Brampton looked forward with some amusement to the party to Vauxhall. He had been observing with curiosity his friend coming more and more under the spell of Charlotte's charms.

"If you do not have a care," he warned his friend one morning at White's while both were supposedly perusing the daily newspaper, "you are going to be the next one to be leg-shackled, Dev!"

"The devil!" his companion replied. "You mean Miss Wells? No, no, Bram, just being kind to the chit. Her being Lady Bram's sister, y'know."

"It seems to me she does not need kindness," Brampton replied dryly. "The young bucks are lined up three deep for half a block waiting to pay their respects."

"No good, Bram," Devin protested. "Such a young, innocent little thing. Needs someone older and steadier to protect her from all those sparks."

Brampton laughed. "You are doing it too brown, Dev. You steady? You the protector of innocence? I tell you, Dev, it's love pure and simple." And he returned, smiling, to his newspaper while his companion sputtered his protests.

Brampton had no particular objection to spending a whole evening in his wife's company. Ever since his breakup with Lisa, he had been determined at least to try to make something of his marriage. He could not imagine that there would ever be any deep feeling between them. She was not lively enough to excite any great interest in him; she obviously was not a woman who could feel deep passion and she would certainly not welcome any demonstration of feeling from him beyond a mild affection.

But that mild affection he was prepared to give. She had really interfered hardly at all with his life. He had feared that he would never again feel at home in his own house after his wedding. Yet he found that he felt more so. His wife never invaded his own sanctuary, the library. She did not litter the house with her possessions. She did not fill the house with noise and bustle. But he did notice that his favorite foods were served far more frequently than they used to be, that his brandy decanter and the snuff box in the library were always well supplied, that his comings and goings were never questioned.

Brampton felt rather ashamed, in fact, of ever having thought of his wife as an antidote. She was not a beauty and her face lacked vivacity, but it was a sweet face and she had eyes that could have transformed her into a beauty if they would only sparkle.

He sometimes wished that she did have some vitality. He would have liked to see her smile more often. He would have liked to touch her with his hands, to explore the quiet, disciplined little body, to touch that sweet mouth with his own. But he never overindulged in such thoughts. He did not wish to arouse loathing or disgust in his wife. And he was quite convinced that she would be disgusted by such physical advances. So he made an effort in her bed to cover her body with his without invading her privacy more than was necessary, and to occupy her body for as short a time as possible.

Brampton was, in fact, working hard at his marriage.

Sir Henry, Lady Lucy, and Devin Northcott had been invited to dine with the earl and his countess on the night of the outing to Vauxhall.

Margaret made sure that she was late entering the drawing room before dinner. The guests had all arrived. She noticed only, in her mood of tense excitement, that Richard was looking more than usually magnificent in dark gold-colored knee breeches and coat, a chocolate-brown waistcoat making his shirt and intricately styled neckcloth seem startlingly white in contrast.

When he raised a hand to signal a footman to bring her a drink, Margaret was careful to raise heavy-lidded eyes to him.

"Nothing, thank you, Richard," she said.

His eyes searched her face. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, of course, Richard," she replied brightly and a little too quickly.

A few minutes later, when Chalmer announced dinner, Brampton offered his arm to his wife, instead of to his sister, as strict good manners would have dictated, and escorted her into the dining room.

Margaret was listless throughout the meal. She said little, toyed with the food on her plate, drank no wine, and put two fingertips to her temples a few times, removing them hastily and smiling vaguely when she caught Richard's eye.

After the meal, the men rejoined the ladies in the drawing room without much delay, as they wished to make a prompt departure for Vauxhall. Brampton immediately seated himself beside his wife on a love seat.

"My dear, you are unwell?" he asked, concerned.

"Just a little headache, Richard," she replied, smiling wanly. "I shall be fine."

"We must stay at home, then," he said. "You must have some laudanum, my dear, and retire to bed."

"Oh, no, Richard," Margaret protested, "it is really nothing. I cannot spoil the entertainment for everyone."

"Your health is of more importance than other people's entertainment," her husband said decisively. "We shall remain at home. There is still a party of four."

"But, Richard," Margaret pleaded, "I cannot like charlotte going out without us to chaperon her. I know that Lucy will take care of her, but I really feel he responsibility left with me by Mama and Papa."

"She will be quite safe, my dear. You must think of yourself once in a while, you know."

"Richard," she said, looking him full in the face vith soulful eyes, "would you do me a great favor and accompany them?" And she very daringly placed her hand on his, until her thumping heart and quickened breathing forced her to remove it.

Brampton hesitated. He could not remember any other occasion when his wife had asked him to do something for her. He considered with dismay the prospect of an evening spent alone with two couples, he would feel like a wallflower par excellence.

"Very well, my dear," he said, "but only on condition that you go to your bed immediately. I shall send Kitty up to you."

"Thank you, Richard," she said, and slipped quietly from the room, leaving Brampton to make her excuses. He sat on for a few moments after she had left, worrying about her. He had never known her unwell. She could not be pregnant. He had been denied her bed again for five nights less than two weeks before. Perhaps she was working too hard to make Charlotte's Season a success.

Margaret forced herself to lie in bed for ten minutes after she had heard the party leave for Vauxhall. She was glad that she had taken the precaution of going to bed. Richard himself had brought her the laudanum and a warm drink of milk.

She had claimed that the milk was too hot to drink but had promised to take the medicine as soon as the drink had cooled.

He had sat on the edge of the bed, suffocating her with his aura of masculinity.

"My poor dear," he had said. "You have been so looking forward to this evening, have you not?"

"Yes, Richard," she had replied, "but it is Charlotte I am really concerned about. She has been so excited."

"I shall take you there another evening," he had said, smiling gently into her eyes, unaware of the somersaults his expression was causing her stomach and heart to perform.

"That would be nice, Richard," she had replied.

And then she could have sworn that her stomach and heart changed places when he leaned slightly toward her. She was certain that he was about to kiss her. But he merely put back a strand of hair that had worked loose from the braids that were still coiled around the back of her head; then he laid gentle fingertips against one of her cheeks for a moment.

"Good night, my dear," he had said. "Sleep well and have no fears for Charlotte. I shall be as good a chaperon as you could wish."

Kitty finally arrived in the bedroom and Margaret leapt out of the bed, her body and mind all aflutter at the thought of what lay ahead that night. Kitty was carrying the silver gown over her arm. The accessories were quickly dragged from boxes in the bedroom closets.