Elizabeth, dressed in a sprigged muslin dress from which she and Louise had removed the ribbons and flounces, allowed a few loose curls to soften the severity of her hair knot, and tied the ribbons of a large-brimmed straw bonnet beneath her chin. She went along to the nursery, where Louise was struggling to dress her son, who was bursting with energy and mischief.

"Oh, may I carry him for you?" Elizabeth asked, and Louise shot her a grateful smile.

"Indeed, he is getting heavy," she admitted, "and the doctor and John have both forbidden me to carry any loads."

They went downstairs to find John. He was in the hallway, a small picnic basket at his feet, talking to Hetherington.

"Robert, I am so glad you arrived back in time," Louise called cheerfully from behind Elizabeth. "Our party would not be complete without you."

He bowed his head and smiled in her direction. "I would not have missed your picnic for worlds," he said.

All the sunshine went out of the afternoon for Elizabeth. Now she would have to be prim and self-conscious again. Louise had clearly invited him. She was being quite excessively courteous. And why had he accepted? Of what possible interest could a family outing with a baby be to him?

Hetherington picked up the picnic basket and retained his hold on it even when John protested. "Your wife will have need of your arm, Rossiter," he said. "Mine does not. She already has her hands full."

They set out across the lawn and through the trees. Jeremy was contented for a few minutes, then decided that his new uncle would be a more exciting person with whom to travel. He gurgled, chattered in unintelligible baby talk, and held out his arms to Hetherington so that Elizabeth had to fight to keep her hold of him.

"Put him up on my shoulders," Hetherington said. "He can hold on to my hair."

Elizabeth ignored him until she could no longer control the child's struggles. She glared as Hetherington stepped in front of her and stooped down so that she could seat Jeremy astride his shoulders.

"Let me take the basket," she said.

He turned a laughing face toward her. "Why do you not just relax, Elizabeth?" he advised. "This is a pleasure outing."

"How can it be a pleasure when I can never get away from you?" she cried, and watched the smile fade from his face.

He turned away without another word to her. "Come on, Jeremy," he said. "Let's make this old horse gallop." And he trotted away, the child chuckling and then shrieking with delight as he held to his perch with firm fistfuls of fair hair.

It was at that point that Elizabeth decided that she would have to have a confrontation with Hetherington. They stayed carefully apart from each other for the rest of the afternoon, but she watched bitterly as even John seemed to warm to Hetherington's high spirits and obvious success with the baby. Tomorrow she would talk to him.

As it turned out, Elizabeth did not have to put her resolve into effect. Hetherington joined her and Louise at the breakfast table the following morning. He helped himself to food at the sideboard, sat down, and smiled at Louise.

"I have just been in conversation with your husband, Louise," he said. "I have been taking my leave of him. I leave for London today."

Louise's cup clattered back into the saucer. Elizabeth felt her heart begin to hammer uncomfortably. She laid down her fork as quickly as possible before her hand could begin to shake. She did not look up from her plate.

"You are leaving?" Louise said. "Oh, Robert, I had no idea."

"I have already been here longer than I ought," he replied. "I had planned to stay only while I felt that Elizabeth needed my support. With Jeremy in such bouncing health, I cannot pretend that there is still a crisis in the house."

"But you do not have to have a reason to be here," Louise protested, glancing uneasily at Elizabeth. She seemed about to say more but changed her mind.

"I really have quite pressing business in town," he said gently. "But I do thank you for your hospitality. I have been very happy to make your acquaintance at last, ma'am."

Louise was speechless for a while. "Jeremy will miss you," she said at last.

He smiled. "And I shall miss him," he replied. He held her eyes and raised his eyebrows, casting a quick glance at Elizabeth's lowered head.

Louise jumped to her feet. "And speaking of Jeremy," she said brightly, "I must see if he had a peaceful night after his outing yesterday. Shall I see you before you leave, Robert?"

"I shall come to the nursery soon," he said.

Left alone, Elizabeth and Hetherington sat in silence for a while. She had not touched any food or drink since he had spoken his first words.

"You finally have your wish, Elizabeth," he said quietly at last.

"Yes."

"You will be free to relax with your family when I am gone."

"Yes."

There was another tense silence.

"What will you do now?" he asked. "Will you stay here? I believe you are needed. And you are certainly loved."

"I shall go back to my position," she replied. "This is merely a holiday."

"You do not belong there," he protested.

She looked up at him for the first time since he had come into the room. "It is not for you to say where I belong," she said firmly. "I shall do with my life as I please, my lord."

He got impatiently to his feet and strode to the French windows that faced out onto the terrace. He stood there with his back to her. "You do not like being dependent on your brother, is that it?" he asked. "You need not be, you know. You are still my wife. I am able and willing to support you in any manner you choose. If you wish to set up your own establishment, Elizabeth, you may send the bills to me. Or I shall make you an allowance so that you do not have constantly to apply to me. Would you prefer that?"

Elizabeth's chair scraped back and she was across the room at his side almost before he had finished speaking, her cheeks flaming, her eyes blazing.

"How dare you insult me so!" she hissed at him. "Have I not suffered enough humiliation at your hands, without this? I would not take a farthing from you, Robert Denning, if I were destitute on the streets and you my only hope of avoiding starvation."

His face had paled and he had flinched when she began to speak as if she had struck him a physical blow. The sneer had returned by the time she finished.

"You have changed, my dear," he said. "There was a time when money meant more to you than all else. Or perhaps you are no different now. William Mainwaring will be in residence alone when you return to your employment. He is clearly besotted with you. And I am sure you are clever enough to spin him a yarn that will overcome his disappointment in finding you a married woman. I would wish you good fortune, ma'am, if I did not feel that the man deserves better of life."

Elizabeth's hands were clenched at her sides. "Do not let me delay you, my lord," she said sweetly. "I am sure you wish to reach London before night falls."

He stared at her blankly, then held out his hand. "I am glad that events turned out well for your family here," he said.

She placed her own hand hesitantly in his. "I thank you for bringing me home," she said. "It was kind of you to cut short your visit to Ferndale."

He looked into her eyes, a half-smile on his lips. "Good-bye, Elizabeth," he said. "I wish things might have been different for you and me."

She willed herself to show no emotion. She steeled herself for the kiss on the hand that she half expected. She came near to crumbling when he kissed her instead, very gently, on the lips. Had he not gone immediately, in fact, without even stopping to look into her face again, he would have seen the tears spring to her eyes; he would have heard the sobs that felt as if they would tear her ribs apart.