Vanessa had her hair cut. At first the stylist intended merely to take off a few inches, but when he discovered that there was a heavy wave in her hair - though nothing as attractive as Stephen's curls - he cut it short in the newest fashion and styled it in such a way that it bounced about her head and cheeks and could be teased with fingers and tongs into curls and even ringlets for special occasions. "Vanessa!" the viscountess exclaimed when she saw it. "I /knew /your hair had promise. I told you so, did I not? But I did not fully realize what short, wavy hair would do to fill out your narrow face. It emphasizes the classical lines of your cheekbones and the size of your eyes. Smile for me." Vanessa smiled and then shook with self-conscious laughter. She felt bald. "Yes." The viscountess looked critically at her. "You really do look quite pretty. In a unique way. You are an original." Which Vanessa supposed was a compliment.

She felt bald even so.

All her new clothes were pastel-shaded. The dress she would wear for her wedding was pale green - a lighter shade than the dress Hedley had bought her for the summer fete.

If she had not been so busy every day and so exhausted every night, she might have shed tears over her memories, over the fact that Hedley was not with her to share all the excitement. As it was she ruthlessly suppressed the memories - and the guilt - except when they popped up unbidden.

She also tried to think as little as possible about Viscount Lyngate, to whom she would be married within a month.

In memory he became more arrogant, more supercilious, more morose, more everything that was negative every time she thought of him.

She was going to have to work terribly hard if she hoped to fulfill her promise to make him happy, to please him, to… What was the other thing? Ah, yes. To make him comfortable.

And to keep him faithful.

The month galloped along far too quickly. She was not ready. She needed more time.

For what, though? /For everything!/ But time would not, of course, stand still. The day inevitably came when she found herself in Viscount Lyngate's carriage again with Lady Lyngate and Cecily, headed in the direction of Finchley Park and Warren Hall.

Mr. Bowen rode beside them as an escort - he was to be the viscount's best man at the wedding.

In just a few days' time. The guests would be starting to gather already. They included Sir Humphrey and Lady Dew and Henrietta and Eva. And Mrs. Thrush. And the Duke and Duchess of Moreland. Very soon she would see her betrothed again. Vanessa's stomach performed an uncomfortable flip-flop, which she attributed to motion sickness.

12

THE ladies came home from London three days before the wedding. But very little time, not even the three days, was to be allowed him in order to get to know his bride better, Elliott discovered.

Perhaps it was just as well.

His grandparents had arrived from Kent. His aunts and uncles had come too and his cousins with their families. His paternal cousins, that was.

Con, though invited at the request of the Huxtables, had declined. And of course his married sisters had come with their spouses and Jessica's children. Finchley Park seemed very full.

Everyone was delighted with him. But it was his grandmother who put into words what they were all eager to agree with. It was after she had been over to Warren Hall with his grandfather to meet his bride. "She is not a beauty, Elliott," she said after her return - and in the hearing of all the rest of the family except Jessica's children. "And that is a relief to me. You must have chosen her for qualities of character. She has an extremely pleasant disposition, though she was understandably nervous at meeting Moreland and me. I am pleased that you have shown so much good sense." "Or perhaps, Grandmama," Averil suggested, "Elliott has fallen in love with her. I must confess I like her exceedingly well though I was rather surprised when I first saw her. She is not the sort of lady I would have expected to attract Elliott. But I could hardly catch my breath for laughing when she was describing her misadventures with the train of her presentation gown. I like someone who can laugh at herself." "I hope he /is /in love," their grandmother said, looking hard at him. "/Are /you, Elliott?" He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, very aware that every female eye was upon him. "I certainly have a regard for her, Grandmama," he said carefully. "Give me time, and I daresay I will fall in love with her too." "Oh, men!" Jessica tossed her glance at the ceiling. "Be careful that you do not kill her with your ardor, Elliott." She was not a beauty, his grandmother had said. No, she was not. But he was shocked nevertheless when he saw her again - in company with his grandparents and his mother and sisters. He scarcely recognized her.

She was no longer wearing mourning - not even the hideous lavender.

Neither, he noticed when he glanced at her left hand, was she wearing her wedding ring. She was dressed in a simple but stylish high-waisted dress of pale lemon. Both the color and the design flattered her.

But it was her hair that made her virtually unrecognizable. The new style suited her to perfection. It flattered her face, made it look fuller, less pale. It made her cheekbones more pronounced, her eyes larger. It somehow drew attention to her lips, which were generously sculpted and almost always curved upward slightly at the corners.

He felt that now-familiar but still somewhat puzzling stirring of desire at the sight of her. For even with the changes she really was no beauty.

But he had no private word with her and would not before the nuptials, it seemed. He was busy with his family, she with hers.

Sir Humphrey and Lady Dew had come with their two daughters. They had brought Mrs. Thrush, the Huxtables' former housekeeper, with them. There were no other guests at Warren Hall, but Sir Humphrey could fill up a house all by himself. And Elliott preferred to keep his distance than be cornered into endless conversation with him.

Actually Elliott was surprised that the Dews had come at all. Would it not be painful for them to see their son's widow remarry?

He endured the final days of his freedom with as much cheerful fortitude as he could muster. There was nothing he could do to avoid his fate now even if he wished to do so. He carefully avoided asking himself if he /did /wish it. It was a pointless question.

He dressed on the morning of his wedding with deliberate care and kept to his own rooms for as long as he was able. It was a ruse doomed to failure. If he was not going down to greet his family, they would - and did - come up to see him.

So he had to endure being hugged and wept over by all and sundry in the narrow confines of his dressing room.

And because it suddenly struck him full force that this was indeed his wedding day, that his life would forever change today, he hugged them all back and wrung his grandfather's gnarled hand.

And finally he was on his way to the small family chapel in the park at Warren Hall, George Bowen beside him in the carriage. "Not one word," he instructed firmly when he heard his friend draw breath to speak. "Enough sentimental claptrap has been spoken this morning to give me nausea for a month. Not /one word/." "How about several, then?" George said with a grin. "Do you have the ring? You were supposed to give it to me after breakfast, but you did not come down to breakfast. You lost your appetite, I daresay.

Weddings - one's own wedding, that is - are said to do that." Elliott dug into a pocket and handed over the ring he had purchased in London. "The kidneys were particularly delicious this morning," George said, as if to himself. "Nice and greasy, the way I like them." "If you also like being my secretary," Elliott said, "you will keep such thoughts - and all others for the remainder of this journey - to yourself, George." His friend chuckled and held his peace.