James was very proud of little Weston. Even as an infant, he looked like John Master. And James couldn’t help also feeling proud that for the first time, so far as he knew, the Master family had married into the aristocracy. Future generations would carry in their veins the blood of nobility, even royalty, stretching back to time immemorial.

Vanessa seemed happy too. If she was now only plain Mrs. Master, her very presence gave the name a new luster, and the fact that the baby was universally admired was also gratifying. Indeed, there had been little friction between her and James in the first year of their marriage, except for one minor matter.

He continued to work. He spent less time at the Albion trading house than he had before—which Albion himself well understood—but he by no means neglected business.

“Must you be such a tradesman, James?” his wife would remark. But he would only laugh.

“It’s not as if I lived at the warehouse,” he’d reply. “Albion’s a gentleman, with a perfectly respectable place of business in the city, and I go there to keep an eye on my family’s affairs—which are considerable,” he’d remind her.

“Perhaps, James,” she’d suggest, “we should buy an estate in the country. You could manage that. I’d like to see you in Parliament, I think.”

“I’ve no objection to either,” he said. “But the family business must still be attended to.”

He realized that, like many women, she planned to refashion the man she loved, and it quite amused him. But he hadn’t the least intention of neglecting his affairs, all the same.

He also remarked several times that they must think of crossing the Atlantic to visit his family, who would be anxious to meet her. To this she replied, “Not yet, James. Not with little Weston so young.” And as this seemed reasonable, he did not argue.

When she became pregnant again, he was delighted. He’d rather hoped for a girl this time. Then she lost the baby and he was very sad. But for Vanessa, the loss took a greater toll.

She became depressed. For weeks she remained in the house, going out little, staring lifelessly through the window at the sky. She seemed to do everything listlessly. He tried to comfort her, persuade her to amusements, but mostly in vain. She seemed to shrink from intimacy. Even Weston seemed to bring her little joy. After a short time playing with him, she would hand him back to the nursemaid and motion them away.

Gradually she returned to her normal state, or something like it. But there was a change. Though she allowed him into her bed, it was plain to James that she did not really welcome his embraces. He tried to be tender, and hoped for better times. Almost more difficult for him to understand was her attitude to Weston.