As did Elliott's anger at seeing the lady in his ball-room when she had not been invited. /Of course she had not been invited./ "Oh, dear," Mrs. Bromley-Hayes said now, a suggestion of laughter in her voice, "never tell me you did not /know/." "I believe," Vanessa said through lips that felt stiff and did not obey her will very easily, "you were depending upon my not knowing, ma'am." "I forgot," the lady said, "that you have come recently from the country and have never mingled with polite society. You cannot be expected to know its secret workings. Poor Lady Lyngate. But even you, surely, cannot believe that Elliott married you for any other reason than convenience." Of course he had not. He had not even dreamed of marrying her until /she /had asked /him/. "You have only to look at yourself in a glass," Mrs. Bromley-Hayes continued. "Which is not to say that you are ugly. You are not, and you must be commended for dressing as well as you can given your figure. But Elliott has always been renowned, you know, for his exquisite taste in women." The wife and the mistress were walking side by side and arm in arm, Vanessa thought, in surely the most public afternoon location in London.

The picture they presented to everyone else in the park must be ludicrous indeed. And of course, everyone else must /know/. Only she had not until a few moments ago. "Exquisite in what way?" she asked.

It was the best she could do without any chance to think of any better or more cutting reply. Her head buzzed as if it were inhabited by a hiveful of bees.

The lady laughed low. "Ah," she said, "the cat /does /have claws, does it? But come, Lady Lyngate, there is no reason we cannot be friends. Why let a man come between us? Men are such foolish creatures. We may need them for certain things - well, for /one /thing at least - but we can live far more happily without them most of the time." "You will excuse me now," Vanessa said, drawing her arm free. "I was on my way home when I met you. I am expected." "By Elliott?" The lady laughed. "Poor Lady Lyngate. I doubt it. I very much doubt it." "Good afternoon to you," Vanessa said, and hurried off through the throng, looking neither to right nor to left.

From the jumble of her mind certain thoughts popped out, clear as day, one at a time.

The fact that she was plain.

That Elliott had called her beautiful, rather as one would soothe a child with insincere flatteries.

That until she had confronted him two mornings ago, he had been from home all day every day following their arrival in London.

That his mother had said at some time during the first few days here that she had hoped he might be different from his father.

That his frequent lovemaking had nothing to do with love and everything to do with begetting his heirs.

That he had spent a few minutes last evening talking with Mrs.

Bromley-Hayes before she left.

That seeing her at the theater had discomposed him and set him to drumming his fingers on the armrest of their box.

That he and Constantine had a quarrel - and it was Constantine who had brought the lady to meet them at the theater and to appear at the ball last evening. To embarrass Elliott.

That he had seen and talked with Mrs. Bromley-Hayes today and told her that /she, /Vanessa, was tired. Like a child who had been given too many treats the day before.

That he was enormously handsome and attractive and could not possibly be satisfied with a wife such as she.

That she was a fool and an idiot.

Naive, gullible, stupid.

Unhappy.

Wretched.

Almost unable, long before she reached home, to continue setting one foot in front of the other.

Fortunately - /very /fortunately - he was not at home when she arrived there. Her mother-in-law was in the drawing room, the butler informed her, entertaining a few callers.

Vanessa walked past the drawing room, treading lightly lest she be heard. She continued on up to her room, made quite sure that both her bedchamber and dressing room doors were tightly shut, climbed into bed fully clothed except for her shoes and bonnet, and pulled the covers up over her head.

She wished she could die then and there.

She fervently wished it. /Hedley, /she whispered.

But even that was unfair. She had been unfaithful to the man who had loved her with his whole being - with a heartless man who did not even know the meaning of love.

And who happened also to be her husband.

Incredibly, she fell asleep.

Elliott had spent an hour at Jackson's boxing saloon, drawing more than one protest from his sparring partner for treating the bout as if it were a real fight.

He had spent fifteen minutes at White's Club and then left despite the fact that a group of acquaintances whose company he usually enjoyed had called him over to join them.

He had ridden aimlessly about the streets of London, avoiding the park or any areas where he was likely to run into someone he knew and be forced to stop to make polite conversation.

But finally he returned home. George Bowen was still in his office. He pushed a dauntingly thick pile of mail his employer's way when he went in there. Elliott picked it up and leafed through the letters, all of which needed his personal attention. If they had not, of course, George would have dealt with them and not bothered him. "Her ladyship is at home?" he asked. "Both their ladyships are," George said. "Unless they have crept out down the servants' stairs without my seeing them." "Right." Elliott set down the pile and made his way upstairs.

He could not rid himself of the notion that he had hurt Anna. She had been very quiet during his visit. She had listened to him with a half-smile on her lips. And then she had told him that his visit had been quite unnecessary, that she had realized last evening how fortunate she was to be free again to pursue a friendship with someone else. Two years was quite long enough for any relationship, was it not? Freedom was what she valued most about her widowhood. And their liaison had grown somewhat tedious, would he not agree?

He had /not /agreed - it would have been tactless. Besides, their affair had not grown tedious to him, only… irrelevant. But that was not something he could say to her either.

He had Vanessa to thank for the fact that he had been bothered all day by the possibility that he had hurt Anna. Vanessa and feelings! He had never particularly bothered himself with people's feelings before meeting her - including his own.

She was not in the drawing room. Neither were his mother or Cecily.

She must be in her bedchamber, he decided after going upstairs and ascertaining that she was not in her dressing room. But the door into the bedchamber was shut. He tapped lightly on it, but there was no answer. That was where she was, though, he would wager. She was probably fast asleep.

He smiled to himself and decided not to knock more loudly. He had kept her up for much of last night after a busy day. Or she had kept him up.

They had kept each other up.

It still surprised him that he could find her so appealing sexually. She was not at all his usual type of woman. Perhaps /that /was the appeal.

He wandered downstairs again and looked through some of his letters, though he was unable to dictate replies to any of them. George had finished work for the day and had disappeared.

He went back upstairs and shaved and changed. It was almost time for dinner by that point, but still there was no sound from Vanessa's room.

Perhaps she was not even there. Perhaps George had been wrong and she was still out, though where she was likely to be at this hour he did not know.

He tapped on her door again and, when there was no reply, he opened it cautiously and looked in.

The bed was rumpled. There was a lump in the middle of it, which he guessed to be his wife though no part of her was visible.