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Mary watched him walk away, his arms swinging in time with his long strides.

Her fingers clung to the iron railing to stop her knees from giving way. Within an hour of their marriage, he had taken her money and left. He had said he would come back but her belief in him had been slaughtered.

‘Where has he gone?’ Her father’s consoling touch rubbed her arm.

‘To fetch his curricle,’ she lied, but she could hardly tell her father he had gone to pay his debts with her dowry. ‘He said he will collect me here at five. I shall pack my trunk.’

Her mother smiled sympathetically.

Mary walked into the house. She had no idea where her new home was, she had never asked Andrew where he lived. I will make the best of this. If she continued to love Andrew, perhaps he would learn to genuinely love her.

Her mother called for the maids to help her pack. They emptied wardrobes and drawers, her mother and one of the maids hastily folding and layering everything into trunks; ball gowns, and dresses for the day, for travelling and walking, and for afternoon parties, as well as underwear and outerwear.

Mary filled her travelling bag with personal items. She opened her jewellery box before packing it, remembering the moments each gift had been given to her, by her father or John.

She put her writing desk on top of one of the full trunks, tears clouding her gaze.

‘Mary.’

She turned and faced her mother, blinking away her tears.

‘When we return to Berkshire, I shall have the maids pack your winter clothes and send them to you too. But your pianoforte… shall I write and ask for that to be sent to you now?’

The tears brimmed over.

Her mother looked at the maids. ‘Thank you, we have nearly finished, you may go.’

They bobbed quick curtsies and disappeared swiftly and quietly via the door to the narrow servants’ stairs.

Her mother held Mary’s hand, led her to the bed, sat down by her side and embraced her. Mary could not expect more; it was the only comfort her mother could offer, she did not know Andrew, and he had not given them any reassurance that he cared for her.

After a while, when her tears stopped, her mother passed Mary her lace-edged handkerchief. Mary wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Please do not tell Papa I cried. It will make him angrier.’ She did not want to regret eloping, but in this moment she did.

‘Would you like to take one of the maids with you? I know your father would agree to it.’

‘I should leave such decisions to Andrew.’ She had no idea if there would be space for a lady’s maid.

Her mother held Mary’s hands. ‘I must tell you all you should know. It is too late for your wedding night but I hope he has been kind to you. If you argue, then seek to resolve it before you sleep rather than let it run into another day, even if it sometimes means saying sorry when you do not think you are in the wrong.

‘There will be disagreements at first. Arguments are natural for any couple as they come to know one another. So, you should not let them upset you too much. If you feel hurt or angry, though, you must tell him how you feel. If you do not, how is he to know? Talking to one another is the best foundation for a marriage.’

The words passed over Mary. Her mother was talking about men like Papa. He was even-tempered and thoughtful. Andrew was brash and quick-tempered. He would not be the same.

‘I shall ring for tea.’ Her mother rose from the bed.

As they drank the tea, her mother talked about running a household and managing staff.

Then Mary heard horses halting outside. They whinnied. She rose and looked through the window. Her fingertips touched the glass as she watched Andrew climb down from his curricle.

‘He’s here,’ she said and rushed from the room. Despite everything, she felt… in love.

When she reached the landing, he was in the hall. He looked up, and for a moment there was a glimmer of the looks they had shared before her father found them, but it was gone in a second.

Was that look a lie? It felt real.

John and her father were already in the hall. She would guess they had planned a welcome reception.

Mary hurried downstairs. Her father bristled as John stood like a statue, observing. Behind her, her mother sniffed back tears.

When Mary reached Andrew, she longed to kiss him and remind him he’d said he loved her. She did not.

‘Your things?’ he asked.

‘Papa will have them sent in a cart.’ She touched the bruise on his jaw. There was another about his eye. He pulled away from her touch, giving her a look that said, do not .

Mary took her travelling bag from her mother, then Andrew took it from her. ‘I will leave you my address.’

‘We know your address,’ John retorted.

‘Perhaps you would come to dinner soon?’ her mother ventured.

‘I am not sure we shall be free,’ Andrew answered.

‘But you will visit us in the country and stay for a while once the season is over? I doubt we will stay in town much longer now.’

Mary heard the unspoken words, after this. They only came to London to find her a husband.

Her mother took a breath. ‘The younger children are happier at home.’

Mary nodded. ‘Let me know when you will leave?’

Andrew caught hold of her hand. Tears threatened.

Her mother moved forward, lifting her arms. ‘Of course we shall.’

Mary freed her hand and hugged her mother.

They both cried.

Mary’s father came close and raised his hands. She hugged him firmly too.

‘I will miss you,’ he said to her ear. ‘I wish I was losing you in better circumstances. If he treats you badly, you must come back.’

She nodded. When he released her, he pressed his handkerchief into her hand, as he had done the day she eloped. This time there were tears in his eyes too. She hugged him again, harder.

‘We need to go,’ Andrew said, his voice cold.

Her father kissed her and let her go.

There was no need to hurry. Andrew was merely prodding her father’s anger again.

‘You will always be my daughter, and you will always be welcome at home,’ he said in a voice that ensured Andrew heard.

Mary kissed his cheek. ‘I know, Papa. I love you.’

She looked at her mother. ‘I love you too, Mama.’ Mary hugged her mother once more, ignoring Andrew’s impatience, then turned to John.

He came forward as Mary moved towards him. She hugged him too. ‘Kate and I will always be here for you too. We’ll be in town, the House of Lords is sitting for another few weeks. I’ll send for Kate and Paul tomorrow. If you need to come back, just come, you do not need to give us warning.’

‘Thank you.’ Mary kissed his cheek.

John could be misunderstood, because he appeared so stone-like, but she knew her half-brother. His fingers touched her cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear.

Andrew coughed.

Mary swallowed back more tears and turned to Andrew.

‘Marlow, Pembroke.’ He looked from one to the other, then at her mother. ‘Lady Marlow.’ He bowed his head.

She held her father’s handkerchief tighter. ‘We will call on you soon.’

Andrew held her hand. It meant his ring pressed into her finger within her glove. Her wedding ring was loose, it would probably fall off if she took off her glove.

She had looked at it upstairs, it had the initials T R inscribed on it, not Andrew’s initials. Perhaps he won it in a card game. That felt a little sordid – to have a wedding ring which meant so little. Like a marriage that meant little.

Her parents followed them outside. Andrew released her hand, lifted her bag and slid it under the seat.

Her mother smiled. Mary did too.

He helped her climb the awkward steps to the high seat. Then walked about the carriage to climb into the driver’s seat. John’s groom stepped away from the horses’ heads, Andrew flicked the reins and the horses walked on.

Mary waved goodbye to her parents.

Her parents waved too, tears running down her mother’s cheeks.

‘ You may call on them. We will not,’ he said as he increased the horses’ pace to a trot. ‘And why are you weeping? Four days ago, you chose to leave them. You look as if you’ve been crying ever since I left you. I’m not sentencing you to life imprisonment. You can visit them whenever you want to.’

Anger pierced her chest. ‘You left me!’

* * *

‘I told you where I was going.’

And so the arguments began, barely five minutes from her parents’ door. But he had started this. He’d banked her brother’s and her father’s cheques and settled several of his most urgent debts with cheques of his own, including his rent, and after that he had gone to his boxing club and pounded the hell out of anyone daring to step into the ring with him, and the sharp pain in his side had only made him more violent. He then washed, changed and went to the stables to fetch his curricle. It had been ridden back by one of the inn’s grooms. His horses had been retrieved from the first inn by the stables he used. Before leaving, he had told them which inn he would leave the horses at and told them not to tell a soul. It felt good to see Hera and Athena again. Normal. He knew where he stood with his horses.

She said no more, staring ahead.

He guided his horses through the busy streets of St James and Mayfair in silence too.

Open carriages passed them, landaus and barouches. The people in them stared at the half-sister to the Duke of Pembroke – niece to quarter of the House of Lords – seated beside ‘that bastard’ Framlington – who sported a black eye. Her father would not need to publish the announcement. It had been made.

One woman even leaned from a carriage window as though she could not believe what she was seeing.

If Mary’s parents went to a ball tonight they would face a thousand questions.

He glanced at Mary, she sat straight-backed, her hands folded on her lap, ignoring the speculative stares.

He liked her backbone. Some men preferred meek, mild and mouldable women. Mary had fire and passion, he would rather she stood up to him than be timid. But he did not like her weakness for the false perspectives of her family.

He sighed.

‘Do you have a mistress?’

The question shocked him, not the subject, but the detachment in her voice.

‘No, Mary. Even if I had wanted one, I could not have afforded one. So, it is a good thing I did not want a mistress and I still do not. What I wanted was a wife. You.’

‘A man does not need to pay to have an affair, I am not that na?ve. You propositioned my sister-in-law, how many others?’

She looked ahead, her expression blank; no one would guess the subject of their conversation.

‘I have not kept a tally. I do not notch my lovers up on my bedpost, as you will see when we get home. It is not usual for men to be celibate before they wed. I know your brother was not, he had an affair with my older sister. I made an indecent proposal to his wife, yes. It was tit for tat, if not exactly an eye for an eye. It annoyed me that he spoke badly of me. You should ask your brother, and your father, the same question. How many women? I am sure even your father will not answer none.’

They glanced at each other in the same moment, their gazes clashing and parting.

‘Am I a tooth for a tooth, then?’ she asked.

‘You are nothing to do with that. It was long ago.’ I have said I love you, and I have never said that to another woman. He did not voice his thought because they were in the street.

She was silent for several yards, then she abruptly swung about on the seat and faced him. ‘What is it that you want from me?’

A landau passed containing three matrons of high society.

He was inclined to pull over and let the passing traffic stare if she wished to argue in public. He took a deep breath. ‘I want nothing from you.’ That was the best lie he had ever told. I want all from you and I want to be all to you. I want you to ignore your family and believe me!

‘Other than my dowry.’

He did not answer. They had pursued this conversation a dozen times, he was not returning to it. If she chose to believe her brother over him, let her. He had paid off half his debts today. He would pay the other half tomorrow. There would be no more duns knocking at his door with their threats. He wanted to feel happy…

He felt empty. Sad.