She raised her eyes to his. He was looking steadily back. "You are /not, /it is to be hoped, in love with /me, /are you?" he asked her.

She hated him at that moment. "No, of course not," she said. "I married you in order to help my sisters gain an entrГ©e into society, just as you married me to solve the problem the three of us posed for you and to beget your heirs. But even a marriage of convenience need not be an unhappy marriage, Elliott, or a marriage in which the partners rarely speak or spend time alone together. I want us to have a workable marriage. I know you might have chosen someone far lovelier and more suitable than me if you had waited, but it was you who chose not to wait. What else was I to do when you came to offer for Meg but offer myself instead?" He regarded her with narrowed eyes. "It is probably as well that we are /not /in love with each other," she said. "Then we might not even try to be happy. We might rely upon the feeling of euphoria that being in love doubtless brings and not bother to work at building any sort of lasting and amicable relationship. But we can be happy again if we try." /"Again?" /He raised his eyebrows. "And what does this /trying /involve, Vanessa? If you expect me to bare my feelings at every turn, you are doomed to disappointment. That is something strictly for females." "Well, for a start," she said, "surely you do not need to be from home all day every day. Neither do I. Sometimes we could do something together that will bring us both pleasure." "Like going to bed?" he asked.

She would not look away from his eyes though she felt her cheeks grow hot again. "For longer than five minutes at a time?" she said. "/That /would be something. Though a workable relationship must rely upon more than just that. There is to be tomorrow night's ball, of course, but that is only /one /thing, and it is sure to be dreadfully formal. But every day there is a pile of invitations that I look through with your mother. May /we /perhaps decide together upon a few that would suit us both?" He inclined his head, though he did not say anything. "Marriage is not easy to accustom oneself to," she said. "And I think it is often worse for the man. Women are used to being dependent, to thinking of others as well as themselves. Men are not." "We are selfish bastards, then?" he asked her.

She was horribly shocked. She was not sure she had ever heard that word spoken aloud before now.

She smiled slowly. "If the cap fits…" she said.

For a moment there was a gleam in his eyes that might possibly have been amusement. "Have you seen the Towneley collection at the British Museum?" he asked her. "No," she said. "They are classical sculptures brought from the ancient world," he said. "Some ladies will not go to see them, and some men will not take them even if they wish to go. They have not been provided with clothes, you see, and are shockingly naked. They provide a marvelous glimpse into one of the world's greatest civilizations, though. Do you wish to go?" She stared at him. "Now?" "I suppose," he said, his eyes moving over her, "you will wish to have breakfast first and change into something more suitable." She jumped to her feet. "How soon do you want me to be ready?" she asked him. "In one hour's time?" he suggested. "I will be ready in fifty-five minutes," she promised, and she flashed him a bright smile before turning to hurry from the room and dash up the stairs.

She was going to go out with Elliott!

He was taking her to see the Towneley collection, whatever that was. She did not care. She would look at a field of mud if that was where he chose to take her - and delight in it too.

She paused when she was inside her dressing room and had rung for her maid.

He had asked her if she was in love with him - adding that he hoped she was not. /Was /she?

It would add an unfortunate complication to a life that was already proving difficult. /Was /she in love? With Elliott?

She could not answer the question. Or would not.

But suddenly she felt the ache of tears at the back of her throat and behind her eyes. "I have sorted through the post," George Bowen said when Elliott returned to the study. "The invitations for the ladies to look at are in this pile. The letters I can deal with myself are here. The ones that need your attention are there. The one on top - " " - will have to wait," Elliott said without glancing at the pile - or at his secretary. "I will be spending the morning with her ladyship." There was a short pause. "Ah, quite so," George said, making a great to-do of straightening the third, small pile. "I will be taking her to see the Towneley collection at the British Museum," Elliott said. Later, he wished he had not added the next words. "It is her wish that we do some things together." "Some wives are funny that way," George said as he mended a pen though there was no sign that he intended to put it to any immediate use. "Or so I have heard." "I need to go upstairs and change," Elliott said. "You do." His friend looked him critically up and down. "A suggestion, Elliott, if I may?" Elliott had already turned toward the door. He sighed and looked back over his shoulder. "I suppose the museum and the collection was your idea," George said. "And a fine one it was too. But take her to Gunter's afterward. I daresay she has never tasted an ice. It will please her. She will see it as a romantic gesture on your part." Elliott turned fully to face his secretary again. "And you are suddenly an expert in romantic gestures, George?" he asked.

His secretary cleared his throat. "One does not need to be," he said. "One has only to observe ladies to understand what pleases them. And your lady is easy to please, I would wager. She is a cheerful little thing - even when there is not much to be cheerful about." "You are wishful of making a point, George?" his employer asked with ominous calm. "The trouble with you," George said, "is that you do not have a romantic bone in your body, Elliott. The only thing you have ever known to do with a woman you fancied is to bed her. Not that I blame you. I have often envied you, if the truth were known. But the fact is that ladies need more than that or at least - Well, never mind. But they are romantically inclined and it behooves us to give them what they want at least occasionally - if they belong to us, that is, and are not merely mistresses." Elliott stared at him. "Good God!" he said. "What the devil have I been harboring beneath my own roof in the guise of a secretary?" George had the grace to look apologetic, though he did not remain mute. "The sculptures first, if you really must, Elliott," he said. "I believe your lady has the fortitude not to need smelling salts there. I believe she will even enjoy them. But take her to Gunter's afterward, old chap." "This early in the year?" Elliott asked. "Even if it were January," George assured him. "And especially after she has been all alone for four days - except for the other ladies, of course.

And married for only a little over a week." "You are impertinent," Elliott said, his eyes narrowing. "Only observant," his friend said. "You had better go up and change before breakfast." Elliott went.

He was not in the best of moods as he climbed the stairs to his room - though he had not been in the best of moods for six days. Not when he was at home, anyway. He had been happy enough at his clubs, at Tattersall's, at Jackson's boxing saloon, mingling with his friends and acquaintances, talking on congenial topics like the government and the wars and the upcoming races and boxing mills.

He was convinced that he had made the biggest mistake of his life when he had allowed Vanessa Dew to talk him into marrying her.

Though if it had not been her, it would have been someone else soon. And if he had not married either her or her sister, then the Huxtable ladies would still be like a millstone hanging about his neck.