"Oh, but poor Edward!" Tears thickened Emily's voice again. "To have only one arm -"

"Edward will do very well," Theo interrupted, refusing to allow her sister to pity Edward. The one thing he would hate would be pity. "And when it comes to lovemaking, I can assure you one doesn't need two arms. Think of Lord Nelson… one eye and one arm didn't put Lady Hamilton off."

"Oh, you can't think it would matter to me!"

"No, I don't. And Edward will make the best of it, you know he will. And you'll help him to do so."

She spoke with brisk reassurance to forestall another bout of weeping, and in her heart she believed that her old friend wouldn't allow his disability to ruin his life, but she ached to be with him as she thought of how he must be feeling at the moment, so far from the people who would rally round him and give him the strength to come to terms with his injury.

Elinor was waiting for them as they entered the house. Clarissa had told her of Lady Fairfax's visit and Emily's headlong rush to the manor to find her sister. It was a pity that Theo's honeymoon had been disrupted, and with such wretched news, but Elinor knew that Theo couldn't have been kept in the dark about her best friend's tragedy.

As she'd expected, Theo was pale but dry-eyed, supporting her sister, who looked ready to collapse and did so as soon as she saw her mother. Elinor took her into the drawing room, ensconced her on the sofa with smelling salts and a tisane, then firmly ushered Theo out of the house.

"Go back to your husband, now, dear. You'll come to terms with this in your own way, and there's nothing more you can do for Emily that I can't do equally well."

"No, I know." Theo ran a hand through her hair, pushing her fringe off her forehead. Her eyes were clouded, and there was a tremor to the usually firm set of her mouth.

Elinor took her in her arms. "Oh, Mama," Theo said, her grief and anger at the injustice of it all ringing in the simple word. Her mother simply held her, stroking her hair, until Theo pulled back and offered a small, tremulous smile. "I'll manage now," she said, and Elinor knew she would.

"You should talk to Stoneridge about it," she suggested. "He was in the army; he'll know how people manage to cope with these injuries."

Theo frowned. "But he doesn't know Edward. He couldn't possibly know anything about how Edward will be feeling."

"But he will wish to know what you are feeling," Elinor said gravely.

Theo's frown deepened. Sylvester was very good at taking charge of things, and very good at making things happen, witness the fact that she was now Lady Stoneridge. But somehow she couldn't imagine weeping on his shoulder, sharing her innermost feelings with him. She could laugh with him and make love with him, but she didn't think she could cry with him.

Theo walked slowly back to the manor. Perhaps she shouldn't assume that Sylvester could not understand the Belmont grief. She'd married him so that they could all stay together, and in her heart of hearts she knew she expected him to make the effort to become a Belmont. After all, she could never become a Gilbraith. He had taken over the Belmont inheritance, and it was his duty to make himself one of them. But how could he if she didn't include him in the family concerns?

Edward wouldn't have to become an honorary Belmont when he married Emily. Fairfaxes and Belmonts had existed side by side in the Dorsetshire countryside for three generations. There was no competition, no rivalry, no bad blood.

Ah, Edward. Tears welled abruptly, and this time she let them flow. She turned off the driveway, pushing her way through the shrubbery, heading for the rear of the house. She ran down the hill toward the stone bridge over the stream. Her plait thumped against her back, the divided skirt she'd worn for the friendly challenge in the long gallery fluttering around her ankles.

Sylvester saw her from the library window. His instinct was to follow her, and he had one leg over the windowsill before he thought better of it. If she'd wanted his comfort, she could have come to him.

He turned back to the ledgers detailing last year's estate affairs, but he couldn't concentrate. Theo's pale face with the dark smudges of her freckles and her distressed eyes wouldn't leave his internal vision. What kind of man was this Edward Fairfax to inspire such love and friendship from a woman who, Sylvester knew, didn't give lightly of herself?

He was a man coming home with a hero's wound.

He threw down his pen and pushed back his chair with a soft execration, forcing himself to refuse the bitter comparison as it rose ugly in his mind. That had nothing to do with anything. Theo loved Edward Fairfax as one would love a close relative. He was to be her brother-in-law. There was nothing in such a relationship to cause a husband a moment of unease. No sexual passion.

But the power of lust did not last forever. Passion would eventually die without a deep and abiding friendship to water its soil.

But he hadn't married a Belmont because he wanted a deep and abiding friendship in his marriage. He'd married her because he needed what she would bring him… because that tricky old bastard had willed it. That he had ended up with a lively, passionate partner in his bed was merely a wonderful bonus.

Resolutely, he picked up his pen and turned his attention to the column of figures detailing expenditure on tenant housing. The old earl hadn't stinted in this regard, and presumably the new one would be expected to follow in his footsteps. Theo would certainly expect it, but there were extravagances here…

It was an hour before Theo walked back up the hill. Sylvester glanced out the window and saw her as she approached the house. On impulse he leaned out and called to her, and she changed direction, coming up to the window.

Her face was still pale, but she was dry-eyed and calm, although her smile was somewhat distracted.

"Coming in?" he asked cheerfully, leaning over to catch her under the arms, lifting her bodily through the window. Setting her on her feet, he tilted her chin and lightly kissed her mouth. She didn't resist the caress, but her usual response was conspicuously absent.

"How did your mother take the news?" he asked, releasing her.

"As you'd expect," Theo said with a shrug. "She's had her share of tragedy, and I've never seen her give way."

He nodded and tried to find some way of penetrating her distraction. "How about that friendly match you wanted?"

She looked surprised. "But I rather had the impression that you didn't want to do it."

"Well, I don't believe it's appropriate for a husband to wrestle with his wife, if you want the truth. However, just this once…" He smiled, but the invitation fell on stony ground.

Theo shook her head. She didn't feel like playing, and it seemed insensitive of him to suggest it.

"In that case you'll be relieved to know that I've lost interest in the idea myself," she said with a feigned briskness. "I'm going to ride down to the village and see how Granny Moreton's doing. She's been sick for weeks, but she's such a crusty old dame that the villagers aren't as attentive to her as they might be. I'll take her some spearmint tea from the still room and a bottle of rum. She's much better-tempered when she's had a drop or two."

So much for overtures! Sylvester returned to his ledgers as the door closed behind her. He'd tried, and if Theo wouldn't respond, then there was nothing more he could do.

Theo rode into Lulworth, stopping frequently to acknowledge the greetings of the village folk. It struck her that she was treated with an unusual degree of deference since she'd become the Countess of Stoneridge, the women curtsying, the men doffing their hats with meticulous respect. Since these were village folk who for the most part had seen her in and out of scrapes throughout her childhood, had bandaged her scraped knees on occasion, fed her gingerbread and cider on winter afternoons, told her family stories, teased and scolded her as a child, it felt very peculiar and rather uncomfortable.