Yes, everything had been easy and idyllic until their return to London. Almost happily-ever-after idyllic. But in London, Avery discovered that he did not know how to be married. Not an idea. Not a clue. And so, true to himself, he withdrew into his shell, like a tortoise, until he felt reasonably comfortable.

Even reasonable comfort was not easy, though. There had always been a distance—a self-imposed one—between him and the majority of his acquaintances. Most people, he knew, stood somewhat in awe of him. Now, suddenly, the distance was enormous. He had married one of the greatest heiresses ever to set foot upon the marriage mart almost before everyone else had had a chance to catch a glimpse of her—there had not even been a notice of their betrothal in the morning papers, only of their marriage. And then he had disappeared with her for two weeks in the very midst of the Season. Now he was back.

Among the men, of course, there was something of far greater import than his marriage—except perhaps among those who had hoped to marry the fortune themselves. There was that damned duel, which Avery had vainly hoped would be forgotten about by the time he returned. Instead, the incident had reached mythic proportions in the collective mind, and men stared at him—and looked hastily away when he and his quizzing glass caught them at it—with fascination and fear. Uxbury was said to be still in his bed, though doubtless the lump on the back of his head had shrunk from the size of a cricket ball to that of an ant’s egg—if ants had eggs—and the bruises on his chin had probably faded to pale mustard from black and purple.

Avery made his appearance in the House of Lords a number of times, having neglected his duties there lately. He visited his clubs, accompanied his wife to a number of social events, and very correctly kept his distance from her until it was time to escort her home. He took her driving in Hyde Park a couple of times at the fashionable hour and walked with her once down by the Serpentine, weaving their way among other people. Most evenings he dined at home with her and his stepmother and Jessica, who was now deemed adult enough to join them. He slept in Anna’s bed and made love to her at least once each night. They ate breakfast together and looked through their invitations together after Edwin Goddard had sorted them.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with his marriage. It was no different from any other ton marriage as far as he could tell. And that—devil take it!—was the trouble. He had no idea how to make it better, how to recapture the glow and euphoria of those two weeks. It had been what people referred to as a honeymoon, he supposed. Honeymoons, by their very nature, could not be expected to last.

Perhaps things would be different—better—when the parliamentary session was at an end and with it the Season and they could go home to Morland Abbey for the summer. Her grandparents would be coming for a few weeks. But he was well aware that the future could never be relied upon to be an improvement upon the present. The future did not exist. Only the present did.

The present was . . . disappointing. He had known happiness for a couple of weeks. Yes. He tested the thought in his mind. Yes, he had been happy. He was not enjoying being back to normal. And of course, even normal was no longer normal. For there was his wife and there was his marriage and he did not know quite what to do with either one. He was not accustomed to feeling inadequate, out of control of his own destiny.

He spent long hours upstairs in his attic room—he suspected Anna did not even know he was at home—but though he worked himself mercilessly until he was bathed in sweat, and sat in meditative pose until he almost turned into a sphinx, he could find no peace. He could not find that place beneath and behind his whirling thoughts into which to sink and find rest. And always, always, in the attic, out of it, in bed, everywhere, he could not escape the echo of a slow, peaceful voice telling him in its pronounced Chinese accent: You are whole, my boy, right through to the hollow center. Love lives at the center of wholeness and pervades it all. When you find love, you will be at peace.

But, so annoyingly typical of his master, he had never been willing to explain such remarks. Deep and lasting truths could be learned only from experience, he had always explained. It had been pointless for Avery to argue that he did love—his dead mother, his father, his little half sister, oh, numerous people. The Chinese gentleman had only smiled and nodded.

Avery was unhappy.

* * *

Archer House on Hanover Square, so intimidating the first time she stepped inside it, was now Anna’s home. All her belongings had been moved during her absence. John and a few of the other servants had been brought over too.

“Your duke made a special request for me,” John explained to Anna with a beaming smile. “That must mean I am doing my job well, don’t you think? The butler over at the other house would have me believe I ought not to speak to people unless I was spoken to, but it seemed rude and unfriendly to me. I like this new livery better than the other one—no offense to you, Miss Snow. Actually I am happy just to be wearing livery. I might easily have ended up at a bootmaker’s like poor Oliver Jamieson.”

“I think, John,” Anna explained, “his apprenticeship has been a dream come true for Oliver.”

“Well,” he said cheerfully while Avery’s butler came into the hall and looked taken aback to see the new footman chatting with the duchess, “it takes all sorts, doesn’t it, Miss Snow? Which is just as well, I suppose. It would be a bit odd if everyone in the world was a footman.”

Besides the fact that she was married and in a different house, life resumed much as it had been before Anna left London. Her grandmother and the two aunts who were still in London were as concerned about her as ever. There was potentially great damage to be repaired, it seemed. Just when she had been presented to society with great success and some acclaim, she had committed the huge social error of not pressing onward but of marrying in indecent haste and then disappearing for two whole weeks. It would be amazing indeed if the highest sticklers at the very least did not frown upon her, even shun her. It would be amazing if she was not struck off the guest lists of some of the more prestigious events of the Season and if her vouchers for Almack’s were not revoked. Only her new title and Avery’s enormous consequence might save her. But a great deal of work was needed.