difficult for his large brood of daughters to marry. "I can't believe Mama would want to keep us," said Vanessa, "She only has three left now. She'll never hold Eudora, who's livelier than the rest of us put together!" He laughed, and drew her to him. "Meantime, my love," he said softly, "Haven't we got some unfinished business of our own?"

Chapter Fifteen

Vanessa yawned and stretched, then she reached out for her husband. She only opened her eyes when she realised she was alone. She saw where he'd slept, smiled lazily and moved over to the depression his head had made on the pillow, breathing in his scent. They hadn't got much sleep last night, so he must have decided to leave her alone when he got up. She felt vaguely disappointed that he wasn't there, but a sense of complacency suffused her when she remembered what they'd shared last night. She would have lain there longer, perhaps even dozed again, had she not been startled by the entrance of a maid, nervous and agitated. Vanessa sat up, holding the sheet to her nakedness. "What on earth do you want, girl?" "Oh please, my lady, his lordship wishes to see you. He says he's very sorry to disturb you, but there is a matter of great importance he needs to discuss with you. As soon as possible, he said." Bewildered, Vanessa threw back the covers and reached for her night rail. Going through to her room, she was surprised not to find Robbins in attendance. She dragged a brush through her loose hair, and

without further delay, threw on a dressing gown and went to the study. She was surprised to find Cummings in the study with her husband. Vanessa had never seen Cummings so put out before. His hair looked as though he'd been running his fingers through it, and his mouth was turned down in concern, or agitation. Her husband was white, his face drawn and worried. She went straight over to him, where he sat in his customary chair behind the desk. The safe lay open, and a ream of papers lay on the desk, together with a few jewellery boxes, carelessly cast aside. Without preamble Cummings said; "It's gone!" "What's gone?" she took the seat on the other side of the desk. "The list. The list of agents. It's gone!" She stared at him for a moment. The list of British agents in Paris. "Have you sent word to the Hofburg?" "What good would that do?" His impatience betrayed his agitation. "Cummings!" Her husband's sharp tone brought his secretary back to a sense of the proprieties. The young man bowed and begged her pardon. Vanessa waved it away impatiently. "How could it have gone? Oh God!" She put her hand to her chest. "Is anyone missing?" She daren't voice her suspicions. "Yes. Robbins has gone. There's seems to be no doubt that she took it," Vesey told her grimly. "It's my fault!" Vanessa said. "I didn't put my jewellery away, so I put it and the key to the safe at the back of a drawer! How could I have done such a thing! I never thought of it, I'm so sorry, how could I have done such a thing?" Chris shook his head. "It's as much my fault as anyone else's. All the trusted servants in this household are examined by me and by Cummings for reliability. We usually get them from Thompson's, but Robbins called at the kitchen door when we needed a maid. I let it pass. She should have been as reliable as the others, but her story was very good. Her references were good. Looking back, I would imagine they were clever forgeries." "She speaks fluent French," Vanessa said miserably. No sense talking about blame now. She had to keep her guilt to herself. The important thing would be to stop the maid. "We know," said Chris grimly. "It had seemed a fortunate thing in a maid." "She stole the key and took the papers," Vanessa stated flatly. Chris sighed. "It seems so. They were still there when I went into the safe for Cornelius later that night. That means she must have done it later." He glanced at Cummings. "You tell my wife. I'm getting dressed." He left the room, stopping only to rest his hand on her shoulder for a brief moment. Vanessa looked to Cummings, feeling deeply foolish. It had only been her eagerness to go to Chris last night that had made her relax her usually strict regime where the safe was concerned.

"Do we know for sure it's Robbins?" The man nodded, his face set in hard lines. "His lordship was up early this morning, and came in here. He found the list gone, and sent for me. I went to the Hofburg, made enquiries. My lady, they've just arrested a man, a Frenchman who was caught breaking into Lord Castelreagh's safe last night." "A coincidence?" "Hardly," Cummings replied grimly. A maid came in with a pot of coffee. Vanessa, now dry mouthed, accepted it. They waited until the door closed behind the girl. Cummings continued to tell her what she needed to know. "The man was in league with your Robbins. Castlereagh's men got to work." Vanessa could imagine how, but she didn't want to know the details. She was glad Cummings didn't tell her how they'd got the information out of the man. "They were going to France together, after they'd taken what they were looking for, Robbins and the other man. They've been paid by Fouché." Vanessa gasped. Fouché was Bonaparte's chief of police, in league with Talleyrand once, but now loyal to Bonaparte. His reputation for cruelty and his success in forging one of the best spy networks in Europe was legendary. "They didn't discover the link with us. He didn't give us any idea he was in league with anyone. He's dead now so we can't ask him any more questions. Pity." He took a reflective sip of hot coffee. Vanessa was inclined to agree with him. "It's too pat, too much of a coincidence. We have to conclude they were working together. This man inveigled himself into the Castlereagh household the same way Robbins did into ours." Vanessa's mind was working rapidly. Those glances she'd seen occasionally when Robbins had thought she wasn't looking, the occasional unexplained absences, the colloquial French! The only reason she hadn't been suspicious before was her preoccupation with her new life and her new husband. That was no excuse, Vanessa thought bitterly. She should have noticed. Chris entered the room again in riding dress, and Vanessa realised what he was doing. He snatched up a cup of coffee and drained it in one gulp. Vanessa stood up, careless of Cummings' presence and flung her arms around him, feeling him hold her close. "I have to go," he said. "I know," she answered. She was aware of how seriously Chris took his responsibilities. She lifted her face for his kiss, and it wasn't a dry one. "Just take care, my love." "I will, I promise." Reluctantly he released her and turned to Cummings, who was drinking his coffee, his face slightly averted, a dull, red flush mantling his cheeks. "Go straight to the Castlereagh's," he said. "See what can be done." "Yes, of course." Cummings stood and bowed, leaving the room.

Left with his wife, Chris barely had the time to kiss her once more before a servant knocked to tell him his horse was ready. "I might be able to catch up with her before she reaches the Border," he said. "I know where to go. Nobody better, in fact. The people in the safe houses on the route know me." "You won't go into France?" "Only if I need to." She closed her eyes and her mind to the thought of that. "I'll contact you if I can," he said. He left her, but paused at the door. "I love you, Vanessa. Never forget that." "I love you, Chris." He was gone. Numbly, Vanessa went to her room to dress. She didn't want to watch him leave; it would be too painful. She rang for a maid to help her and reached for the first thing in her wardrobe that would be suitable for daywear. She felt completely numb. All she could do was wait, but it was hard. Vanessa couldn't settle, couldn't wait to hear the news. This inaction was killing her, but there was nothing useful she could do, after she'd returned the articles to the safe and secured it once more. Despite what Chris had said, she blamed herself for her carelessness, and now he was going into danger. She would be well punished if he were killed. Not as much as he. Later in the afternoon, she heard the front door slam. Without being announced, Cummings burst into the drawing room. He looked around. Vanessa knew from his drawn face he'd hoped to find her alone. "What is it?" "May I borrow his lordship's racing curricle? Immediately?" "Why?" "I have to catch up with his lordship!" One glance at his face was enough to tell Vanessa something was even more wrong than it had been earlier. "The curricle broke a shaft, and it's not been mended yet. There's my barouche." "That will do." Without another word Vanessa left the room and gave the order for the barouche to be brought round with a team of four. The fastest team. In common with many noblemen, Chris had a team for travel, and high steppers for town. Vanessa wanted no mistakes. She went back into the drawing room. Cummings was standing by the window. He was dressed plainly, even drably. All the better to pass as unobtrusively as possible. "Tell me," she said. "The carriage is on its way. I've told them to hurry."

Tersely, he told her. "Your husband has a remarkable memory." "I know, he told me once. He remembers everything he puts his mind to." "It's been very useful in his work," Cummings said, white-faced. "That's what made Lord Castlereagh realise. They don't just want that list. They want him." "Oh God, no!" she knew it was true. "Castlereagh has a copy of the list, and the man who burgled his safe could have taken it. He's dealt with that." "How?" She didn't trust herself to say any more. The shock was tremendous, jolting through her body when she realised the implications of Chris' precipitate departure. This couldn't happen, she thought frantically, not now! Remembering last night, his hands, so gentle on her body, his sweet kisses. She couldn't believe that she might lose it all. If the French caught him, they would shoot him. Or worse. "Pigeon," Cummings said. "He's sent warnings on pigeons to Paris. With any luck, our agents will be well away by the time the list gets to Fouché. We can't be positive, but it seems likely that the theft was to lure Lord Vesey away from the safety of Vienna and into a trap." "No!" she knew it made sense. Swiftly, she made the second greatest decision of her life. "I'm coming with you." That took Cummings' breath away for a moment. Suddenly Vanessa burst out: "It was my maid, my fault! I can't stay here and wait, I just can't! Not to wait and wait!" The wait that morning had been appalling. How much worse it would be now! Cummings was appalled, staring at her open-mouthed. "I'm coming," she repeated. "I can drive. I can ride. I can shoot. I can speak French. Which way are we going?" She needed to find her husband, couldn't live without him. Not now. She made her achievements sound better than they were to persuade Cummings. Actually, the only thing she was truly good at was speaking French. She'd had a gift for it, but hadn't had much need for it recently. Her riding and driving were no better than average, and her shooting definitely below par. When George had tried to teach her to shoot, he'd laughed at her efforts. "Through Bavaria," Cummings said, still bemused. "I have safe conducts. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up with him before he reaches French soil." "Wait," she commanded. She thought hard for a moment. "I'll have the big lights packed for the barouche, and some oil. That way we can keep going, turn and turn about." She'd never been more grateful for George's lessons in tooling a carriage and four. At least she knew she could do it, if not with much finesse. Finesse wasn't needed now. She explained, "One of us will drive and one will sleep. I'll see to it." She stood up and went to the door. "Don't bother arguing. We can argue all you like once we're on the road." She went out of the drawing room and gave the necessary order. While her stomach churned inside, Vanessa knew her fear would be far, far worse if she had to wait. She was right. They would make quicker progress if there were two of them. She told the servants her sister had been taken ill and she was to go to her with Cummings as escort. The fewer people knew about this the better, and that was as good a reason as any.

She went into her dressing room and vomited into the necessary. She was terrified, but she wouldn't let anyone see it if she could help it. If she found the journey too much, she could leave before they reached the Austrian border, and make her way back by chaise. She determined she would do her best, try her hardest to save her husband. When she emerged from her room, she heard the doorbell. Visitors. She'd given orders that she was not at home, and would tell Meredith to say she was ill, if anyone called while she was away. That should keep callers at bay for a while. She grabbed two of her plainest gowns and a pelisse to pack away, and found a redingote to wear. It was important to have some kind of luggage, to persuade landlords of inns of her respectability. Years of travelling with pretences to more than she actually owned came to her aid now. When she went back to the bedroom, the clothes over her arm, her mother was sitting in the chair by the unlit fire. "Going away?" her mother asked. Her tone was icy. Vanessa's heart plummeted. "No," she lied. How could she get rid of Mrs. Allingham? If she knew Vanessa was going away, the cat might well be out of the bag. Her mother would never keep the knowledge of the journey to herself. She threw the garments over a chair. "So, Vanessa! Do you know why Lydia hasn't appeared this morning? And why Cornelius Allingham seems to have disappeared?" "Yes, Mama," Vanessa replied. Calmly, she faced her mother. "They have eloped. We lent them our travelling carriage." For a moment, she thought her mother might explode. She turned bright red and shook slightly. Vanessa watched it all with abstracted satisfaction. "What gives you the right to send my daughter away with her lover? Don't you know she'll be ruined by now?" Mrs. Allingham's careful tone indicated the deep level of her displeasure. Vanessa sat down at the dressing table, trying desperately to give an impression of one at her ease. She picked up a brush, began to tidy her hair. "She'll be married when you see her next," Vanessa said. "I hope she's happy with her Cornelius." "How can she be? How can I ever look at his father again and know…know what she is doing with his son!" Mrs. Allingham's voice shook at the end of the sentence. Vanessa felt sure it was with rage. "I can't see that it's any of your concern," Vanessa replied. "They're over age. They don't need your permission. Once she realised that, Lydia didn't take much persuading." "Well they needn't look for a penny from me!" Mrs. Allingham wore a fine new hat this morning, decorated with several long, curling feathers. They quivered when she spoke. "They know that. Cornelius has an independence, so they will be comfortable." "I won't receive them! Society will not welcome them once it knows how they married in such haste! I will not be defied in this way!"

Something inside snapped. The tension she was already under, and the unfairness of her mother's attitude broke any vestige of respect Vanessa had retained until now. She swung round to face her mother, brush gripped in one hand. Her voice shook with fury; the anger bottled up for so long while she waited patiently for Emery, given impetus by the fear that twisted her guts coming out at last. "That's it, isn't it, Mama? You don't like to be opposed, defied! So long as we all said 'Yes, Mama!' you were happy. George had to join the army to be rid of you, and you think you have the right to come storming into my bedroom, despite my telling the servants I wasn't at home!" "I'm your mother!" "I know, but I'm married now. In law I belong to my husband, not you, and I have rights! As for receiving Lydia and Cornelius, I will welcome them when they visit me, and I'll ask Lady Hervey, Vesey's sister, to do the same! Who do you think society will listen to? Mrs. Allingham, or Lady Vesey?" She met her mother's stare, completely unafraid. In fact she'd never been afraid of her mother, but had accepted her authority as a matter of course. She didn't have to do that any more. She had financial independence, she was valued. What her mother had thought worthless, half the crowned heads of Europe had listened to, flirted with, had serious conversations with. With a surge of triumph she realised she was worth something, could be useful, make a difference. The man who by his patience and love had given her that was in trouble. Mrs. Allingham's eyes opened wide, but she said nothing fora minute or two, just stared at Vanessa. "Now, Mama. I'll have to ask you to leave." Her mother made no move so Vanessa stood up and turned her back, deliberately rude. She couldn't think of another way to get rid of her. With a rustle of silk her mother got up and left the room, slamming the door behind her. In a moment, the front door slammed also. Vanessa went and stuffed the clothes into a portmanteau, hurling some underwear and a few toiletries in after. She thought of her elaborate dressing case, the beautiful luggage she'd bought in London, and shook her head. This was enough to make her respectable. Just before she left the room she looked at herself in the mirror. Elegant, she thought dispassionately. She would have to take care to dress a little more plainly in the days to come. She desperately wanted to stay with Cummings until they found Chris, but was aware that she'd never attempted anything like this before, and might have to drop out. With any luck they would catch up with her husband before he reached the border. Then they could return, make some excuse for their absence. Coming out of her room at a fair pace, she nearly collided with Emery Graham. "Oh my goodness!" she cried, clutching at her chest. "What are you doing here, Emery?" "I came to take my leave," he said stiffly. "And, I suppose, to see if you meant it." "Yes, I meant it!" she said, irritated. He shrugged, turned to leave, but she caught at his shoulder. "Emery!" She hated to see the hope she had just given him, but she'd remembered something. "You speak perfect German, don't you?" "Yes," he replied, wonderingly. "It's one of the reasons they gave me the position here."

"Come with me." She turned to him again. "So you're packed? Clothes and all?" "I have a carriage is waiting outside." He frowned, clearly puzzled. "Perfect!" She took his arm and steered him into the drawing room where Cummings waited. She shut the door and explained, as quickly as she could. "Chris has gone after my maid, who's taken a list we had. A list of spies. Because my jewellery is in the safe, she had my key. We don't know when she took it, except it was after we'd gone to bed. It was probably a trap, a way of luring Chris to them. If it failed, they'd still have the list. It doesn't matter; it's old news. A warning's been sent by pigeon, though Chris won't know that. So we're going after him." "You, Vanessa!" cried Emery. "You can't go!" "Yes, I can," she said firmly. "I'm not waiting here. There's no danger until we reach the border with France, anyway. You can leave me at an inn, but I must go!" A knock sounded at the door. A footman, to say the barouche was ready. Emery looked to Vanessa for an explanation. "We lent the travelling carriage to my sister," she explained. "If you have some of your traps transferred to the barouche, we can be off. I have a small case there. Cummings can borrow from you." She turned to Cummings. "How much money have we got?" "Less than I thought," he said. "The girl must have taken some." He'd given up arguing. "No, we had need of some last night," Vanessa said. "She might have taken some. I don't have much. We'll have to be careful, that's all. With any luck we won't have to go far." Not giving Emery a chance to refuse, they ushered him out of the apartment and almost ran downstairs. They all found a seat, and then they were off. Emery took the seat at the back. "I must be mad," Vanessa heard him mutter. "Think of it as serving your country," Vanessa said tersely. Though it wasn't her country that was primarily on her mind. Once out of Vienna they could increase their speed. "Do you know which route he would have taken?" Vanessa asked Cummings, who had taken the reins. "I thought we'd go the most direct way. It seems to make sense," he said. "Through Bavaria, and straight on to Paris." "How long is it likely to take?" Vanessa's bravado was wearing off. She felt it seeping away and began to feel truly afraid. Heavens, she thought, what have I done? "If the ground is good. Let's see, it's a hundred and fifty miles to the border. Then another two hundred across Bavaria, and two hundred to Paris. If we change horses frequently and keep going, we could get to Paris in a week if we needed to. That is," he added, "Graham and I can." Vanessa had to be honest. There was nothing to be gained in anything else. "I don't know if I can keep up, but I promise, the moment I feel I'm a drag on progress I'll give in. You can leave me at a respectable inn. I can hire a chaise and make my way back to Vienna, pay them off when I get there. I have enough

papers to prove my identity." She hadn't brought her marriage lines, now residing in the safe in the apartment. She might have to dispose of the papers she'd brought with her, if they passed into enemy territory. Cummings said; "We're better keeping going, if we can. There are some blankets in the back, and we can, as you say, go turn and turn about with the driving. I think our main expenses should be horses and food, so we can still afford good cattle." He glanced at Vanessa. "You must tell us the moment you fail." She was surprised at his authority, but not offended. He was, after all, only thinking of what was good for her husband. "I'll do my best," she promised. They travelled in silence for some distance; each lost in their own thoughts. Vanessa began to fail in her courage, but now set on the road, the deed was done. The action that made her insist she come along, the grief and terror underneath the masking anger that had driven her to rip up at her mother, faded away. All she had left was the thought of Chris, and seeing him again. All she had to do was hang on, keep up. Keeping to the main road, they found many inns offering good services and were able to eat while the horses were changed. They changed frequently, to keep up the speed. They asked at every inn for his lordship, and sometimes they got a reply; and once, a note. It had been given to the landlord to send to Vanessa in Vienna, but once she proved her identity to him, he gave her the letter. She sat at a table and read it alone. My darling, I'm sorry to have to leave you so precipitately, but if I do not, it could mean the deaths of many brave people. I have to catch that woman. I hope to catch up with her long before she reaches Paris, but I have to go fast. I'll be travelling under my sister's name from now on. I'll come back to you. I can't give up what we have found in the last few days. I swear I'll take the greatest of care, more than I usually do! I love you, Vanessa. C. She folded the letter and put it in her reticule. Looking up, she saw Cummings' questioning gaze. "It's a private letter," she explained. "He says he'll be travelling under his sister's name." "Hervey," Cummings replied instantly. "I think it would be wise, my lady, for you to use some other name while we're on the road. We don't want to be followed or traced." That made sense. Emery was away from the table, so she said; "I can't pose as Emery's wife. You understand?" He nodded. "So I had better be Mrs. Cummings. Emery can be my brother." "Very resourceful, my lady," he said. "If we're married, I would have to call you Vanessa!" "So do it," she said. "One more thing," he said. "I admire your courage, but you must know you are inexperienced in all this. You're not an adventurer, you've lived all your life sheltered, if not cosseted." "Yes," she said, tight lipped.

"So I insist on taking charge. I've accompanied his lordship on some of his clandestine activities, and organised them for other people. You must promise to do as I say, without question." Staring into his eyes she saw nothing but anxiety and honesty there. She deliberately put aside her previous dislike of him. It had been her fault Robbins had been able to get the list. She had no moral right to lead. It made eminent sense. "Yes, I promise." He smiled and lifted his beer mug in a toast Emery, coming back, saw the gesture. Vanessa explained and he accepted his role without comment. "I've been thinking," Vanessa said. "I know you must be thinking the same way, Cummings. What is your first name? If we're to be married, I can't keep calling you that." "Alastair," he replied. "Alastair. What's Fouché like? What will he do to Chris if he finds him?" Alastair Cummings pursed his thin lips in thought before he said, "Fouché has spies everywhere. He's chief of police, and will probably continue in the job after Bonaparte has gone. He's a clever, devious man, one without scruple. That's why he and Talleyrand get on so well. It also helps to explain why Robbins didn't go to Talleyrand." He paused. "Go on," said Vanessa. Cummings glanced down at the rough table in front of him, avoiding Vanessa's anguished gaze. "He's not a pleasant man," he admitted. "He won't want to mark his lordship. Then he can fake an accident when he has done with him, and give the body back to us." Vanessa clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. She felt this was a test, that Cummings Alastair - was seeing how much she could take. She wanted to last as long as possible. More than ever she was determined not to leave them until they had found him. One way or the other. She refused to think about it. There would be time enough if they found him too late. A lifetime.

Chapter Sixteen

The going was hard, but they managed. They could all drive a barouche, a light, well-balanced carriage, built for a lady's use in town, so they took turns, stopping as little as possible. When the road was good, they drove through the night. Vanessa began to believe that this was all there was. That life consisted of driving, eating and sleeping. She put her fashionable clothes away, and took to wearing an old gown and pelisse, which consequently became shabbier every day. The fabric they had been made of wasn't good, so it didn't take wear well. She took to screwing her hair back into a tight bun under her plain straw hat, the better to keep it out of the way. Sometimes she didn't know which man's shoulder she lay her head on or who was leaning on her and snoring. Her previous brushes with hardship stood her in good stead now. She found herself remembering the times she and her sisters had crammed into one bedroom to save money at a fashionable inn, when they had gone short of food to buy a new parasol. It had rarely come to that, but sometimes in recent years when they'd really felt the pinch, enough for her to have known it. Her dislike of being touched, broached during her nights of loving Chris, melted away in this crisis. It wasn't important to her sense of self any more.

Cummings kept a close watch, but no one followed them, nor showed untoward interest in their movements. Chris remained elusive. Day after day passed with no word of him, no sign that he'd passed that way. Faith drove them on, farther away from Vienna, nearer to Paris. The roads were alive with people. While they were in Bavaria, Emery's perfect German kept them unobtrusive and on the right road. They only had to produce their credentials once. What officials existed were too busy to spare them more than a cursory glance. Europe was preparing for a devastating encounter. Soldiers were everywhere. Occasionally Vanessa saw the red and gold of an English officer's uniform, often much the worse for wear, and she thought of George in his new regimentals, in Bath that day. How much she had learned since then, about herself and the world she lived in! The closer they got to the French border the more disorderly everything seemed, and the more the blue and red of the French army appeared. Prisoners for the most part, but still a daunting sight. Vanessa was glad they had decided to pose as Germans, or French. Five miles short of the border, false papers in hand, it became obvious they wouldn't get any farther for a while. Vanessa watched in dismay as panicking, stinking humanity crowded the road, slowing their progress to a crawl. There seemed to be no order. She was afraid they wouldn't be allowed to pass when they finally got there, would be turned back or detained. It seemed Alastair, the current driver, was thinking the same thing. "We have little chance of passing through one of the official crossing places," he told Vanessa and Emery. "There are other places. We can use one I know in this vehicle. A large coach would be impossible." He tightened the reins, and drove away from melee of arguing, confused people. The officials who wandered around, demanding papers and issuing peremptory orders, constantly lost their tempers. Nobody seemed to be getting anywhere. There was a back road, quite open, but narrow. They only had to go about twenty miles out of their way. Vanessa's greatest surprise was that there were quite a few people who seemed to know of this route. Everyone behaved as though they were alone on the road. Nobody acknowledged anyone else, or turned to greet each other. Vanessa had expected more camaraderie. "It's usual," Alastair explained to them, "to pretend you don't see them, then they won't see you. I suspect that if Hervey came this way, he used a route like this. He didn't take any of the safe-conducts we have, even the forged ones." 'Hervey' had become their word for Lord Vesey, to confound eavesdroppers. They were so used to referring to him like that; they even did it when no one could hear. Vanessa found it helped her. She could think of ''Hervey' as a man apart from her husband, a man who carried secrets the enemy would wish to have, not her beloved husband. Not the man who had so short a time ago begun their love affair before he was taken away from her. As long as she refrained from thinking of her husband in danger, she coped with her fear. She slept fitfully, for her accommodations were seldom comfortable and sometimes shared with the men. She even woke without having wept, knowing tears would do her no good. The large, oil powered carriage lights they fixed to the front of the vehicle at night kept them on the road and away from pot-holes. One of their main items of expense became the precious fuel to keep them going. Fatigue took away the edge of Vanessa's desperate worry, but the tension became a part of her.

Determined to do her share, she took the reins during the day, sat guard at night when they were forced to drive through, a pair of businesslike pistols close to hand. Travel was easier in a way, once they had reached France. Only Emery could speak German properly, but they could all speak French with a degree of competence. Vanessa's French was fluent but her accent not as good as she'd thought. They decided she must be from Brittany. All Frenchmen seemed to think Bretons spoke with a strange accent. Alastair's French was beautiful, in the Parisian idiom, very unlike most of the country but instantly recognisable. Emery spoke good, general French that would get him by almost anywhere. Vanessa was so glad they had persuaded him to come. For one thing, he could provide enough men's trappings for both himself and Alastair, they being much the same size, and his language skills were invaluable. Their passage through Bavaria would have been much more difficult, and longer, without him. France, to Alastair, was known territory. Vesey had operated a spy system here for many years, and there was a network of 'safe' houses and sources of information. On their first night over the border Alastair led them to a small farmhouse, where he went inside to give the farmers the correct key words. Vanessa waited tensely in the barouche, trying to stop the harness jingling too much. Emery sat by her side, his hand on a pistol. Alastair came out and spoke to them. "It's all right. Give the reins to this boy." By the side of the coach an urchin waited, as though he had sprung, fully formed, from the ground. Vanessa had certainly not been aware of his approach. Stiffly she climbed down, refusing Alastair's helping hand, and went inside. The small stone building was packed with people, all members of the same family. Vanessa felt at home here, in a strange way, being one of a large family herself. The woman took one look at her and put her arm around her shoulders. "Poor, lady!" she said. "And so brave!" her face was so weathered by the sun and wind, it was impossible to guess her age. From the age of her children, she must be at least fifty Their benefactress put a wonderful meal in front of them, which, after nearly a week of indifferent inn food, they fell on with gratitude. Crusty bread, thick slices of ham, moist cheese, and an apple pie, all simple, all fresh and delicious. They hardly spoke until they had finished almost everything on the table, and then turned as one to give their thanks to their hostess. She smiled at them. "For such brave people," she said, "It is an honour. My husband has gone to ask some questions. For your M. Hervey. He will not be back for a while, so would you like to sleep, or wash?" "Oh, wash!" cried Vanessa. The thought of water that wasn't ice cold, soap which didn't sting and smell of animal fat, filled her with delight. She hadn't thought to pack soap in Vienna, because it was stored in her dressing room, not her bedroom. She'd left in too much haste to make a list. She knew she would be offered something better, and she wasn't disappointed. The lady took her to a small scullery, where a fire burned to heat the water. Vanessa could strip, and if not bathe, at least wash herself all over. She took her time, relishing the feel of the warm water, the lavender scented soap, on her skin, which was decidedly grubby. Because Emery had packed to leave Vienna, he was able to provide towels and shaving gear, though his soap, too, had mysteriously disappeared. Vanessa guessed it

reposed in her hall in Vienna with the bulk of Emery's discarded luggage. She breathed in the fresh odour of the soap of before tipping her head forward and washing her hair in the basin. She was in the process of rinsing it when the door opened. "Madame?" it was the farmer's wife. "Can I help?" Vanessa lifted her head and wrapped her dripping hair in a fresh towel. Smiling, she let the lady help her into her stays when she'd slipped on her last fresh chemise. Searching through her portmanteau, which her hostess had brought through, Vanessa found a gown to wear; a plain blue affair in a light cotton, but with long sleeves. The lady helped her into it, but it fastened down the front, so Vanessa could manage it on her own. She looked at her green gown, the one she had been married in, but decided she couldn't bear to wear it yet. She would leave that one for last. The farmer's wife smiled. "You look pretty," she said simply. "Thank you! I feel much better," she replied. She'd given up caring about her appearance, only trying to look respectable. When she went back to the main room of the farmhouse, a sort of combined kitchen, and sitting area, she found Emery awake but Alastair asleep. Emery smiled at her. "You look like the girl I met six years ago," he commented. She struck him lightly on his shoulder. "Flatterer!" The farmer had provided some newspapers. Most of them were a week old or more, but any news was welcome. She sat next to Emery, took up one of the discarded papers and began to read. After a moment she looked up and regarded Emery. He must have felt it, because he looked at her and grinned. "Do I look so bad?" he said. "Don't worry. I'll go and wash soon! Our kind hostess is heating more water for me. We can be respectable again!" "No, it's not that," she said. "Emery, are you glad you came?" "What a strange question!" he replied. "I've missed my boat, been dragged across unknown terrain in an open barouche with little protection from the rain, been forced to leave most of my belongings behind. Of course I'm glad, you goose!" When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he went on to explain. "I was bitter and hurt when you rejected me. All I could think of was the injustice of it all! I had to push all that aside when you asked me to help. If you like, it was because this matters to more people than us. We're not just rescuing your husband —" Vanessa noticed he could say the word now without a tremor. "We're preventing the leaking of some valuable information. This time we've had together has given me a chance to put it all in perspective. I think I went a little mad when you married, my dear. I never dreamed you would go through with it. You must have been desperate to change your lot, and Vesey is a good man. He'll take care of you. So if I can't have you, I can at least be happy you're being cared for." "You're so sure we'll find him?" She moved to sit in an unexpected ray of sunshine falling through the uncurtained window, and Emery watched her. "I'm sure," he said. "We must find him. It helps me to think we'll find him alive and well."

"I would have thought you would have wanted him dead!" Emery shook his head. "I would hate to win you like that. He makes you happy. You know, if the worst happens, there'll always be a place in my life for you." She covered his hand with her own. The wedding ring gleamed there, but she wore no other jewellery. "Thank you for that." Their hostess came in at that point, to tell Emery there was enough hot water for him. He smiled encouragingly at Vanessa and went off to make himself more presentable. Soon after Alastair had taken his turn at the wash stand, the farmer returned. They sat round the table to listen to his news. "Bonaparte is heading for the North, towards Belgium," the farmer told them. "He has taken all his army. He knows this is his last chance. You are going that way, also, but Paris is fairly quiet. The King fled months ago. Fouché and Talleyrand wait to see which way the dice fall. I have some addresses for you; new ones." He leaned back in his chair. "Now Hervey, Lord Vesey, or Pierre, as I knew him once…" He took a deep breath. "They took him at the border." Vanessa's hand flew to her mouth; her eyes widened in alarm. No one else moved. "He has been taken to Paris. If you hurry, you will get there only a day or two after him. I am afraid he will not be treated well on the road. He is alive, and they wish to keep him alive." "Until he's disclosed his secrets," Alastair said grimly. "What will they do?" Vanessa whispered. "They won't hurt him so it shows," Alastair told her. He seemed to understand that the more she knew, the less she would speculate, and worry. "If they plan to kill him when they've finished with him, they want to be able to produce the body, to show he died from an 'accident.' They won't want to upset the British, not until they know what way the wind blows. If we can get there in time, we might be able to save him. He's a strong man; he won't let those secrets out easily." He paused. "Lord Castlereagh said he would write to the French authorities. One way or another, there'll be questions for the French to answer. We can only hope they hear soon. It might make them think twice." "Oh, God, I hope so!" Vanessa cried. Despite her resolve to be strong, the tears sprang to her eyes. She dashed them away impatiently. By mutual consent, they climbed aboard the barouche again. They had planned to stay the night at the farmhouse, but this news made urgency paramount. Vanessa was touched to find a basket of fresh provisions, and even more delighted to find a bar of fresh soap, wrapped in a clean towel. They called out their thanks as they drove away. They hadn't been able to get fresh horses for a while, but the farmer had found a sturdy team of four for them. When Vanessa asked where he had got them the farmer replied, tersely, "Don't ask." "Probably stolen from the army," Emery murmured in her ear.

They made good time, but it was three more slogging, exhausting days before they reached Paris. Soldiers and camp followers filled the roads. Coming in the other direction, refugees, fleeing the advent of thousands of the military. They found it more difficult to make headway. Where Alastair knew the ground, they were able to take short cuts, finding relatively clear roads. They avoided the towns, veering away from Strasbourg, Nancy and Troyes, not knowing what they might find there. They stopped at one other safe house. While their welcome was just as warm, the people there had no news of Lord Vesey, nor of his passing. Not surprising because here, near Paris, the temperature was far more feverish, the expectations imminent. War was coming, the place was in a turmoil, and the roads were clogged with troops and travellers, hastening to escape from the trouble. In a short time the government of Paris could change hands again, and it would be better to be elsewhere when that happened. British troops were notorious for their looting, and the French would commandeer what goods they could for the Cause. Whichever side won, Paris would be a loser, at least in the short term. Vanessa could hardly believe they had arrived in Paris at last. Alastair had warned her to look as dowdy as she could bear it. She found she could bear it very well. She ripped all the trimmings off one of her vastly expensive hats, revealing a plain straw underneath, and wore her wedding gown, the last of her clean clothes. Alastair and Emery were in riding gear, deliberately allowing their high polished boots to get dulled and scuffed, their coats to hang loose. Ordinarily Vanessa would have been fascinated to see Paris, the city banned to the British so long by the long hostilities between Britain and France. All she noticed was the stink, similar to the one in London, a mixture of ordure, cooking food and unwashed humanity. Alastair knew where he was going. He unerringly drove the barouche to a narrow street near Notre Dame, where a welcome awaited them. The house, entered through a small, narrow door from the street, proved larger than Vanessa had expected. Their barouche, their home for so long, was led away by a couple of ostlers, after their luggage had been taken indoors. Just like any other travellers. The owners, seemingly a down-at-heel couple of boarding house owners, betrayed themselves once indoors by the excellence of the furnishings in their private rooms and their gracious manners. Vanessa looked around her in surprise. "The Comte d'Evray," Alastair explained. "Known for the time being as Philippe Longchamps." Vanessa curtseyed to the comte and his wife. They were of early middle age, as far as she could tell. The comte was a large, strong man with a homely face, the comtesse a pretty woman with a permanently anxious expression. The comte returned her curtsey with a courtly bow, and his wife's curtsey was as graceful as Vanessa's own. "We've been here since the Terror," the comte said, not without pride. "We bought this house when the troubles began, as a place to retreat to, should there be no other way. They look everywhere but in their own back yard." He grinned, such a pleasant grin they couldn't help but grin back. "Come in, sit." They followed him into a pleasant dining room. Coffee was brought in and served, with a selection of cold but fresh food. It was very welcome.

So close to her goal, Vanessa couldn't touch it. "Have you heard anything about my husband?" she asked, her voice trembling only slightly. "Oh please tell me!" Her anxiety, pushed away by the rigours of the journey surged back to take control of her stomach. The comte sat opposite her and pushed a hot cup of coffee into her hands. She cupped her fingers around it but didn't drink. Her jaw set in a hard line, as she prepared herself for news. "Your husband is in the Conciergerie," the comte told her. Vanessa first reaction was to close her eyes and breathe a long sigh of relief. He was alive! The comte was still speaking. She opened her eyes again. "That's not far from here," the comte continued. Vanessa's companions listened quietly, ate steadily. Vanessa stared at him, unable to do anything else until she heard all the news. "It's an old, medieval castle. Once a palace, now a prison. It's a hard place to escape from, and milord is being guarded very well. I know one of the guards; I got him drunk the other night, and found out. He said they were holding ' a big Englishman,' but he didn't know the name. I think it must be Hervey." "How can we get him out?" Vanessa demanded at once. The Comte looked at her speculatively, tapping his teeth with one finger. "Normally I would say bribery," he said. "This time, I'm not so sure. Fouché sends for him, and has put a high price on keeping him alive. I think, if we are to try force, we should attack when he is being moved. I can bribe my pet guard." Alastair stopped his steady consumption for a moment. "Can't we talk to Fouché?" he demanded. "He's been amenable before." "He only fights for the winning side, that one," the Comte said shortly. "At the moment, that is himself. He knows Lord Vesey is a prize, and his price will be far above what we can pay. He will want to find out everything he can. The problem is, he could kill with questioning." He cast an anxious glance at Vanessa, who had gone pale, but sat as calmly as she could manage, listening. She fought her panic down, tried to think. "Do we know what has been done to him?" she demanded. "A few bruises only," said the Comte, but then he looked away, seemed unable to meet her eyes. "They haven't let him sleep." Vanessa didn't realise the implications of this until she heard Alastair curse. It was the first time in that strenuous, stressful journey she'd heard him swear. "What is it?" she wanted the truth, no equivocation. "Fouché likes using that one," Alastair growled. "It leaves no mark, the cause of death can never be ascertained. It will kill. At first, they let their victim sleep fitfully, keep waking him up. After a while he isn't allowed to sleep at all. A man can lose his mind under that treatment, and never recover." Vanessa clutched the arm of her chair. "Oh, God!" she cried, in English. She had never been so afraid before, not at any time on this trip, not when they had been stopped by officials and forced to present forged papers, not when they had travelled through groups of French soldiers on their way to the battlefield. This, the slow destruction of the dearest person in her life, would be the nadir. She knew, if it happened, she would do all she could to see Fouché dead for it. The comtesse silently moved over to put her arms around Vanessa, to bring her some sort of comfort, but Vanessa felt nothing but a cold fury and desperate worry. The comtesse moved away and began to fill a plate with the most appetising morsels

she could find. "I think we must get him out soon," the Comte said. "I know he is still being kept awake, so he cannot have given up his secrets yet. As soon as he does, they will kill him. He will think of it as a merciful release. I am sorry I can offer you no respite, but it must be soon, and you cannot stay in Paris once it is done. They will not let him go easily." "He's a big man," said Emery, chewing steadily. "If you want us to carry him, it will take at least two." He spoke to Vanessa. "You must eat. If you don't, we'll have two people to look after. I'm sure this food is delicious, but I can't taste any of it, and I feel sick. You must eat." The comtesse put the pushed the plate to Vanessa. She appreciated the sense of Emery's advice. Hardly looking at the food, she started to eat. "I have a plan, if you will agree," the comte said. "You know what can be done better than anyone," Alastair said. "Please, tell us" They ate and listened The Comte told them his plan, and they eventually agreed. They had no other choice, nowhere else to go, no one to turn to. Vanessa slept in a bed that night. She slept the clock round, and felt more refreshed when she awoke, ready for whatever lay ahead of her.

Chapter Seventeen

After a hearty breakfast, the company went their separate ways. The Comte had taken a trip to the alehouse the night before, to verify his assumptions, while the three travellers caught up on their sleep. Gathered in the dining room again, this time for breakfast, he told them his news. "They are going to take the big Englishman to Fouché in the morning, for one last try." "This is our only chance," said Alastair, face set. "I will not leave without him," said Vanessa. "Or at the least, knowing what has happened to him." "I think we can promise you that," replied their host heavily. They had a day to rest and try to prepare themselves. Deliberately Vanessa set herself to sleep. She bathed, she ate. Then she slept again. She wanted to be ready, completely ready for what was to come. It was the most testing time she had ever faced, throwing all her other experiences into deep perspective. Not just for herself, but for her country. If Chris did tell what he knew, if he began to recite and mumble the words he could see in his head, it might mean the death of many men, and the perpetration of that monster Bonaparte. Her tension increased, but she tried to cope with it, having learned that counting slowly helped her remain in control, made her able to eat and sleep. Towards evening, after they had eaten dinner, the street door echoed to thunderous knocking. Alarmed, Vanessa sat up starkly, fatigue forgotten in a sudden panic. Her heart thundered in counterpoint to the door. It could be soldiers, the death of her hopes, perhaps just death. The comte went to see who was there, with one of his servants.

When he returned he wasn't alone. He brought the servant back with him, and one other. The woman he threw to her knees on the floor was hardly recognisable as the happy-go-lucky, neat Robbins who Vanessa had first met in London, but it was indeed Vanessa's erstwhile maid. Robbins wore peasant clothes, a thick woollen skirt, shapeless top and a soft cap. Her dark curls tumbled loose over her face until she shook them back and sat up. She stared up at her captors and then around the room. She flinched when she saw Alastair, who stared at her blankly, and started when she saw Vanessa. Vanessa wanted to do nothing so much as hit Robbins and keep hitting her until she was bleeding and bruised, but she knew she would not. It would sink her to the level of this sewer rat. Her fury at her first sight of her husband's betrayer turned cold. Icy fury filled her veins, and she sat up straight as a queen on her throne. For the first time since they had arrived in Paris, she spoke in English. "I don't want to know why. It's happened, that's all. You must have hated him." The woman looked up at her, one hand to her mouth. "It seems," said the Comte, also in English, "That her mother is married to one of Napoleon's soldiers." "Vive l'Empereur!" whispered Robbins, keeping to French. "I've worked for him for years, and he has rewarded me well." "Now it's our turn to reward you," said the Comte. Robbins' head whipped round to face him. "You tell tales," he said, reverting to French. Vanessa noted he used the derogatory tu only used in French to loved ones or inferiors. Robbins was certainly not a loved one. "We cannot let you go, to tell your tales again." Robbins stared up in fear, directly at Vanessa, shaking her loose hair out of her eyes and smoothing her woollen skirt with trembling hands. Vanessa met her stare. She said nothing for several minutes, and nobody interrupted the heavy silence. She wanted to get her words right. "The comte is correct," she said eventually, in English. "No one will suffer from your spying again. If we took you to an English court, you would be hung for treachery, but that would mean time and expense I have no intention of spending on you." Robbins began to cry. Great, heaving sobs shook her body. Vanessa felt no sympathy. She turned to the comte, who was watching the exchange gravely. "There is no doubt? She did it, betrayed my husband?" "I only did what I thought was right," the woman protested. "I wanted to help my country, and the people who were so kind to me." "Thirty pieces of silver kind," said Alastair, in his perfect French. "Tell us what you did." At first she sat on the floor between them mulishly mute. When everyone kept silent, waiting for her to

speak, she told them. "I am no traitor, me. I am a patriot to the greatest Emperor the world has ever seen. I want to see him return, and I will work for that." She turned to Vanessa, addressing her directly. "I liked your husband, and at first I thought I might make myself useful to him, become his little secret. I saw enough to know you were not very intimate, and I have lived in England long enough to know it isn't the English way. I have obtained many of my secrets that way." "Is that why you kept interrupting us? So we wouldn't get close?" Robbins hung her head and nodded. "You failed," Vanessa said with flat certainty. "My orders changed," the woman said, addressing the floor rather than look up. "It was very easy to steal the key and get the papers. Then I ran to the border, where my masters waited for me. I didn't know they wanted his lordship as well, but I was glad when they took him. He is a clever man, and one less working for the English." She lifted her head, stared at the comte. "Is he dead?" "I do not propose to tell you," he said. "You can die not knowing." Robbins's eyes opened wide in fear, and her jaw dropped. "You cannot kill me!" "Can we not? What shall we do, let you go to tell your master where you've been, where he can find the English milord's wife?" The comte's voice was full of scorn and hatred. Incredibly, after all the damage the woman had done, Vanessa's fury cleared. "Is there no way we can let her go? She has done nothing wrong by her lights." Robbins' eyes opened wide, and she gasped. "Why should you wish to do that for me?" Vanessa shook her head a little. She half wondered why herself. "Perhaps I listen more closely to the sermons on Sundays." The comte's face turned to Vanessa, and as he did so his expression softened. "Your Christian compassion does you credit, madame. Letting her go would be an extra risk. Robbins knows what you look like. She knows us, and some of our other people. C'est la guerre, madame." Vanessa couldn't deny the truth of the comte's words, but she hated to think she had caused anyone's death. Alastair spoke, his voice cold. "We have no interest in your motives, just the result of them. You are a traitor to us, and as such, you will die. This is war, and at the moment, you are our prisoner." "No!" Robbins looked wildly around searching for an escape, any escape. Alastair's gaze went to the comte, who stood up and dragged the woman to her feet. Her knees gave way, and she couldn't stand on her own. The comte shoved Robbins her at his henchman, who seized her, and promptly tied her hands behind her back with a length of rough rope. Robbins couldn't speak for her tears, a storm of terror. When they took her out of the room and down the stairs, she started to scream, perhaps hoping one of her compatriots was nearby, but the screams were abruptly cut off. Vanessa covered her eyes. Emery looked across to Vanessa, his face totally devoid of emotion. "Vanessa, are you all right?" She came out of her trance. "Of course not," she assured him. "I should like to go and wash my hands."

She stood up and once she was sure she could walk without her knees shaking, left the room. Vanessa slept deeply that night, after spending an hour counting herself to sleep. She didn't asked any questions about Robbins; what the men had done with her. The woman was gone and wouldn't come back. Vanessa determinedly set her mind to her husband. Only he mattered now. Vanessa found the pale green gown she'd worn for her wedding washed and neatly pressed, laid on a chair by her simple bed the next morning. She put it on, trying to keep her mind away from the first time she had worn it. She daren't think of anything else other than the task ahead. When she checked her luggage, she realised her other clothes had been washed and cleaned. Her gowns were in the English style, but subtly. It was important, because during the war English and French clothes had grown apart in cut and style. Vanessa could be recognised as an Englishwoman by her dress. The comtesse was too large to lend her anything, but Vanessa wished she'd thrown the fashionable redingote and fancy hat she'd worn on that first day away and got something else, anything else so long as it was French. She left the redingote and hat on the bed. Perhaps someone would be able to make use of them. It was the only thanks she was able to give. Leaving their refuge, they found two travelling chaises outside in the narrow street. Vanessa paused to sniff the fresh air. "It's so cold!" she said. "You'd never know it was June!" "It may rain again soon," replied the big man. "Even the weather is going into mourning for my country." Vanessa moved off, but she was stopped by a large hand on her arm. She looked back. "Here," said the comte. With a word of thanks Vanessa took the small, sheathed knife and put it away in a pocket of her travelling cloak. Vanessa climbed into one carriage with the Comte d'Evray. Emery and Alastair got into the other, with a couple of handy men. The others would be at the scene. There were four horses hitched up to each chaise, and from the way they shifted and fidgeted, fresh ones. "I'll have your barouche sent on," said the comte, smiling in an effort to lift the tension they felt. "Don't bother," Vanessa told the comte now. "If you can rescue it, you're welcome to it. I never want to see it again!" The comte chuckled, a noise that sounded like he'd swallowed gravel. With a jerk, they were off. They were in plenty of time. The Conciergerie stood next to Notre Dame on the Isle de la Cité. There were very few people about on the paved area in front of the old palace, and no one seemed to remark on the two shabby travelling chaises which settled in a corner. The silence in the centre of the great city was eerie. Paris was nearly empty now, the inhabitants either fled to the country to await the results of the coming conflict, or marching to join their compatriots in Belgium. The great medieval fortress loomed up like an Arthurian castle to one side of them, with the Seine behind. Vanessa looked out of the window, right up to the high, conical turrets, the ranked dormer windows, delicately arched in the Gothic style and wondered how such a lovely building became a place of fear. Once a royal palace, now a prison, this was the place many people been held before they lost their heads in front of the screaming, baying crowd. This had been the last home of Queen Marie Antoinette and her son. Vanessa prayed it wouldn't be the last home of Christopher Raine, Baron Vesey.

The tension building up in her was so great she could hardly breathe. Strange creatures seemed to be roving around her stomach. Her very skin crawled with nervousness. She wiped the palms of her hands on her skirt. "If he is alive, we will have him," the Comte promised her. "They must not take him again. The information he has is too sensitive. The armies of each side are too close." "Why are you doing this?" The question had never occurred to Vanessa before, so preoccupied was she with her husband's safety. "For France," came the calm reply. "The reasonable ones among us don't want Bonaparte back. At first he brought prosperity, but at the expense of freedom. Then he spent the money, and if he returns, we will be at war again for years, and that will surely cripple us." Vanessa nodded. A sensible man, she thought. But what was common sense, in the face of fanatical idol worship? The horses shifted a little, but the edge had been taken off their energy, so they were less restless now. "It's so quiet," Vanessa said. "Bonaparte has gone. The army has gone," the comte told her. "The rabble is left, and us, waiting to quietly reoccupy the city when we have the word." He looked her full in the face, and kissed her hand in a courtly gesture. She smiled into his beautiful blue eyes, so incongruous in his homely features. "Thank you," she told him. "You have done so much for us." "It's a pleasure to help such a brave lady," he said. A small movement outside the window instantly attracted their attention. They turned their heads and stared tensely as a sparrow hopped across the deserted courtyard. The comte turned back to Vanessa. "There are weapons above the seats, and a change of clothes for him in there." He indicated a small bag on to the floor of the chaise. "As well we are both giants, your husband and I, eh, Madame?" Vanessa forced a grin. It was the least she could do. It was all she could do. "I have paid the guards, but if you have any problem with them, try using the word 'fever,'" the comte advised her. "There is a lot of it about in these turbulent times, and no one wants to get to close to it." Vanessa thought that was good advice. She leaned forward, to look out of the window. They waited. When the commotion began behind them, she knew the rescue attempt had begun. Men shouted, there were cries of "Attend moi!" and even, once, "M'aidez!" She peeked through the chaise's window, careful not to be seen. Where there had been peace, now there was a melee of fighting, cursing men. In this hand-to-hand fighting, there was no way Vanessa could tell who was who. She looked for Chris, but couldn't see him. He must be there somewhere. Sabres clashed, fists met their mark. A man fell backwards and immediately scrambled back on his feet. He rejoined the fighting. A hat flew off in the ruckus, and spun on the ground a short way away. This was hand-to-hand dirty fighting. There was no honour, no etiquette here. The visceral, brutal nature of it shocked Vanessa to the core. She watched a man throw another to the cobbled floor. He stamped on his enemy's hand to make him release his sword. He shoved his boot in his opponent's face. Vanessa

heard the animal scream wail up to the rooftops. The comte lurched forward and flung open the carriage door. He leaned out just as a shot rang out. He ducked back hurriedly, yelled, "Down!" Vanessa needed no second telling, indeed was on her way to the floor of the chaise where she couldn't see anything any more. Peering out of the open carriage door she saw a man, head down, dart out of the melee. He carried an unmoving bundle over one shoulder, something like a large bundle of rags. Chris! There was a shout, and several men raced in pursuit. The man with the bundle got closer, and several shots cracked out. The comte had a pistol in his hand. He pulled back the hammer. Then man threw his burden into the chaise, almost on top of Vanessa. It was large, soft and stinking. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her by the impact. The comte yelled out, "Go! Go! Go!" At once the restive animals in front were whipped up as he leant out and pulled the door shut with a resounding clang. The rescue had taken less than five minutes. "We must be quick," the comte shouted. "They will have reinforcements in minutes, and the gates will be closed as soon as they get a runner there." Vanessa leaned back, panting. The comte pulled her up to sit next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her steady while she got her breath back. "Better?" She nodded, still unable to speak. The carriage rocked and swayed so much she feared at any moment it would be thrown on its side. She clutched the leather strap to stop herself tumbling again as the vehicle took a corner at full speed, and they were both thrown against the door. It held and the carriage hit the ground again without losing speed. The comte turned to look out of the little window behind them. "They're still with us," he cried. "We have to get out of the city before they close the gates! I have bribed the guards at one of the gates, but if they get there before we do, they will not let us through! Then we'll all be dead." Now they were away Vanessa turned her attention to the precious weight on the floor. "Chris?" There seemed to be no movement, she couldn't even see him breathe. He lay face down, his hair greasy and matted hanging limply, his rough clothes filthy and stinking. Oh he was the best thing she'd seen for weeks! But was he alive?

Chapter Eighteen

The comte heaved Chris up to a sitting position, and then lifted him bodily on to the seat opposite. His eyes were closed; his head slumped forward so his chin rested on his chest. Vanessa moved to sit next to him, losing her ability to breathe again, this time from panic. Had he been shot? Had they already killed him, had orders to kill him if anyone tried to take him? The comte had

never told her that, but Vanessa had worked it out for herself. Chris might be better dead, able to tell no tales against the French. If Bonaparte fell, Fouché aimed to survive him, and that might mean keeping his hands clean of English blood. Vanessa pushed aside the heavy coat, passing her hands over the dirty shirt underneath to feel for wetness. There was no blood, nothing. Then, with a convulsive heave Chris' chest moved and he coughed. He'd been winded, as she was. The surge of joy that filled Vanessa at that moment made her weak and dizzy. Her arms tightened around him. "Oh, Chris!" she cried, tears of relief running unchecked down her cheeks. "Quick!" the Comte cried. "By the time we get to the gates he must not look like a prisoner!" He handed Vanessa a wet cloth. She immediately began to wipe her husband's face clean of the prison filth. The comte stripped off his filthy rags, heedless tearing the near rotten cloth from his body and began to dress him in a clean shirt. While Vanessa was cleaning his face, Chris opened his bloodshot eyes. For a moment out of time they stared at each other, before she gave him a reassuring, if tremulous smile. "Vanessa," he whispered, as though he was expecting to see her, and then, to her consternation, he began to mumble. She couldn't make out what he was saying at first, but after a few minutes, she recognised the cadence of the wedding ceremony. The comte paused, and looked up from his work. "I warned you," he said. "They've taken away his sleep. I've seen it before." "I'm wearing the dress I was married in," she told him. "He must have recognised it." The comte nodded, and carried on, stripping Chris' dirty, shapeless culottes away and replacing them with a pair of equally shapeless but clean breeches. Vanessa only had time to clean Chris' hands and face, and comb back his disgusting, matted hair before they reached the Gate. The comte barely got him into the breeches, loose boots and a plain coat. Then he put a gentle hand to Chris' forehead. "Dormez, mon ami," he said, and obediently, Chris closed his eyes and almost immediately began to breathe heavily in sleep. Vanessa took a deep breath, wiped her sleeve across her face to clear it of tears, and put on the clear, polite expression she'd been practising before the mirror in Vienna. What had been an attempt to present a fashionable face to the world now became a necessity. Vanessa leaned out of the window. She presented the papers the comte had thrust into her hands earlier, together with a few extra gold coins. If this had been the France of the Terror, they wouldn't have got much farther, but that was fifteen years ago, and times had changed. Now all the good men left were at the Front, and the riff raff were left behind. Bonaparte had recruited every able bodied man to his Cause, and those that were left were either monarchists, in which case they could hold no official post, or unable to fight.

The man who took her papers had only one leg. The other was cut off above the knee, and he leaned on a crude crutch bound around at the top with rough linen. His face was hard, worn by years of fighting and hardship, perhaps disillusion too, since the comte had said he'd bribed him. There was only one other man guarding the gate. He went to the carriage behind, the one carrying Emery and Alastair. The man glanced at the papers, looked up at Vanessa, and gave her them back. When she leaned back he opened the door, ostensibly to look inside. The comte thrust a small purse into his hand. The man nodded curtly and closed the door. The comte took Vanessa's shaking hand. "Well done!" he whispered. Vanessa sat next to Chris, their backs to the horses, so she could see out of the little window behind. She prayed with all her heart that Emery and Alastair had come out of the rescue in one piece. The other guard seemed to take a long time before he thrust the papers back through the window of the second chaise and stood back. Vanessa held her breath. She didn't let it out until they were through the gate and out of the city of Paris. They passed through the suburbs; the vehicles quickening their speed now there was no need to hide their haste. There weren't many other carriages on the road, but there was an abundance of carts loaded with belongings and people on foot, all heading away from the city. The rich had probably scuttled into hiding days ago. When it was time to change the horses, they stopped at a small country inn, not a main posting inn. "Your route is set," said the comte. "The drivers are my men and they will look after you. If you do as they say you should arrive safely in British territory soon. If you are in doubt, ask the drivers. They have taken this route before, and they know what they are doing." He leaned forward and took Vanessa's face in his large hands. After a long look, he kissed her on both cheeks and then, softly, on the mouth. A kiss of friendship, of comradeship. "Au revoir," he whispered. "I hope we meet again one day." "So do I," she said. "I'll hold a dinner in your honour at the Embassy." He grinned, released her and climbed out of the carriage, not bothering to let the steps down. He was so large the drop to the ground was but a step to him. Then he went to the chaise behind to take his leave. He came back to Vanessa with a grave face. "Alastair has been injured," he said. "He is not dead, but he has lost a lot of blood." Vanessa stared, white faced at the carriage. "Oh no!" "It may be necessary to leave him behind" the comte warned her. "One of my men knows how to deal with such injuries. I will leave him with you. He has stopped the bleeding and he will care for him all he can. If Alastair weakens, leave him at one of the safe houses and he will be cared for." "Is there anything I can do?" So nearly there, at the end of their journey, she stood in danger of losing one of her compatriots, one of the men who had gained her respect and gratitude with their bravery and determination to rescue Chris. Now Alastair might lose his life in the attempt. Cold fear clutched once more at Vanessa's heart. "Look after your lord," the Comte said. "He needs you."

He reached through the window and took her hand, pressed it for a moment and then turned away. He was going back to Paris, to care for his wife and wait upon events. The horses changed, the chaises set off again. Vanessa could only imagine what was happening behind her. She fretted that there was nothing she could do for Alastair except pray. Not while Chris needed her. He sat propped up against the corner of the chaise, staring at her through half closed eyes. She hadn't been aware that he'd woken up. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Now his face was clean, it looked pale, drained of healthy colour. "Oh, Chris, Chris," she said shakily. "Oh my love, what have they done to you?" His lips moved of their own volition; she leaned forward to catch what he was saying, and heard, "Do you, Christopher Raine, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?" The marriage service. Vanessa leaned back again. Chris stared at her, his eyes blank, his lips moving. Vanessa watched him helplessly as they jolted over the uneven roads, not knowing what to do to help. He repeated the service over and over. As soon as he finished he started with "dearly beloved" again, as though the ceremony was one continuous, never-ending circle. After an hour of repetition Vanessa thought he would drive her mad. If they had kept him awake, why didn't he sleep now? His limbs sprawled anyhow over the seat so there was hardly room for her to take her seat next to him. Eventually she moved opposite, giving him the room to sprawl. She lifted his arms, folded them over his knees. "You can sleep now," she said to him, as steadily as she could. "No!" his eyes jerked wide open for a moment, and he stared at her. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes. "No, no no!" What had she said to startle him so, what had they done to him? What could she do? She didn't take her gaze from his face as the chaise jolted over the uneven roads on its way to Brussels, thinking desperately how to stop this wakefulness, how to bring him the rest he so desperately needed. After a few more miles had been covered, she had an idea. She didn't know if it would help him, but she fumbled in her reticule and took out a small bottle. Laudanum. She'd brought a large dose, with a vague idea in the back of the mind that it might come in useful. She'd snatched it up from her dressing table in Vienna just before she left. It had lain forgotten until this moment. Chris must sleep. If his will was keeping him awake, she must help him. She took down the water-flask from its holder, and unscrewed the small cup at the top. Taking out the cork, she poured a small measure of water, and then undid the tiny laudanum bottle. Terrified she would give him too much, she let one bare drop fall into the water cup. Her husband stared at her with eyes that held no expression. She thought he'd recognised her at first, but now he seemed to have retreated to a world of his own, consisting of the wedding service chanted over and over again. Holding the cup carefully she moved to kneel before him and held the cup to his lips. He drank. Some of the stuff trickled out again out of the corner of his mouth. She wiped it away with her handkerchief, but he drank enough to do the trick. She gave him a cup of plain water, then sat back to await events. Within

a short time, he fell into a profound sleep. The muttering stopped to be replaced by gentle snores. Sighing in relief, Vanessa covered him with a travelling blanket and left him alone. Now all she had to do was watch the passing miles and make sure he was sleeping peacefully. She could do nothing else except fret. Despite her desperate worry about her husband, her thoughts went to the carriage still following behind them. She prayed in earnest, prayed for Alastair's recovery, that he was not dead, that he would not die. Driving the barouche, keeping on the right road, had kept her from worrying, but there was nothing to stop her now. She must let herself be looked after, let those who knew what they were doing get on with it and do as she was told. At least she had Chris back with her. That was the main thing, she assured herself. She drank some water, listened to Chris' stertorious breathing, and stared out of the window. The driver knew the roads very well. Occasionally he would leave the main road and take a smaller track; perhaps avoiding danger spots, checkpoints, massing of troops. Whatever it was he seemed to know when to go, when it was safe to return. As they got farther away from Paris, the traffic on the roads thickened. This time it was nearly all military; nearly all French. Blue coats with various facings abounded, making Vanessa, for the first time in days, think of her brother George. She prayed he was well, wondered if he was still enjoying the life. She longed to see him again, but she knew it might be some time. When they got to Brussels she would ask after him, send for news. When they stopped to change the horses Vanessa got down and hurriedly ran to the chaise behind. They had stopped in a farmhouse yard; not an inn. The door of the chaise was flung open from inside and Vanessa scrambled in. She paled when she saw the mess. The inside of the vehicle was liberally spattered with blood, and blood soaked rags still lay about. Worst of all, Alastair lay back unconscious, pale as death, his sharp features seeming even sharper in his distress. His coat had been stripped off and put back around his shoulders; someone had laid a blanket over him. Another man sat next to Alastair. He must be the one the comte had left to care for Alastair. Emery rubbed his eyes, clearly having just woken from sleep. "He's alive," he told her. "This is Laurent. He's a doctor - or rather he was, before all this." Laurent nodded, tight lipped. "He will sleep," he said. "There is nothing more I can do for now. We should go inside and eat." After he'd settled Alastair and told one of the drivers to fetch him if Alastair woke up or was restless, they went inside the farmhouse. Emery, Vanessa and Laurent, went into the kitchen for some hot coffee and food. She smelled the appetising odour of fresh baked bread, which served to clear her nose of the mingled smells of filth from her husband and blood from Alastair. When served, she couldn't taste any of the food she put to her mouth and chewed mechanically. She only ate because she knew she should. She was anxious to check on her husband's treatment. "He wouldn't sleep," she said, "although the comte said they'd kept him awake. I gave him a drop of laudanum. He's sleeping now, but I was so afraid I might not be doing the right thing!" Laurent reassured her. "The most important thing for him is sleep," he said. "When he wakes up give him plenty to drink, and some food, if he will take it. You should ask the kind lady here for some provisions for him. We do not know if they fed him; I will look at him for you before we leave."

Vanessa nodded her thanks, since her mouth was full. Then Emery told what had happened to Alastair. She listened to his account with horror, realising what turmoil had been taking place behind her. "He was shot just after they threw Vesey into your chaise. They fired at us, and we fired back, as did the men on foot. Because we were behind, we took the brunt of it. That was how it was supposed to be, if you remember; to protect you and your husband. Then Cummings fell back, and there was blood everywhere. I couldn't do anything, I was still trying to fight people off. "Once we were in the chaise, I saw Laurent pressing down on the wound. We were riding through the streets and we needed to disguise the blood for the Gate. We threw a cloak over Cummings and spread ourselves over him as much as we could. The situation wasn't very well disguised, and there was blood all over the place. The man at the Gate must have been paid well, for he pretended to see nothing. "When we were clear we looked at the wound. The ball had gone right through his left shoulder. Any lower, and it would have found his heart. It took a long time to control the blood. By then Alastair had passed out. We bound up his shoulder, bound his arm into place, and now we're waiting to see how he is. The immediate danger is over, but we need to get to Brussels as soon as we can." "Since you have laudanum, my lady," said Laurent, "Could we borrow some for Mr. Cummings?" His French tongue couldn't get around Alastair's surname properly, and his pronunciation gave Vanessa a fleeting moment of amusement which broke through her anxiety for a brief moment. She handed over the laudanum, hoping she wouldn't need it again. She knew that Alastair would be in a lot of pain. It might also be necessary to subdue him if they were to get to safety. They didn't waste any time. Laurent went with Vanessa to her chaise and examined the peacefully slumbering Chris. Despite evidence that he'd been beaten, he could find no broken bones, and he confirmed the comte's diagnosis. Chris needed sleep and food. Vanessa accompanied him to the other chaise to see that Alastair was still sleeping, She was relieved to see they had cleaned the carriage of bloodstains and the bloodied rags. Now anyone looking in would only see a sleeping man, if the cloak was kept tucked in around him. The less attention they drew to themselves the better. The farmer's wife handed her a basket of provisions. With a brief word of thanks, Vanessa returned to her chaise and they set off again. The Belgian border wasn't far away. Vanessa sorted out the papers she would need there. No one was bribed here. It was unlikely they would be detained. Over the border was Belgium, and for them at least, safety. The throngs of French soldiers Vanessa had almost got used to on the road lessened as they neared their objective. All the way there had been companies of men, stragglers and even a huge gun being hauled by several men. Vanessa wondered what it was doing here, why it wasn't with the others, but concluded that she would probably never know. Vanessa almost tasted the tension. This was the precursor to a great battle. Europe was on the move, and for better or worse would never be the same again. No one knew who would win, there was no obvious victor, but this would be decisive. Many men would die. When the border guard approached them, Vanessa gave him the French papers, as she'd been instructed. The man looked at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Only military personnel may pass. We have

been told to look for two men in a chaise. Two large men!" He stared pointedly at Chris, still sleeping heavily. "Do I look like a man?" Vanessa demanded, drawing his attention back to herself. Her heart thundered in her chest; she felt sick. "No Madame, but you have a large man with you, and the other could have got out. Where are you going? And why?" "We are going to the Emperor," she said calmly. "My husband has been struck down on the road and we are most anxious to get him to a doctor." The man peered at Chris once more. He put his hand on the door of the chaise. Vanessa held her breath and slipped her hand into her pocket, closing it around the handle of the knife she had concealed there. "Do you not know Colonel Lavallier?" she cried as arrogantly as she could. "Is it possible you do not recognise one of the heroes of France? He was fighting in Spain while you were still suckling at your mother's teat!" A slight exaggeration, but she tried to press home her advantage. "You would deny him access to a good doctor who might cure his fever?" "Fever!" the man released the handle and stepped back hurriedly. Vanessa motioned to him. "The papers, man!" He handed them over and hastily waved the chaises on, taking only a cursory look at the papers Emery thrust at him from the other vehicle. He kept his hand in front of his face to prevent the contagion reaching him. Vanessa congratulated herself on the success of her stratagem, silently sending her thanks to the comte, who had told her to use the word. When they were through she gave a great sigh of relief and sank back against the worn squabs. Almost there! Twenty miles farther on they stopped to change horses. Chris still slept the sleep of the just, so Vanessa got down to stretch her legs and take something to eat and drink. Coffee was brought to her in the big room of the inn, and she sipped the scalding fluid gratefully. It might be June, but it wasn't a warm one. Emery came to join her, speaking low and in French, as this place was full of chattering people. They were still too close to France to be out of all danger. "We gave him some laudanum just before we reached the border. He seems comfortable enough now. When we heard that man yell 'fever!' we used the same excuse, and he didn't look at us as closely. That was a clever thing to say, Vanessa! How did you think of that?" "The comte told me to use it, if there was any trouble, and he was right. It worked like a charm." "Clever man, that!" "Chris is still asleep, but he's breathing well," she told him. "I think I might wake him soon, to give him something to drink, but…oh, Emery I'm afraid!" her voice broke and Emery leaned forward to take both her hands in his. "What is it my dear? Can I help?" It says a lot for their past few weeks together that Vanessa didn't snatch her hand away, nor did Emery misinterpret her response as anything but friendship. "He babbled! Before I made him sleep! I'm so afraid he might not be in his right mind, that they might have driven him mad!"

Unbidden, a tear rolled down her cheek. "If he is," Emery replied. "I promise I'll stay with you and help as long as you need me. You won't have to do this alone Vanessa." "Thank you, Emery," she said. She made an effort and controlled her emotions. It wouldn't do to draw attention to themselves at this late stage. She tried a watery smile. "We'll have to see what happens." Laurent joined them. "We can get no fresh horses here. One of the drivers knows where we might find some, so we'll go there. We'll stop for the night. It will be safer. The drivers need some rest, and we should be safe enough now from pursuit. However, don't completely relax. There are stragglers, and this is a turbulent time for this country. Looters and thieves will be about, as well as the military." They left the main road and drove through country lanes in the deepening gloom. It was summer, and the nights were short, but the inclement weather meant the dark clouds shut out the sun earlier than usual. They arrived at a remote farm. Boards had been put up outside with the dread word 'fever' on them. A convenient excuse indeed, thought Vanessa. The drivers ignored the boards and drove into the yard. The farmhouse was long and straggling and the only house for miles. It looked deserted. All the doors and windows were firmly shut against intruders. When the driver of Vanessa's vehicle got down and rapped on the door, there was a long pause before it opened a crack. A muttered conversation resulted in the door being flung wide, revealing a well lit, welcoming interior. Vanessa got down but stayed with Chris until the farmer found two hefty men to carry him upstairs. She had let him sleep in the chaise, but as they were heaving the unconscious man on to the bed, he stirred. All at once he awoke. Sitting up suddenly, he nearly hit one of the helpers with his head, and then he shouted, "No!" He was drowned by a chorus of "Hush!" Vanessa and the two men tried to subdue him, but it seemed he didn't know where he was; or he thought he was back in his prison again. Wildly, he looked around him until his gaze landed on his wife. "Vanessa?" "Yes, my love, yes!" She took his hand and pressed it urgently. "It's me!" The men stood back. Chris stared at Vanessa. Suddenly, he pulled him to her and kissed her hard, with a closed mouth and then released her just as suddenly. "Well if you're another illusion," he commented. "You're the best one yet!" She sat back and smiled at him to try to reassure him. "No illusion. We're nearly there, my love." "Where?" "Brussels." "What?" his eyes narrowed and he looked at her suspiciously. "What is this? Another trick? You let me sleep. I'm still in Paris, aren't I? You've drugged me. What is this?" The door opened and Emery came in. Chris' eyes opened wide again and he stared. "I heard him cry out," Emery said to Vanessa. "Well?" "He's only just woken up," Vanessa said. "He needs to come to." She didn't take her attention away from

her husband's face, watching him anxiously. "How's Alastair?" "In bed; complaining loudly," Emery said, humour in his voice. "No trace of fever, but there's still the danger of it. Laurent is washing and rebinding the wound." "Washing!" said Chris suddenly, and then in a more normal tone, "God, I stink!" At last, he returned the pressure of Vanessa's hand as though he saw her properly; then he looked up and studied Emery. "What in hell are you doing here? I thought you went to America!" "I asked him to come," Vanessa told him. "We needed his German." "Wait!" Chris frowned. "What's the date?" "June the fourteenth." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then opened them and looked directly at Vanessa. "You're still there," he said. "Yes," she agreed. Seeing his two porters, he said, "Could I have some fresh water please? And a cloth? I can hardly appear in public like this!" They brought a bath, a tin bath and filled it with hot water. While they were doing that, Vanessa and Emery explained what they had done, and how they had got him out of Paris. Chris listened in mounting astonishment, but didn't interrupt, other than the occasional exclamation. When they had done, his first comment was; "He would have had me killed, you know." "Fouché? Yes we know," Vanessa said. "No, not Fouché, although he wouldn't have hesitated if it became necessary. The Comte d'Evray." "What?" Vanessa and Emery said in unison. Chris explained. "It's France or nothing with him. He would have had me killed to prevent me telling Fouché what I knew. That's probably why he bribed one of my guards. When you appeared, he was reprieved. He's a good man, an honest one, and it would have given him no pleasure to have done it. He would have killed me for France, and at that stage, I would probably have welcomed it." Vanessa looked away for a moment, reminded of his torment. He pressed her hand, gently this time. "Thanks to you, I'm here," he reminded her. He stood up, but reeled back again. Vanessa and Emery caught him. "They didn't feed me much," Chris explained. "I don't think I was worth wasting good food on." Supported on either side by Emery and Vanessa, he eventually regained his balance and sat back down. "How did you get so dirty in such a short time?" Vanessa asked. "It was beyond ordinary grime, and that smell is a little more than ordinary dirt!" "In case it has escaped your attention, my love," he answered. "It's been raining rather a lot. I've been out in it. I was transported to Paris in an open cart. You can imagine what else the cart contained." Vanessa wrinkled her nose. She didn't have to be told. She had spent a day in an enclosed carriage with

him smelling like a compost-heap. "They were waiting for me at the border," he said. "By the time I realised Robbins was leading me into a trap, it had sprung. Now you tell me the paper she carried was useless. I don't think she knew it. She waved it in front of me enough times! She came with us to Paris and taunted me every day." "She's dead now," Vanessa told him. "Good," he replied, without further comment. "I'll leave you to your bath," Emery said. "You can tell me about it later." Chris stood up, more carefully this time and held out his hand. After a second's hesitation, Emery put his own into it. "Thank you Graham," Chris said simply. Emery coloured up and with a mumbled "You're welcome." He released Chris's hand and hurriedly left the room. Vanessa had to help Chris take his clothes off. He was still unsteady, and in places, the garments had stuck to the filth underneath. The stench increased when he was naked. His lovely body was streaked with filth. He sank into the tin tub, tucking his legs up and sighed with pleasure. He began to wash himself. "One moment," Vanessa commanded. She went outside and made a request. When she came back in, she explained, "I've ordered more water. It'll take more than one bath to get you clean." "Highly likely," Chris agreed with a wry smile. The water was grimy already. He leaned back and looked at her for a long moment, his gaze soft. Then he began to tell her about his experience. Vanessa dragged up a hard wooden chair and sat where he could see her without straining his neck. "They kept me awake for ever, it seemed. I can't remember the later part, but at one point I tried desperately to put my mind on something I knew well." "The marriage service," said Vanessa. His brows arched in surprise. "How did you know?" "You were still reciting it when we took you. I couldn't stop you, so I gave you some laudanum." "I see. That would explain a few things. At one point my nightmare changed for another. I kept seeing you, in your wedding dress. Part of me reasoned that Fouché somehow had managed to appear in the form of the person I most wanted to see." The confession delighted her. They exchanged a small, intimate smile. "They wouldn't leave me alone," he said. "Sometimes they would let me fall asleep, only to wake me up a minute or so later. That was the worst, the heavenly sinking into slumber, only to be kicked and prodded awake again. So, I decided not to fall asleep, since that was best I concentrated on the wedding service because I knew it fairly well. It gave me an excuse to think of you." He picked up the soap and vigorously washed the dirt off his legs and feet, speaking while he worked. "I don't remember anything about the rescue. I don't remember much until I woke up here, in fact." He scooped the water up in the tin cup to wash his hair. Water cascaded back into the tub. He leaned back in the tin bath and looked ruefully at the grimy water. Right on cue, a man came in with a

steaming canister of fresh water and an empty one, to remove the other. Chris got out while the man performed his task. After several cans of fresh hot water had been brought up, Chris got back in and washed himself again. This time the water stayed cleaner. Vanessa would have helped, but he didn't seem to need it and didn't ask her to. She saw where the guards had kicked and punched him awake, the bruises darkening on his chest, stomach and back. He seemed content to look at her from time to time. At last, he leaned back and let out a great "ohhhh!" of satisfaction. "You and Graham seem to be getting on again," he commented. "I think he's come to terms with the way things are," she answered. "The bitterness has gone." "I'm glad of it. Is he still going to America?" "He'd be a fool not to. It's where his future lies." "Whereas mine is in this room," he said. He gazed at her for a moment, and his lips firmed. A slight frown appeared between his brows. "My love, my sweet, sweet love, why did you do it?" Meeting his gaze boldly, she said; "Because I couldn't bear to wait behind and wait and wait. I thought, if they killed you, I would know quicker. I wouldn't have cared if I'd died then." "But I would," he said, his voice still soft but with an edge to it. "When they had me in that place, it wasn't just the wedding service, it was you I thought of. In that gown, as a matter of fact!" Vanessa realised she was still wearing her wedding gown. It was decidedly grimy now, and there were several tears towards the hem. "I think it's ruined," she said ruefully. "Good," he said. "I never want to see it again! Not while I have the reality beneath it." When he moved to get out of the rapidly cooling water she fetched the towel and wrapped it around him, rubbing it over his back to help him dry. "Now I have no clothes," he said. The men had taken the dirtied garments away with them. "Graham and Cummings are too small to lend me anything. I suppose they were d'Evray's clothes I had on?" "Yes. Can we get any money in Brussels?" "Oh yes," he said promptly. "It's British territory; there'll be no problem there. For now, my precious, we're paupers." "We have a little money left." She told him. "Enough for another meal, a night at an inn, but not enough to fritter away on clothes!" He laughed, and she came round to the front to dry his chest for him. He staggered a little under the gentle pressure. Concerned, she led him to the bed and made him sit. "We should eat soon," she said. "Yes," he agreed. "I can't remember when I last had a hot meal." A knock came at the door. They had, after all, found him some clothes. The farmer was much shorter than Chris, but was stockily built and was able to provide a shirt and breeches. The jacket was hopelessly short, so they left it off. He had to put the Comte's leather boots back on. "This man has feet bigger than mine," Chris observed. "I didn't think that was possible."

While he sat on the bed, Vanessa changed into the blue gown that was much less worn than the green, perhaps because it was better made. She brushed her hair out in front of the small polished piece of tin that served as a mirror, and pinned it back up. "I love your hair," he remarked while he watched her. "Like spun silk." "The bane of my life," she answered, turning back to him. "It won't hold a curl, no matter how I try. If you like it, that's enough." She went to him then, held out her hand. He took it, and got to his feet. "Shall we go to see Alastair now?" "Alastair, is it?" he said with a smile, and bent to press his lips gently on hers, the first time he had kissed her since that first, stunned recognition. "We posed as husband and wife for much of the journey," she said. "I could hardly call him Cummings, could I?" "Let's go and see him," he suggested. "Then, please God, we can eat."

Chapter Nineteen

That evening was one of the best Chris could ever remember, despite their exhaustion, and the knowledge that they weren't out of the woods yet. The four of them and Laurent sat and shared a simple meal. The farmer and his wife served them, wreathed in smiles. They said they were delighted to see the large gentleman and his wife so happy to be together again. Chris only let go of Vanessa's hand to eat, or to put his arm around her shoulders. He made no secret of his feelings for her, demonstrating a love and dependence on her he would have shied away from a matter of weeks ago. Emery Graham seemed to accept it, something for which Chris was profoundly grateful. He'd seen some intelligence and an eagerness to learn in the man when he'd worked with him in Vienna. It seemed a shame that it should be stifled by a hopeless devotion to a lost cause. Chris was as sure of Vanessa as he was of himself, and he knew he had all her love. Alastair, still weak, had to have his food cut up for him, but he ate well, and was content to lean back and rest, watching his the others. He was the least surprising of the group. He and Chris had shared adventures before, but never had it been as desperate as this one. Chris told them what he'd told his wife earlier about his experiences in the Conciergerie. Afterwards, by tacit consent, they talked about inconsequential matters until retiring for an early night. Chris was still tired, despite his recent slew of sleep. Chris and Vanessa undressed and lay down together, innocent as babes, happy as children. There was no thought of adult loving yet. Chris was too tired, and he could tell Vanessa was exhausted, despite her refusal to admit it. Her pallor and the lines around her mouth spoke to him as clearly as if she'd told him of her tiredness. He felt a strong urge to care for her, to ensure she was never as tired again, and folded her tenderly in his arms. They exchanged a few murmured words, but were asleep before the sun had completely gone down on the troubled world outside. They awoke early the next day, almost at the same time, and came together for a gentle good morning

kiss. "I think life catches up with us today," he said with regret. "Yes," she agreed. "I think I'll be able to cope with it better now I have you back. How do you feel?" "Still a little weak," he admitted, "but much better." He moved his hand a little, where it rested on her back, and she snuggled closer to him in response. "I shouldn't feel this happy," she said, "with so much going on, and so much ahead of us." "Neither should I. just for now, this room contains everything I care most about. Later we'll have to pick up the reins again, but everyone needs some respite, a port in a storm." She moved her hand slightly, and he chuckled. "Can it be, my sweet," he said. "The faint stirrings of desire?" "You must be getting better," she said, her movements a little more purposeful. "Or this closeness is giving me ideas," he responded. "I can't help thinking that we shouldn't, but I think we might. You'll have to help me, though, I still feel as weak as a kitten. We have another day's travel ahead of us, so we can rest if we need to. My love?" For reply, she leant over him and kissed his chest, moving up in a series of small kisses until she found his mouth. He made a sound like "mmm," and tenderly rolled her on to her back, finding, to his delight, she was as ready for him as he was for her. Hearing her sigh as he began to move, he kissed her face, her cheek, her ear, her throat, working his way back to her mouth. "Oh Chris," she whispered, "I do love you!" which only incited him to further exertions. What had started as a gentle homage to her body became a mutual thirst for gratification. Chris surprised himself at his consequent vigour in his efforts to please his beloved, to bring the same rapture to her that she brought to him. It was easy to forget the bruises on his poor, battered body, his exhaustion, when he exerted himself to please her. He seemed to be successful, judging from her sighs and soft cries when he increased his movements. He laughed softly while he watched her, kissed her again before his own passion swept him away. He cried out in his turn as he found joy with her. Always careful of his size, he moved off her immediately, but wrapped an arm about her and gathered her to him. She curled a leg over his and looked blissfully into his face. "That was a surprise," she murmured. "An unwelcome one?" "What do you think?" chuckling, she turned her head and kissed his neck. "I wouldn't have come this close to you yesterday!" He wasn't sure what she meant. "Why, my love?" She laughed softly. "I hope they've fumigated that chaise." He saw what she meant and laughed with her. "I couldn't smell it," he said, "Until later on. I don't know why." "Too much on your mind." "Mainly the wedding service," he agreed. "I must have married you another hundred times in that little

cell! None was as sweet as the first." "Sweet? I was so afraid!" "Of what, sweetheart?" He looked at her now, relaxed and happy. "Not of you," she assured him. "Once I got to know you, I saw you were kind. I was going to a strange place with strangers. I was even glad to see my mother, at least at first. It gave me someone I knew in Vienna." "You did so well, nobody knew you felt like that. You made me very proud of you." He remembered the way she looked when entertaining his guests, so elegant and self assured. And beautiful. "Truly?" Her face revealed her delight. He felt her hand smooth his chest in a gentle caress and he caught it, brought it up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. "Truly," he said firmly. "You behaved as though you were born to the diplomatic life." "Well," she confided, "Once I got used to it, I found I loved it. I had something to do, you see, a purpose." "Can you live without it?" he asked. She smiled and kissed him. "Yes, if you want me to. I have you, now." "I think," he said reflectively, "We might drive each other mad if we tried for the quiet life! I think, my love, if you can stand it, I'd like to carry on, continue my career. Make it our career, if you want to." "I'd like that very much. Will you carry on in the Foreign Service or go into domestic politics?" "I like the Foreign Service, it suits me," he told her. "How long we can racket around Europe when we start to breed? Castlereagh and Lady Emily never had any children, but they're the exception." "Babies are very small creatures, they don't take up much room," she said. "Even you, I think, must have been very little once!" They laughed together. "True enough," he agreed. "We'll see." Since they had finished with that topic, he kissed her again, long and lingering. "I want you with me," he said after. "That suits me," she replied with a smile. Out of bed the world and its affairs pressed in on them again. Vanessa thought that small interlude was their own, an island in the middle of a sea of troubles. They still had to get to Vienna, and then face the inevitable battle and its results. Whether they won or lost there would be a lot to do in its aftermath. The heartache it would mean for many people was hardly bearable to think about. Vanessa had met many war widows in her life, and she prayed there wouldn't be many more. Dressing was easy. The farmer provided some ill fitting, but decent garments for Chris, and Vanessa took all of ten minutes to don her blue gown and screw her hair up into a knot. After a hurried breakfast, they thanked the farmer and his wife, and climbed back into the chaises. The drivers got up in front, and they set out on the last stage of their journey. Vanessa was sorry to see the last of the farmhouse. Chris saw her look behind to watch it recede behind them, and took her hand. "Shall we go to Brussels,

give our information, then come back here?" he said, not entirely joking. She smiled, shook her head. "When it's all over, I should like to go home. Then I can look after you properly, and make sure you're completely well." "I think we should," he agreed. "If this is the end." Reminded of the imminent confrontation preparing all around them, they fell silent. Their hands were still linked, and their mutual tranquillity continued. Whatever was to come, they could face it together. Chris slept again later, while it rained. It seemed as thought the summer would be as damp and chilly as the spring this year. Vanessa felt glad she was in a closed chaise this time, not an open barouche. She felt sympathy for the driver, but at least he was well wrapped up against the weather, collar up, huddled inside his coat and hat. The drivers had shared the stables with the horses last night, to guard the precious beasts from possible depredations by marauding stragglers from the armies. The soldiers, marching or riding before and behind them on the road were less fortunate in their protection against the mizzle, but most didn't seem to care, or didn't notice. The uniforms were mainly red now; the officers' adorned with gold or silver lace, not always new and shiny. British troops. The chaises were forced to travel slower to accommodate the increasing traffic. They didn't arrive in the city until late afternoon. Chris had woken up once more. Vanessa's first sight of Brussels was from within the comfortable shelter of his arms. Leaning against him, she stared out of the window at the Gothic spires, the elegant modern buildings. "Where are we going?" she asked, suddenly realising she hadn't an idea. "Wherever Wellington is," her husband replied. "We have to see him or his aide first, and then - I don't know. Shopping, perhaps?" She laughed. "Fool! That sounds strange, after all we've been through." The driver knew where to take them. They went straight to a large house in the centre of the city that, they were informed, was the centre of British operations. If the Duke wasn't here, someone would know where to find him. They waited outside while the driver went in and enquired. Almost immediately, a man in uniform hurried down the steps to them, and Vanessa heard Chris sigh with relief. "I know him," he said. "I was afraid, in this get-up, I would be turned away." The red faced, cheerful looking man with long side-whiskers opened the door to the chaise and stared inside. His reaction wasn't what Vanessa had expected. Taking one look at them, he went off into strong gales of laughter, only pausing to exclaim, "How are the mighty fallen! Oh, Vesey, you've made my day!" Vanessa turned to see Chris grin back at the man. "Scarfe, it's good to see you! Is he about?" "Yes, he's inside!" said Scarfe. "Devilish busy though! But I can see you wouldn't come here like that if you hadn't got something important to tell him, so you'd better come in!" "We've got an injured man behind," Chris said. "Is there someone to look after him?" "Lord, yes, we're crawling with surgeons!" said Scarfe cheerfully. Chris got out of the chaise and held out his hand to help Vanessa down. The man he had called Scarfe

regarded at her doubtfully, and she realised how shabby she had become. Still, there was nothing she could do about it, so she put up her chin and stared back at Scarfe. "My wife," Vesey explained. Scarfe looked at him, startled. "We married just before I left for Vienna this last time. She's a Marriott." Scarfe's troubled expression cleared and he executed a low bow. "Delighted, ma'am!" he declared. Vanessa only realised then that the man called Scarfe had taken her for Chris' light o' love. "Lord Scarfe," Chris told her. "We were at school together." Vanessa curtseyed her acknowledgement, and Scarfe bowed back. He led the way up the steps. "Have you got anywhere to stay?" he asked. Chris grinned. "What do you think?" "Thought so. Better come and stay with m'wife and me! Brussels is packed. Not a lodging to be had!" Gratefully they accepted his offer of shelter, and one of Vanessa's cares was relieved. The other was shortly before they were ushered into his grace's presence, a mere ten minutes after they had entered the building, when Chris was introduced to an official who would take control of acquiring funds for them. He signed a paper that gave the bearer authority to draw the sum on his bank in London, and received a substantial amount in return. "So I won't have to go out and make hats for a living," she said to her husband. "No my love, I think we can be sure of that now," he replied, smiling at her. She laughed at Scarfe's look of mild astonishment. Chris took her hand and held it firmly in his. "You'd love her too if you knew what she'd done!" he said. Scarfe cleared his throat. "Sorry, Vesey. None of my business!" "Not at all. This woman drove through Prussia and France to get me out of gaol there!" "Not on my own," she protested faintly. "Someone should write an epic poem about it!" he said. Scarfe regarded at her with growing respect. "Indeed they should, ma'am!" They could say no more to embarrass her, as an aide was approaching them, clearly to take them to the Duke. Emery had joined them by then, and Alastair too, having declined medical attention for the time being. Vanessa was concerned to see the fresh bandage on his shoulder was stained with blood, but relieved to note it was only a small amount. The Duke of Wellington was a man in his mid forties, with short, dark hair receding at the temples, piercing dark eyes and the long, sharp nose which had earned him many of his nicknames. The best military commander Britain had, he also had a sharp awareness of the politics behind the campaigns he had served in, and a quick, incisive intelligence. He didn't seem formidable at the moment, rising to his full

height from a desk smothered in papers and maps. His smile, rarely seen, was a delightful one. Vanessa curtseyed low when her husband introduced her, and felt the duke's warm hand clasp hers to raise her to her feet. "I think your country owes you a service, Lady Vesey. Allow me to thank you." "I did it for my husband," she said softly, suddenly shy at receiving so many accolades. "I didn't think about it as anything else. I just knew it had to be done." "That's the way of most brave deeds," said the Duke, returning to his seat. Vanessa was delighted to find the Duke had ordered tea. She couldn't remember when she had tasted such a fragrant brew, and realised she must have missed it more than she knew. Aware that the Duke's time was extremely valuable, they wasted no time on heroics, but told him everything they had seen on their journey, and what they had found out in Paris. Chris told Wellington what he knew about the Prussian troops, the information that would have been so valuable to the French, but there was nothing new to Wellington in his observations. "Field Marshall Blücher will be here in the next day or two," Wellington told him. "It's got to come to a head soon, but I think we've got a few days yet. What did you see on the way here?" He looked expectantly to Chris, but Emery spoke up. "I'm afraid his lordship spent most of the journey recovering from his ordeal, sir, but I can tell you what I saw, if that's of any help." The Duke nodded, so Emery continued. "They're massing to the South of Brussels. We saw armies, both mounted and infantry, all heading towards Brussels, some of them in companies, some of them more casually organised. It must be soon, sir, for all the impetus is here. Paris is empty, the Comte d'Evray said. He has every faith in your ability, sir, says Bonaparte is a spent force, that even if he wins this campaign, France will want to sue for peace." "Ha!" came the response. "So you might see Bonaparte at Vienna before the year's out?" Vesey shook his head. "I can't see the French putting up with him for too much longer. His personal appeal is remarkable, but his military campaigns are too expensive. They're running out of resources." "Yes; just what I thought," agreed the Duke. "It would be best to put a definite end to it. I think Bonaparte will be able to muster enough men to continue until he drops, unless he's stopped. Yes, thank you." He turned back to the papers on his desk and sighed. "I have more dispatches to read before I can leave. Still, I've asked the Duchess of Richmond to hold a ball, and it's tonight. If you feel you can attend, I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you." With a laugh, Chris indicated his plain clothes. "There can be no trouble there!" Wellington declared. "I'm sure somebody can trick you out in the necessary." Abruptly, he turned his attention to his papers, and so Chris stood up and gave his hand to his wife. Vanessa stood up and they left the room, Emery supporting Alastair. Once out of the presence, they gave Alastair, now alarmingly pale, over to a waiting surgeon, who had been summoned to deal with him. After giving the surgeon their direction, they went out of the imposing building, back to the chaises, and to the house the Scarfes had acquired for their sojourn there. They had no further active part in the preparations for war. A diplomat's work was before and after the battle. During it his best course of action was to sit back and watch the military experts get on with their job. They had done all they could, and possibly their actions and information had saved lives. That evening in the middle of the Duchess of Richmond's ball, Vanessa was to receive another surprise.

The ball was planned as a morale booster so, although the last thing they wanted to do was to socialise, Chris and Vanessa attended in borrowed clothes, planning to leave early. They stayed longer than they had meant to. There was something in the air, only heightened by the knots of young officers murmuring to gather in corners. Then a young man crossed the floor, intent on some errand. Seeing him, Vanessa shrieked in delight. "George! George, when did you get here?" George jerked his head to see his sister, standing only a few feet away and his face showed mingled astonishment and delight. "I have to deliver a message," he told her. "Only wait, and I'll come straight back!" She watched him hand a folded piece of paper to one of the senior officers, and then he returned to her. She embraced him warmly, and heard him say, "I never was so surprised, Vessa! What brings you here, and how did you get here?" She told him, in as few words as possible. George whistled softly when she had finished. "You're a heroine, by Gad! My big sister!" "So she is," said Chris. The men shook hands. "How are you finding it, George? Any news?" "Things are happening faster than we thought," George told him. "I've been sent with dispatches, and I have to go back immediately." "Oh George!" Vanessa cried, all her fears for him surfacing. "Do take care!" "I will," he promised her. "You've done your bit. Now it's time for me to do mine." "Yes of course," she agreed. George was a fully-grown man, and was making a fine soldier. Vanessa thought he might well make a career of it when this was over. His uniform fitted him as though he was born to it, although it was sadly creased and not so fine as the others filling the ballroom tonight. He must have come straight from the field. "Had a letter from Lydia the other day," he said. Her interest sharpened, Vanessa said, "Oh, is she happy?" "Blissfully," he answered, smiling. "She's married her Cornelius and is staying in Berlin. Mama has written to her, giving her a stiff forgiveness." He turned a quizzical look to her; "Do you know why Mama did that?" Vanessa knew. "When she threatened to cast Lydia out into the darkness, I said I'd be happy to receive her, and I would ask Lady Hervey to, as well." Both Chris and George burst into short, noisy laughter. "So she knows you outgun her!" Chris said. George cried. "Oh, Vanessa, that's priceless! She couldn't wait for you to marry Vesey, and now she's been hoist by her own petard! Oh priceless!" Even Vanessa grinned, pleased with the truce she'd managed to achieve within her own family. "I'm beginning to think Vanessa, on her own, is a petard," Chris said, referring to the small, lethal bomb many armies still used. "She certainly blows things apart." She wondered what he could possibly mean. "Do you mean I'm destructive, sir?"

"Not at all, my love! Merely that you destroy the dross, the foolish things we surround ourselves with!" At the endearment, George looked from Vanessa to her husband and back again. Vanessa knew, as well as if he'd said it, that her brother was pleased for her. Something was happening in the ballroom. Suddenly, like a whirlwind, the Duke strode across the ballroom floor towards a small salon, and called out, "I want to see every man in this room. Now! Vesey, Graham, you too if you please!" Chris glanced ruefully at his wife and obeyed the summons. All Vanessa heard, before the door of the room closed was the Duke crying, "Humbugged, by God! The man's humbugged me!" Vanessa only waited for Chris to return to her before going home. The military men went straight from the ball to the battlefield. The next two days were an agony of waiting. Men were brought back injured, and the women in Brussels did what they could to help. Vanessa was desperately worried about George, especially when the reports started coming in. The battle of Waterloo would go down as one of the bloodiest anyone had ever seen, and it was, as Castlereagh had remarked at Vienna, a very close run thing. At midnight on the second day, a knock came on the street door, and Vanessa, unable to sleep, started up, desperate to know, terrified in case the news should be bad. Chris stood behind her, ready either way. The door to the drawing room burst open and a filthy, but familiar man burst in, smiling fit to burst. "Well, Vessa old girl!" he cried. "We won!" Heedless of his state, his sister ran across the room and threw herself into his arms, holding him tight and crying, "George, oh George!" repeatedly. He smiled, kissed the top of her head and said mildly, "Here, didn't you get my note?" "No," said Chris, since his wife was too busy embracing her brother and ensuring he was perfectly all right. "They often get lost in the heat of battle." "What a battle!" George cried. "My word, but I wish I'd joined up earlier! Nothing like it! Of course," he continued, his face becoming grave again. "I'm sorry we lost so many. That was terrible. But to be in the thick of it!" "So I'll have to worry about you some more?" Vanessa said, finally coming back down to earth. She drew back so she only held George's hands and looked him up and down, ensuring herself yet again that he was uninjured. "'Fraid so, Vessa," he said ruefully. "What's more, they think I'll do well!' Threw himself into it,' my major said!" Vanessa shuddered at the images that conjured up, but wisely didn't protest. She dropped his hands and went back to her husband. "So what will you do now?" "Go back and have a damned good bath!" George said roundly. "Oh!" Vanessa burst into relieved laughter. "Ah! Well, do as I'm told, I suppose!" Chris put his arm around Vanessa and with amusement she noticed George's fascinated expression. His

sister's intimacies with her husband were new to him, but he looked glad for her. "What will you do?" he asked Chris. Chris hugged his wife close. "Care for Vanessa, carry on doing my job. I suppose I must brace myself for a visit to Paris soon, but I'm damned if I'll see Fouché again! "It's very rarely," he continued thoughtfully, "that we can say 'there's an end.' Most affairs end in a tailing off, but this battle definitely indicates the end of something. Bonaparte, perhaps more than that; we'll have to see." He looked down at his wife and an expression of tenderness suffused his features. "The beginning of something else," he added. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Maybe more than you think," she answered. They resisted the temptation to call their first-born son Waterloo, even though he'd been conceived in a little farmhouse almost on the battlefield.

THE END