“At most it will be a year before the wool starts making a profit—and the moment it makes a profit, I will be pounding at your front door.”

Chloe did smile at that. “Oh, Will,” she said.

Will looked down at her. His composed, unfailingly neat beloved looked like a ragamuffin who’d been in a storm. He had ruffled her hair when he kissed her head; her cheeks were tearstained and pink. But she looked exquisitely happy, and not even the abrupt and furious entrance of Lady Commonweal, who had found her daughter flirting on the balcony and now found Chloe flirting in a closed salon, could take away the light in her eyes.

Her hand lost in his huge one, Chloe listened as Will talked Lady Commonweal into a better mood, flattered Sissy, and arranged to escort Chloe home himself. Will’s hand felt different—it was no longer a smooth, dancing man’s hand, but a hand toughened and callused by two months’ work. Chloe smiled blissfully and, characteristically, said nothing.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The new Countess of Sheffield and Downes perched on the edge of a huge bed in the finest hostelry in Depford, feeling unwontedly nervous. Charlotte looked at her hands. They were trembling slightly. The problem was that her husband was about to appear. And then they would make love, again. It was the again that was making her clutch the coverlet. Oh, why hadn’t she been more blunt with her mother, and asked her a few more questions? For her part, Adelaide had avoided the subject entirely, simply patting her daughter on the shoulder and cheerfully remarking that since Charlotte knew all about marital relations they didn’t have to talk about it.

Charlotte was unsurprised by Adelaide’s wish to drop the topic. For one thing, Charlotte had a very clear memory of the pain that was involved. No wonder her mother didn’t want to discuss it. Charlotte flinched at the thought, involuntarily pressing her thighs tightly together. She could only suppose that women got used to it as the years passed. Her eyes softened. She did love the other things that Alex did. She thought dimly about the Chinese Salon.

But what was really terrifying was her growing conviction that Alex would think something was wrong with her. The blood—and the pain—she hadn’t thought about that for years. Then suddenly, about a week ago, it all came back to her. What if she was ruined, physically? She stared down at her toes, just peeking out from beneath her lace nightdress. Madame Carême’s concept of the wedding night was thoroughly French. She was barely dressed, Charlotte thought. And there was no use hoping that Alex would be uninterested. He had spent the last two hours in the coach sitting on the opposite seat. Because he was feeling like a satyr, he said.