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Marcia raised her chin. “As Faith pointed out, I have new freedoms.”

Faith gave Anwen a triumphant look, and at that silent gloating, the other young woman pulled a face in return.

“And now that I have freedoms,” Marcia went on, “that means we have greater freedom, and as such, we would be wise to enjoy it.”

A devilish glimmer twinkled in Faith’s eyes. “I second that.” She put a hand forward.

“I third it,” Anwen murmured, resting a palm atop the other young woman’s.

Marcia added hers.

A short while later, with her husband’s carriage waiting out front, Marcia accepted her cloak from one of the footmen, and draping the garment over her shoulders, she saw to the clasp.

The butler hovered, wringing his hands slightly. “The carriage is ready, my lady.”

With a word of thanks, Marcia headed for the door, her friends following close behind.

As Thomaston drew those panels open, they sailed out, and it was the first time since she’d made her Come Out that she ultimately decided what event she would attend.

That was, whichrespectableevent she would attend, and there was a heady sense of excitement that came in this not-so-small power she’d attained.

As she reached the front of the carriage, a footman held a hand out, handing her up inside. Anwen and Faith joined her on the opposite bench.

He closed the door with a firm click, and a moment later, the box dipped as he joined the driver, and there came the whistle of the reins, and they were off.

It was a moment of triumph. It was, after all, her first instant of realized freedom.

Or it should be.

Seated on the bench of her husband’s carriage, heading to the theater with Faith and Anwen, she should feel only the usual happiness that she did when she was with her friends, only she found that blasted melancholy returned.

“I do say it seems a tad unfair that a lady should go from needing a parental escort one day and being freed of all those constraints the next,” Anwen prattled, all but bouncing on the upholstered bench with the same enthusiasm she’d shown since Marcia had rolled up to collect them.

“But it’s not the same,” Faith said in exasperation. “Marcia is married now. As such, everything is different.”

Everything is different.

It was.

Everything had changed.

And yet, at the same time, nothing had changed.

She was still going to polite events, enjoying the company of her friends. But there was not the happy marriage she’d always dreamed of for herself. And worse, there was now this shift in her relationship with Andrew. Now, after they made love, he retreated. There were more barriers than there’d ever been between them. Nay, there’d never been any barriers before. Since that bribe had been put to her and Andrew by Lord Atbrooke and his sister, Andrew had thrown himself into work.

“Marcia?”

Dropping the curtain, Marcia looked across the coach at the opposite bench.

Both friends stared concernedly back, their heads comically tipped in opposite directions.

“I…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I was—”

“I was saying I hardly think marriage should make such a difference in how a woman is treated,” Anwen said.

“In some cases, it doesn’t change how a woman is treated,” Marcia murmured, unable to keep the bitterness from her response. In some cases, one’s husband treated one as though she were still the underfoot young girl who’d always made a bother of herself. She thought of the times she’d visited him while he worked, only to find him distracted, absorbed in his business, and not letting her in. She curled her hands on her lap. She’d just not anticipated that he would make love to her and that, after they’d shared the most intimate parts of themselves, nothing would change.

She felt Faith’s eyes upon her. “You are unhappy.” Hers wasn’t a question.