As much as she would have loved to blame Basset for this, her heart would not allow it, no matter how stubbornly she tried. He might have been guilty of other things, but not this.

She had barely been able to look at him since that horrid dinner the week before. She had been entirely out of control, her emotions without boundaries and her indignation great. She had not anticipated that a letter from Anna would have affected her to such a degree, but hearing about Phillip, about his new flirtations, about his failure to inquire after her…

Anna knew how Adelaide felt about him, and she was undoubtedly trying to do right by Adelaide in relaying what she knew, but it only caused her pain and deepened the wounds her engagement and marriage had created. She wanted to rage at Phillip, she wanted to cry in his arms, she wanted to storm into a ballroom and silence each of the girls who were now part of his collection of candidates. But she could do none of those things, so she had done the only thing within her power.

She raged at her husband.

Basset had countered as only Basset could, with droll wit and intentional aloofness, which had only fed the flames of her fury.

Which was what she had wanted.

She craved a reason to reach extreme heights of emotion, to roar at the injustice of it all, to release the building tensions the last several days and weeks had caused, and Basset had allowed her to do so. And to then have Miss Moyle arrive unannounced, so free of entanglement and expectation, able to come and go as she pleased, to love whomever she would, marry as she chose, and be adored simply for being who she was…

Adelaide had snapped at her, furious that such a young woman could be so cavalier with her life and the affection of her wealthy and influential brother. That she would choose to be free rather than have refinement was an option that created too much discord for Adelaide to bear.

She’d known her words were harsh, just as she knew they always were, but there were none others to be had at the moment.

She had no true qualms about Emblyn Moyle, when she looked at it in retrospect. She was pretty, she was quick, she was warm, she brought out a side of Basset that Adelaide might never manage to. Yes, she was coarse and simple in many respects, but those were not permanent faults.

Would everything in this new life of hers be a challenge? Would nothing come easily?

She longed for the familiarity of London, the comfort of knowing her place and position, of feeling valued wherever she went, and being accustomed to the way of things. She did not particularly miss her family or her home, though she did miss her cousin fiercely, but she did miss her life as she had known it.