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But she had to admit to herself that it was the near certainty of Alexander's presence at Portland House that was really attracting her most. She had tried so hard to hate him; indeed, she did hate him. It was hard to excuse or forgive anyone who could treat a fellow human being with such contempt and cruelty. Yet she had never been able to fall out of love with him. She had relived so many times that first meeting, when he had been so charming, and their wedding night, when he had taught her physical passion and fulfillment, that she was no longer sure what was truth and what was fantasy. Was he really as handsome as she remembered? After he had been gone a few days, she had found that she could see clearly in her mind everything about him except his face. And, as time went on, his whole image blurred, so that she could no longer be sure of anything.
But much as she hated and feared her husband, A
Did she dare? she wondered. Did she dare defy him and go to Portland House, where they would be forced into each other's company for two whole weeks? Would he humiliate her by sending her home again immediately if she did? Would he arrive with his mistress and create for her a hopelessly embarrassing situation? But she did not think she need fear any of these things. Surely the duke would not allow her to be sent home in disgrace. And surely Alexander would not do anything as distasteful as to bring his mistress to his grandparents' home. She would surely be safe from total humiliation.
But how would she behave when confronted with him again? She had dreamed of such a meeting for so long. Was he still laboring under that ridiculous idea he had had that she had somehow lured him into marriage? Almost as if she had seen him coming along the highway and had arranged for the storm to strand him with her. And would he hate her as much if he could see her now? She knew that she was changed from what she had been when he last saw her. The weight had gone first. It had not been a deliberate loss at the start. Her clothes were hanging about her, and Mrs. Rush was clucking her concern before A
When spring had come and she had turned almost defiantly to improving the surroundings in which she seemed doomed to live for the rest of her life, she had also turned her attention to herself. She was slim but haggard, terribly dressed in clothes that would have been unappealing even if they had fit. Her hair had been allowed to grow thick and style-less. It was lifeless and dull. It was at that point that she had discovered what a gem of a maid she had in Bella. The girl had an eye for color and design, and clever hands for arranging. Equally important, perhaps, she had a cousin who was a ladies' maid in a noble house in London. From this cousin she received frequent letters, full of information about the latest styles in clothes and hairstyles.
All Bella needed was a willing victim on whom to practice these new ideas. When she realized that her mistress was becoming dissatisfied with the appearance that the girl had long deplored, she set to work. A creative and eager little seamstress from the neighboring village became a willing accomplice, and soon A
If A
Was it wise to deliberately seek out Alexander again and risk having her new confidence in herself dashed? He could do it with one sneer. On the other hand, if she could surprise only one look of appreciation or admiration from him, her image of herself would be complete.
A
A
Alexander Stewart, Viscount Merrick, rode his favorite horse to his grandparents' home. It was a beautiful spring day, and Portland House was a mere thirty miles south of London. He left his valet to follow after with a carriage and his trunks.
He was looking forward to the two-week holiday. It was a long time since he had spent more than a single night with his grandparents. Yet to him they were like parents. They had brought him up. Their house seemed more like home to him than his own because that was where he had spent his childhood and his boyhood until he went away to school. Even then, it was to Portland House he had gone during vacations.
He had a great fondness for the two old people. The duke sometimes fooled people who did not know him into thinking that he was some kind of ogre. He certainly looked the part: extremely tall and stout, with florid complexion and steely gray eyes. His coughs and wheezes could easily be mistaken for bellows of rage. And the duchess abetted this image by constantly referring to her husband's commands and pronouncements, as if only she stood between the listener and his wrath. But Merrick knew by experience that a milder man than his grandfather did not exist, but that it was his grandmother who ruled the household and the family with an iron hand. Yet hers was a benevolent rule. Though tyra