But he had gone.

Elizabeth stayed home for only one more week. It was blissful, she thought, to be alone with John and Louise and the baby, not to be constantly looking over her shoulder for Hetherington or half-expecting to find him inside every room that she entered. After a few days she could not understand why she was so bored and restless. John was busy for much of each day; Louise was frequently tired and had to rest; Jeremy could not be played with all day long. It was time to go back. At least she was usually kept busy at the Rowes'.

Louise made life uncomfortable for her by refusing to let the topic of Hetherington drop. She had become genuinely fond of him and was convinced that he could not be quite the villain that she had previously thought.

"No one who loves children as he does can be a cruel man," she told Elizabeth on one occasion. "And did you notice how much Jeremy loved him? Depend upon it, children always know who can be trusted. Their instincts never err."

Further, she was convinced that Hetherington still had strong feelings for her sister-in-law. She believed that the marriage could be revived.

"I assure you he is not indifferent to you, Elizabeth," she said. "Why else would he have accompanied you here and stayed for ten whole days? It is not as if we are able to offer much in the way of entertainment. He loves you, you may be sure."

"Nonsense!" Elizabeth protested. "He stayed here merely to provoke me. He did not miss an opportunity to set me down or to sneer. And he has said good-bye, Louise. This is the end of it. I shall not see him again. And I must say, I am greatly relieved to know it. I shall be able to settle to my tranquil life again."

Louise cast her a skeptical look but said no more.

John upset Elizabeth in a different way but on the same topic. He apologized to her for not having taken a firmer stand and ordered Hetherington away from the house at the start.

"It was just so deuced awkward when he had just done you the service of bringing you here so quickly," he told her. "And then afterward he did us so many kindnesses and he really did seem to lift Louise's spirits. I am sorry, Elizabeth."

He proceeded to comfort his sister by abusing Hetherington for the heartlessness that enabled him to behave toward them all as if nothing had happened in the past, and for his hypocrisy. Elizabeth, surprisingly, was not comforted. She found herself suppressing the urge to defend her husband to her brother.

And she could not forget him when she was alone. Try as she would to convince herself that she was happier since he had left, she found herself reliving some of those days when he had been there. He had appeared so lighthearted most of the time. And it was his laughter, his teasing, and his smiling eyes that she had fallen in love with six years before. She remembered his always keeping the conversation alive at the dinner table, his ability to entertain Louise. She often pictured him with the baby, who would bounce with anticipated delight at the mere sight of his uncle.

His uncle! She had caught herself several times when Hetherington was still there wishing that they had a normal marriage. A few times she had had to restrain herself from joining him in a game with the baby. She would have enjoyed sharing some of that relaxed warmth. She would have liked just one of those radiant smiles to be directed fully at her.

She found that she particularly hugged to herself the memories of the brief physical contacts they had shared. Looking back on that morning at the inn when she had awoken to find herself lying in his arms, she realized with a pang all that she had missed through her broken marriage. Every morning should be like that morning, except that she should have been able to wake him and see him smile at her, turn to her, and pull her into a close embrace. She remembered those moments in the nursery when they had all realized that Jeremy was finally out of danger. He had laughed at her, teased her, but there had been some tenderness surely in the way he had held her and comforted her until her tears had dried. And surely there had been some feeling in his good-bye. He had kissed her on the mouth and said that he wished their marriage had turned out differently.

Elizabeth smiled bitterly. Was he regretting what he had done? Was he wishing that he had stood by his marriage vows even when circumstances changed? It was satisfying in one way to believe so. But it was a hollow victory. She had lost him. It mattered not that she still loved him against all reason, and that perhaps he regretted losing her. The truth was that they could never revive their relationship. There was too much hatred, bitterness, and distrust behind them. They could never forget, and she did not believe that she could ever forgive entirely. Even if she could, she would never be able to trust him again.

It was better this way. He had gone, and to London, not Ferndale. Clearly he did not intend that their paths should cross again. She knew that her only chance of attaining peace of mind was never to see him again. Yet how could she forget him? Dear God, how was she to live without him?

And so that week passed, with Elizabeth alternately relieved and tortured. The only solution was to go back to her position and begin all over again the task of reconstructing her serenity and her independence. She appointed a Monday for her journey, and resisted all the entreaties of both John and Louise to stay longer or forever.

At John's insistence, Elizabeth traveled in his coach and took with her a maid as companion. It was a very different journey from the one she had made a few weeks before with Hetherington. The coach was ponderous. Although they set out in the morning, they were little more than halfway by nightfall. Elizabeth and the maid stayed together at an inn, where they received deferential treatment because the innkeeper had not much business. They enjoyed the comfort of a private parlor as well as a roomy bedchamber that boasted an extra cot for the maid. The coach finally rolled to a halt in front of the Rowes' house in the middle of the following afternoon.

Elizabeth received a warm, if confused welcome. Mrs. Rowe was quite incapable of deciding what she should call her employee, until Elizabeth laughingly put an end to her stammerings.

"Ma'am," she said, "circumstances forced the Marquess of Hetherington to reveal what neither of us would otherwise have told a soul. We were married for a very brief time. But it was a mistake. It was six years in the past, and although we are still married in the eyes of the law, we are in reality strangers whose paths happened to cross again for a while. But we mean nothing to each other. I beg that you will treat me just as you did before you learned the embarrassing truth. Indeed, I am the same person."

"Well, it is very gracious of you to say so, I am sure," Mrs. Rowe replied. "But I always did say that there was something quite distinguished about you, Miss Rossiter. I shall respect your wishes, of course. And indeed we are honored to have you as Cecily's companion. But I do feel it a sad shame, my dear, that you and the marquess are estranged. Such a charming gentleman! I did think he was sweet on Cecily at one time, but I can see now that it was just his manner to appear courteous to all ladies. Now, Cecily, my love, you must be sure to do as I do and treat Miss Rossiter just as if she were not a marchioness."

Cecily's eyes twinkled. "I shall endeavor to remember, Mama," she said meekly. "Beth, do come upstairs if you have finished your tea. I shall help you unpack, though I do believe you have brought back with you almost as little luggage as you took."

Elizabeth got to her feet, but she turned to Mrs. Rowc before following Cecily from the room. "May my brother's coachman and maid rest here for tonight, ma'am, before setting out for home tomorrow?" she asked.