"Frederick does not even patronize him anymore," Ruby said, advancing into the room and apparently doing a mental estimate of the baby's safety. "If the silly man does not want our custom, then we will take it elsewhere. And that is what we do, is it not, my love?"

Freddie lowered the baby and smiled fondly at his mate. "Ruby told me to set my own fashions if I wish," he said. "She has faith in me. Brains. Ruby has brains like you, Alex. I'm a lucky man to have her. Like you with Anne."

"Yes," Merrick said, his eyes straying to his wife.

Jack arrived before luncheon the following day. He had stayed overnight with friends who lived a mere twelve miles away, he explained. After luncheon he suggested that Anne take a stroll in the garden with him.

"I say," he said when she took him onto the graveled walks among the geometrically arranged box hedges, lawns, flower gardens, and fountain, "what has happened here? The last time I came the whole place looked hopelessly overgrown and dreary. Did you do this, Anne?"

"Yes, I did," she said. "Of course, you are not seeing it nearly at its best. The spring flowers should be blooming within the next few weeks. That is my favorite time."

"Ah," said Jack, leaning toward her and drawing her hand through his arm, "do I read an invitation in those words, Anne?"

She laughed. "Do you never give up, Jack? Would you even know how to talk to a woman without flirting with her, I wonder?"

"I have never felt the urge to flirt with Grandmamma," he said.

Anne laughed again. "I should love you to see the garden in the spring," she said. "If you also wish to do so, you must wangle an invitation from Alexander."

"I must confess," he said, "that this relationship of yours definitely intrigues me. I admitted defeat last spring only because I thought you two were patching up your differences. Then you left alone, and Alex was not worth talking to for the day before the rest of us left. Then I heard through a circuitous route that you were with child. And now Alex has been here for weeks. So what, Anne? Are you finally together, you two?"

"We are married whether we live together or not, Jack," Anne said evasively. "So you must start treating me like a cousin, if you please, instead of one of your flirts."

Jack sighed. "Do you at least have some neighbors with unmarried daughters?" he asked.

Anne laughed.

Bruce's wife was a surprise. Anne had not met her before. She had expected a plain and practical girl, rather like Freddie's Ruby, perhaps. Ethel was, in fact, a tiny and very pretty girl with masses of dark hair and large eyes to match. She did not say very much, and Anne gathered from the little she did say that she was not overintelligent. But she was a remarkably good-natured girl and smiled a great deal. She appeared to worship Bruce and gazed askance at anyone who opposed his opinions.

She seemed awed by the superior company in which they found themselves, especially after the arrival of the duke and duchess late in the day, and frequently escaped to the nursery to play with Catherine. She confided to Anne, when the latter found her there on one occasion, that she thought herself to be in a delicate condition. But she had not told even Bruce, believing that he would have forbidden her to come if he had known. And she had so looked forward to meeting her sister-in-law and her new niece.

The duke had to be helped into the house by two footmen and complained gruffly about the rigors of travel when winter was hardly over. But he had been in the house barely a half-hour when he insisted on climbing the stairs with the aid of his cane to view his new great-granddaughter. He would not hear of having her brought down to the drawing room.

"Children are too often lugged around and put on view for everyone's admiration," he said, growling to Jack to pass him his cane and puffing to his feet. "If people want to see 'em, they should be the ones to do the traveling."

But when he came back downstairs, the duchess was at his side, Catherine in her arms.

"She was crying," Her Grace said, "and Nurse insisted that there was nothing wrong except that the child has had too much excitement and too many visitors in the last day or two. But I could not leave the little mite like that. See what you can do with her, Anne, dear."

But it was Merrick who reached for the baby and soothed her against his shoulder as the child sucked loudly on a mouthful of his neckcloth. The duchess looked from him to Anne, who was pouring tea, nodded briskly, looked significantly at her husband, and helped herself to a scone.

"Let someone revive the conversation in this room quickly," Jack said languidly, lowering his teacup to the saucer, "or Grandmamma will be suggesting that we prepare some theatricals for the christening party. I assume you have arranged such an occasion, Alex?"

The next few days were busy ones for Anne, who was unused to entertaining in her own home. They were happy days. She felt thoroughly part of Alexander's family and had passed the stage of being either cowed by the duchess's brisk manner or awed by the duke's surface gruffness. She felt unexpected delight in conversing with her brother now that her days were no longer ruled by his gloomy outlook on life.

She was excited by the day of the christening and by the extra entertaining that had been organized for the occasion. Lady Catherine Stewart behaved herself in a manner very nearly fitting to her station. Waving arms and feet succeeded in bunching the gorgeous christening robe around her waist on more than one occasion, and she beamed toothlessly-all except a skeptical Ruby insisted that it was her first real smile-when the vicar poured water over her head instead of maintaining an expression of cool disdain. But she did not cry or disgrace herself in any other way.

Only one cloud hung over those days as far as Anne was concerned. All the guests were to leave three days after the christening. And then there would be nothing to keep Alexander at home. On the following day, or very soon afterward, she was convinced, he too would leave and she would be left to try somehow to make something meaningful of the years ahead with Catherine. She would have the rare letter from him probably, and doubtless she would hear news of him occasionally from people like Sonia, who still resided in London. But it was not likely to be the kind of news that she would welcome. The name of his newest mistress, perhaps. So she clung to these final days greedily, willing time to go slowly.

By teatime on the third day following the christening, they were alone again at Redlands, the three of them.

A whole week had passed since the departure of their last guest after the christening. Merrick was well aware that he was outstaying his welcome, that he was not being fair to Anne. Red-lands was the only place she could call home, and she had spent a great deal of time and creativity on making it a pleasant environment. She had made it clear to him a year ago that she wished to live there, and that she did not wish to live with him. He owed it to her to leave her alone there, and he really had no excuse for further delay. He must leave within the next few days.

But it was so hard to make the break. Even though they had not had a close relationship since his arrival from London, there had been a certain harmony between them. There had certainly not been any unpleasantness, and at times he had almost been lulled into the delusion that they were any ordinary family, delighting in an attractive home, in each other's presence, and in the pleasure of a new child. But he must not forget that it was not really true. It was not fair to Anne for him to go on fooling himself any longer.