Elizabeth hoped that her displeasure showed in her stiff bearing as she walked to her own room. The amusement in Hetherington's eyes as he bade her good night suggested to her that it did.

For the following two days the baby bounced back to health with all the resiliency of childhood. By the afternoon of the second day the nurse was expending all her energy on confining the child to the nursery. Louise and John, too, seemed to recover quickly from the strain of the few days and nights when their son had hovered on the brink of death.

Louise seemed convinced that Hetherington was somehow responsible for the miracle of Jeremy's recovery. She told Elizabeth so as the two of them sat on the terrace on the second morning, soaking up the morning sunshine.

"I really do not know how we should have managed without his cheerfulness and his strength to keep us sane," she said, "and without your devotion during the nights, Elizabeth. John and I were very close to the breaking point when you arrived."

Elizabeth was outraged. "I consider his behavior to have been most inappropriate in the nursery," she said primly. "He was laughing, Louise!"

"Yes, of course, dear, and the rest of us were crying," Louise answered cheerfully. "Neither reaction was suitable to the occasion. But both tears and laughter are ways of letting out emotion when it becomes too powerful to bear."

Elizabeth tutted. "You are very wise," she said, "but I cannot think the Marquess of Hetherington capable of deep emotion."

"Oh, there you are quite out," her sister-in-law assured her. "Your marquess cares very much, Elizabeth. He stayed here in this house of gloom, did he not, when he could have gone riding back to his friends? And he was sitting up with Jeremy when his fever broke. And he spent an hour with him yesterday. Nurse said he allowed Jeremy to play with his quizzing glass and to pull his hair, and to leave a wet patch on his breeches. No, dear, I do not know exactly what passed between the two of you when you wed, but I must believe that there is some explanation for his behavior."

"How can there possibly be an explanation?" Elizabeth cried. "He would not see me, Louise, would not answer my letters. And then he divorced me."

"But he did not, dear," Louise reminded her. "And if you have been mistaken about the one thing, perhaps you have been mistaken about the whole. Why do you not confront him now that you have the opportunity? Ask him what happened. The worst that can come of it is that you will find that you have been right all along."

"I would not condescend to show him that it matters to me," Elizabeth replied.

Her sister-in-law gave her a despairing glance.

John too was concerned about the relationship between his sister and her husband. He saw her walking past his office later the same morning, called her inside, and closed the door.

"I cannot but feel the awkwardness of your situation," he said. "It goes very much against the grain with me to offer hospitality to the fellow when I have always despised myself for not calling him out all those years ago for the suffering he made you endure. Shall I send him packing, Elizabeth?"

"I am not sure he would go," she said wryly. "He seems to be quite thick-skinned when it comes to insults."

"It is so deuced awkward," he said, exasperated. "The fellow has been a model guest. He has treated Louise with great courtesy. Jeremy really took to him, I understand. And he has been of great assistance to me, riding for the doctor early yesterday morning and back again to the apothecary later. I would find it hard now to summon the nerve to tell him that he is no longer welcome in this house."

"Then say nothing," Elizabeth said, smiling. "I am sure that he will leave of his own accord within the next day or two. I cannot think that life here has enough of excitement for him."

"And he is your husband still," John added, troubled. "I am not sure that I have the legal right to order him away from you."

---

In the following two days there was no sign that Elizabeth was right. Hetherington showed no symptoms of boredom or restlessness. It seemed that he was planning to stay. Elizabeth avoided him as much as she could by staying close to Louise. She spent time in the nursery with her sister-in-law and went visiting and shopping with her.

The two of them spent time in Elizabeth's room trying to find clothes suitable for her to wear. She had brought with her only the gray cotton dress that she had been wearing. There were numerous dresses in her wardrobe, but all of them were from six or seven years before, all to a lesser or greater degree out of fashion and some of them quite unsuitable to a woman of six and twenty, Elizabeth believed.

Louise convinced her, however, that several of the dresses would be quite unexceptionable with a few minor alterations. That particular evening saw Elizabeth descending to dinner in a pale-green silk gown whose puffy sleeves had been narrowed, and whose plunging neckline had been disguised with a delicate lace inset. She was self-conscious. As a consequence, her hair had been swept back into its bun with extra severity.

Hetherington and Louise were in the drawing room when she entered. "Oh, you look so lovely, Elizabeth!" Louise exclaimed. "I wish I might throw away that dreadful gray. Perhaps I should instruct one of the maids to burn a hole in it with the iron. An unfortunate accident, of course."

"I have a better idea," Hetherington added, grinning. "Elizabeth should wear it into the nursery when Jeremy is eating bread and jam. It would be ruined beyond repair."

Elizabeth glared.

Louise became flustered. "I am so sorry about your neckcloth, Robert," she said. "But I am sure they will be able to wash the jam out of it belowstairs."

He laughed. "If I had children of my own," he said, "I should probably have learned long since not to snatch an infant into the air when he is in the process of eating his tea. It was my fault entirely, Louise."

If he had children of his own! Elizabeth's fingers itched to slap him. She could recall now the stinging satisfaction she had had from doing so on a previous occasion. And since when had he and her sister-in-law been on first-name terms?

When the butler finally announced dinner a few minutes after John arrived in the drawing room, Hetherington offered Elizabeth his arm with exaggerated politeness.

"I liked it better without the lace," he said quietly to her, his eyes hovering at the level of her breasts.

She shot him a startled look.

"Almack's," he said. "You wore it there one evening. I seethed with indignation while you waltzed with old Ponsonby, because his eyes were definitely not on your face, nor his mind on his dancing, I believe."

"Oh!" Elizabeth said, lost for words.

"Of course," he added, eyeing her hairdo with distaste, "on that occasion you had some curls to cover some of the bare flesh."

"You are insufferable, my lord," she seethed.

He grinned as he held back her chair while she seated herself. "Yes, my lady, I know," he said.

It was the following day that Elizabeth decided that she must confront Hetherington and ask what intentions he had for staying on at her brother's home. She had reached the end of her tether.

Louise had decided on that day that it was time for Jeremy to have an outing. John decided that he would join them and invited Elizabeth. They would not go far. There was a small lake just half a mile distant through the trees. It was shady there and the baby had always enjoyed playing on the grass beside the water. They would take a ball with them to amuse the child, and a picnic tea.

Elizabeth looked forward to the outing. She was enjoying the holiday with her family and felt that she could have relaxed entirely were it not for the disturbing presence of Hetherington. Soon she would have to make plans to return to her position. She had had a letter from Mrs. Rowe just that morning, in fact, telling her that she was missed and that she was very welcome to return if that was the life she had chosen for herself. But she would have one afternoon just to spend with John and his family. Hetherington had ridden off somewhere immediately after luncheon; she had chosen not to ask anyone where.