Now she was afraid all might be ruined.

She thought of getting up and going to him after all. But she was the one who had initiated their lovemaking at Ty Gwyn-and then she had let him down. She did not have the courage to do it again, knowing that it was quite possible the same thing would happen.

The carriage turned to pass between two great wrought-iron gates and made its way along a wide graveled driveway, woods on each side, a sure signal that it was traveling through the outer limits of a private park surrounding a great house. Although the scenery was different, Anne was powerfully reminded of her first approach to Glandwr-where all this had started.

She was feeling much as she had felt then.

She was sitting with David on the forward-facing seat while Sydnam sat with his back to the horses. It was impossible to tell if he was excited at the prospect of seeing his family soon or apprehensive at the nature of his return. He sat quietly looking out through the window.

None of them had talked a great deal since leaving Bath, and when they had spoken, it had been about inconsequentials.

What would happen between them tonight? she wondered.

But it struck her as she spotted water and lawns ahead that there was a great deal to be faced between now and tonight.

“Soon you will be able to see the inner park,” Sydnam said. “It always takes my breath away even though I am familiar with it.”

Even as he spoke the carriage drew clear of the trees, and the interior was flooded with light. Anne could see that the water was a river. Beyond it were wide lawns dotted with ancient trees sloping up to a mansion, still some distance away. Off to the left-hand side there was a lake, partially surrounded by trees.

Her first sight of Alvesley and the inner park made Anne realize more fully the extent of what she had done. She had married a son of this grand and stately home. She was the daughter-in-law of an earl.

Her stomach performed an uncomfortable flip-flop that reminded her of the morning nausea that had worn off hours ago.

With every turn of the carriage wheels she felt a growing dread. David, apparently feeling a similar apprehension, moved closer to her side and pressed his arm against hers. She smiled reassuringly down at him as the wheels of the carriage rumbled onto a roofed stone Palladian bridge across the river, and then onto the driveway through the park.

“It is all quite magnificent,” she said. “Is it not, David?”

There were people out on the lawn close to the house, she could see as they drew closer-two ladies, one young, the other older, and two children, a boy about four years old and a girl somewhat younger. Both ladies were looking toward the carriage, the older one shading her eyes with her hand.

“My mother,” Sydnam said, leaning closer to the window, “and Lauren. And Andrew. The little girl must be Sophie. She was a baby when I last saw her, but there is another baby in the nursery now. I have not even seen him yet.”

His manner, Anne saw, was animated. He was happy to be home. She felt a surging of tenderness for him-and a stabbing of loneliness for herself.

And then, as the carriage made a great swing onto the terrace before the marble steps and pillared portico that sheltered the double front doors of the house, Anne could see two gentlemen in riding clothes stepping out of the stable block.

“My father,” Sydnam said, “and Kit. It seems that we are arriving at a provident moment. Everyone is here-except the baby.”

Anne leaned back in her seat as if by doing so she could hide forever from the ordeal to come. Sydnam turned his attention to her.

“Your bonnet and your spencer are the exact color of your eyes,” he said. “You look lovely, Anne.”

She was wearing one of her new outfits. Her dress was a shade paler than the spencer. She remembered the pleasure of their shopping expedition in Bath and smiled at him.

The carriage drew to a halt, and as soon as the steps were put down Sydnam descended. But he was given no chance to turn to hand Anne down. His brother must have seen him through the window and had already stridden across the terrace to catch him up in his arms.

“Syd, you old devil!” he exclaimed, laughing. “What is this?”

He was not as tall as Sydnam, and his hair was fairer. He was not quite as handsome either, in Anne’s opinion, though he looked fit and lithe and had a good-humored face.

But before Sydnam could answer, his mother came hurrying up and took him from his brother’s arms into her own.

“Sydnam,” she said, her voice bright and glad. “Sydnam, Sydnam.”

“Mama.” He patted her back with his one hand.

David hid his face against Anne’s arm.

Sydnam’s father stood in the background, beaming genially, and his sister-in-law came into view, the curly-haired little girl astride her hip, the young boy holding her hand, the wide brim of her straw hat flapping in the breeze-a beautiful dark-haired violet-eyed lady.

“Sydnam,” she cried, “what an absolutely wonderful surprise!”

Ah, yes, indeed, they were a close and happy family.

None of them seemed aware of her presence or David’s inside the carriage. But Sydnam soon extricated himself from his mother’s embrace and turned to smile up at Anne.

“There are two people here I want you all to meet,” he said, reaching out his hand to help her down. It closed warmly about hers, and everyone turned to look at her with surprise and curiosity. “May I present Anne, my wife, and David Jewell, her son? Anne, David, I wish you to meet the Earl and Countess of Redfield, my father and mother, and Kit and Lauren, Viscount and Lady Ravensberg, my brother and sister-in-law. And Andrew and Sophia Butler, their children, I assume.”

Anne curtsied. David, who had scrambled down the carriage steps on his own, bobbed his head in a jerky bow and moved closer to her until the side of his body was pressed to hers.

“Your wife?”

“You devil, you, Syd.”

“You are married, Sydnam?”

“Oh, Sydnam, how wonderful!”

They all spoke at once. But surprised, even shocked, as they undoubtedly were, they did not look horrified. Not yet.

The little boy stared at Sydnam and then patted his father’s leg insistently until Viscount Ravensberg swung him up into his arms. The little girl hid her face on the viscountess’s shoulder.

The countess, regal and handsome, turned her full attention on her new daughter-in-law and smiled.

“Anne, my dear,” she said, taking both of Anne’s hands in her own and squeezing them tightly, “my son has married you and did not even inform us? How could he have been so remiss? We would have arranged a grand wedding for you. Oh, how provoking of you, Sydnam.”

“Ramshackle doings, Syd, old chap,” the viscount said. “Anne-may we call you that? I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” He smiled at her too so that his eyes crinkled attractively in the corners, and held out his free hand to shake hers.

“And I yours,” Anne said, taking it.

“Do you not remember Uncle Syd, Andrew?” he said, looking down at his son.

“The army surgeon chopped your arm off with a big knife,” the boy said, peeping at Sydnam and making a slashing motion with the side of one hand. “Papa told me.”

“And I am delighted too,” the viscountess said warmly, stepping forward to hug Anne and set one cheek against hers while she still held Sophia. “More than delighted. And how do we know, Mother, that Anne and Sydnam did not have a grand wedding? Or an equally beautiful small wedding? Either way I am sorry in my heart that we missed it. And David.” She turned her full attention on him and stooped slightly to hug him too. “How lovely to have a new nephew and an older cousin for Andrew and Sophie and Geoffrey, who is missing all the excitement while he enjoys his afternoon nap in the nursery.”