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Jennifer leaned closer, holding out her embroidery work. ‘Mary, show me how to do this stitch again…’

‘She is reading to me,’ Jemima complained.

‘I can do both.’ Mary took the cloth and sewed one stitch, explaining it, then passed the linen square back and recommenced the story.

She had a headache. She rubbed her temple with her fingertips. The headache had become a frequent complaint since Andrew had withdrawn from her.

He had been true to his word; she had a carriage, a driver and groom, a lady’s maid who came in daily and a husband who did not love her. He hardly spoke to her and never touched her, and when he could find a reason not to be at home he avoided her.

She spent her days and evenings with her parents, living much as she had before they wed, apart from returning to The Albany to change into her evening clothes, and to sleep in Drew’s bed, even though he did not sleep there. He slept in a chair in the parlour.

She had no idea how he filled his days and evenings.

At the end of each day her father would walk her up to the door of Andrew’s rooms. She would unlock the door, not knowing if Andrew was there. Her father waited until she shut the door behind her and he heard it lock before he left.

When Andrew was in his rooms, he would not talk but she did. Sprouting a continual inane chatter about everything and anything that happened to avoid the silence. Conversely, she never spoke of Andrew to her family. But nor did they ask after him.

When she began calling earlier and lengthening her stays, she told her father Andrew was busy finding a property for them. She did not even know if he still intended to move. Her father had not asked about Andrew’s absence since, apparently simply content that he was not with her.

She was everything but content. Her heart was shattered and she had been tired and listless for days as well as nauseous. She could neither eat nor sleep. She came to John’s to fill her days, but she had no desire for anyone’s company. A large group of her aunts, uncles and cousins were downstairs, so Mary had come up to the nursery with the girls.

‘Mary.’

She jumped. Her Aunt Jane stood behind her. Jemima was startled awake, she had fallen asleep on Mary’s lap.

Aunt Jane pressed a palm on Mary’s shoulder. ‘There is something I need to tell you.’ She lifted Jemima into her arms. ‘Come along, darling, you are sleepy, you need a nap.’ She looked at one of the nursery maids. ‘Please put Miss Jemima to bed.’ She passed Jemima over, then looked at the other girls. ‘There is tea and cake being served downstairs.’

The girls left their embroidery and games, and hurried from the room, sounding more like stampeding elephants than young ladies.

Wariness crept up Mary’s spine as her aunt sat on the sofa beside her, her expression a picture of concern. ‘Please leave us,’ she told the maids who had begun tidying up after the girls. Her eyes followed the maids until the door closed behind them. Then she looked at Mary.

Mary put Jemima’s book down on the cushion between them.

‘I wish I did not have to tell you this,’ her aunt said quietly. ‘I have known for a few days but I have been warring with myself over whether or not to speak. Yet, I would never forgive myself if you heard it from someone else.’

Butterflies took flight in her stomach, a million of them. It could not be good news, and it must be about Andrew.

Aunt Jane reached forward and held Mary’s left hand in both of hers. ‘Mary, there is no easy way to say this…’

How worse could things get?

‘A good friend of mine, Violet, Lady Sparks, who you know and would trust as well as I, saw Lord Framlington with a young woman. She was wearing a veil, to hide her identity, but Violet said they looked… affectionate. Violet is not a gossip, you know. She has only told me because she is concerned. We have told no one else, not even your Uncle Robert because he would say something to your father.

‘Violet was with her sister-in-law who she believes did not recognise Lord Framlington. I am sorry, because Violet thought, well…’ Aunt Jane’s eyebrows lifted, communicating what she found it too uncomfortable to say.

‘He has a mistress.’ Mary had not considered it since he said he could not afford one. Her whole body became numb. She thought the distance between them was her fault, because she made him speak to his family and accepted Lord Brooke’s escort.

Her hand felt cold in Aunt Jane’s warm hands.

‘They were in a draper’s, so, it is very likely she is his mistress. If the gossips find out they will dine on the news because many people in society hold a grievance with Lord Framlington.’

Mary wanted to press her palms over her ears. She shook her head. He said he could not afford a mistress but now he had her dowry.

He loved me for less than one month.

‘It is up to you what you do, of course it is, and there is no definite evidence she is his mistress. But if you stay with him and the rumours begin, it will be unpleasant in the least. You will not be welcomed anywhere, even though you have done nothing wrong.’

‘You think I should leave him.’

‘It is your choice. But you are not happy. We all see it. You barely spend an hour at his rooms. There is no shame in leaving. The whole family will protect you. Perhaps your father, or Robert, or John, could have him followed so you would have evidence and grounds to sue for a divorce.’

It is not that simple.

‘I need to think,’ she said, withdrawing her hand from her aunt’s. ‘Please do not tell anyone.’

Jane’s smile was warm and sympathetic.

‘Don’t pity me!’ Andrew yelled in her head. She understood that anger.

Her entire family pitied her. Everyone looked at her with sadness in their eyes.

But she would not pity herself. She had made this choice.

‘Aunt Jane, would you take me home? My carriage driver is not due to return until after three.’

‘Will he be there?’

‘I doubt it.’ At least now she knew where Andrew went.

‘Will you leave him today?’

‘No. I need to think.’ What could she do when she loved him so much?

‘My dear.’ Aunt Jane’s arms rose, offering an embrace, but Mary sat rigidly straight. ‘I was separated from your uncle for years, but we found each other again. Fate will always run its course. There is someone who will love you as you deserve.’

‘But I love Andrew. I do not want anyone else. Please take me home. I could not sit among everyone downstairs today.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘I shall say goodbye to Mama, or she will know something is wrong.’

The door of Andrew’s apartment was locked. He was not there. She was glad, because Aunt Jane had insisted on coming to the rooms with her. She opened the door and encouraged Aunt Jane to come in. The luncheon that had been delivered stood untouched on the table.

Aunt Jane looked about the small sitting room. ‘Your mother told me he joked that he keeps you locked up.’

‘He likes to annoy Mama and Papa.’

Jane sighed. ‘Would you like me to stay awhile?’

‘He really does not chain me up, Aunt Jane.’

‘But nor does he make you smile.’

Mary noticed her aunt looking at the broken chessboard, her gaze lingering as she pondered the cause of it.

‘Things were good between us,’ Mary told her. ‘Until the day of the Caldecotts’ ball. It is my fault everything changed. I insisted on meeting his parents. He did not want to take me. He said they would not want to see him or me, but I persuaded him. He was right, of course. He knows his own family.

‘I think it humiliated him to be treated so horribly in front of me. That is when he broke the chessboard, just in case you think he threw it at me; he did not. He tipped it over in anger, went out and was not back in time for the ball.

‘His friend, Lord Brooke, called and offered to take me. That too was a nail in the coffin. He has not forgiven me for allowing Lord Brooke to escort me. But Andrew is polite. He is not ill-treating me. I have everything I need. My meals are provided, I have a maid and a carriage. And we do not share the bed any more. He will not touch me, and he does not spend time with me…’ Pain sliced through her heart.

‘And now there is another woman, and I suppose it never really was good.’ Mary crumpled into a chair and pressed a palm to her forehead as her headache throbbed.

She had forced herself to smile through the goodbyes at John’s. She did not have the strength to smile any more.

Her aunt touched her shoulder. ‘My first marriage was not good; it was arranged and I had no family to turn to. I had to endure it; you do not. Do not spend your life tied up in a mistake. Walk away, with your head high. You can live with Uncle Robert and I in Yorkshire if you want to escape. He would not mind, you know he would not.’

‘What is this? A witches’ coven?—’

Mary looked up. She had not heard Andrew open the door.

‘But there are only two of you. You need three to turn me into a toad.’ He pulled his gloves off. ‘I presume, I am the mistake.’ He held his gloves in a fisted hand as he stared at Mary. ‘Are you leaving me then?’ Accusation strengthened his pitch.

‘Lord Framlington.’ Aunt Jane stepped into battle.

Mary did not move. Let him rant, he was in the wrong, he had another woman.

‘If Mary leaves you, it is because you deserve it. You selfish, heartless man.’

His lips pinched together. At least he was trying to restrain his anger.

‘My niece is loved by her family! We will not let her suffer like this!’

Mary stood. This was enough, her head hurt too much to listen to them argue.

Andrew looked from her aunt to her, and the fight seemed to suddenly drop out of him. His shoulders and expression shifted from tense to slack.

‘I know you have—’ her aunt yelled.

Mary grasped her arm. ‘Aunt Jane, thank you for bringing me home. I will speak to you tomorrow.’ If anyone confronted him about his mistress it would be her, not her aunt.

‘If you are sure?’ She was flushed with anger and indignation.

‘I am.’ Mary’s voice held little conviction, her head hurt too much.

Andrew stepped out of the way so she could show Aunt Jane out. They kissed each other’s cheeks.

‘Goodbye,’ Mary said.

‘Good day, Lady Barrington,’ Andrew said, behind her. ‘It was good of you to call and beg my wife to leave me.’

Mary closed the door as her aunt walked away.

‘So, are you?’ Andrew faced her.

‘I hate you when you are like this.’ Mary said, ignoring the question and seeking the peace and silence of the bedchamber.

‘You are then… You are leaving me.’ He followed.

‘It is probably what you hope for.’ Her speech slurred as her vision became a screen of shifting coloured zigzag patterns. Her hand gripped the doorframe as they blinded her.

‘Hope for…’ He sounded confused.

‘You have pushed me away from the moment we wed.’ Her arm stretched out, her hand searching through the colours as she tried to reach the bed that she could not see, nausea rolling in her stomach. She felt hot, then cold and clammy. If she could just reach the bed and lie down.

‘Do they still think I was after your money?’

‘Were you not?’ Bitterness soured her voice as her fingertips found the bedpost. But it was too late. ‘I do not feel well. Andrew, I am going to vomit.’

The room tilted, lurching sideways, and everything went black. She hit the floor heavily and the contents of her stomach spewed from her throat.

The next thing she knew she was lying on the soft mattress not the floor, with the cool porcelain of a chamber pot on the bed beside her. But the zigzag colours were still dancing. ‘I cannot see,’ she sobbed, and then she retched and the pot was pressed closer so she could be sick into it.

She was horribly sick, before this man who had lied to her and did not care about her. She could not be more humiliated.

He gave her a towel. She wiped her mouth, holding on to it as he moved the chamber pot. ‘I will wash this out.’ He must have cleaned the floor too.

She lay down and closed her eyes, longing for sleep, to escape the pain. Tears rolled across her lashes and ran down her cheeks. She curled up her knees, wrapping herself up small like a dormouse, as she used to sleep as a child.

Andrew’s weight made the mattress dip close to her.

‘Do you need me to fetch a doctor?’

‘I would not. You never know, I may die and you will be rid of me.’ She hated him – and loved him .

‘Mary?’

She regretted her words. She was not a resentful person like him. ‘I am sorry. You need not worry. Thank you for helping me, but it is only a headache. I always seem to have one now. Please leave me to sleep.’

A warm palm pressed on her forehead. It was the most intimate contact they had shared for a long time. ‘You feel hot. Let me call for a doctor.’

More tears ran. ‘I do not want a doctor. I just need to sleep. Please leave me alone.’

The mattress shook as he got up.

She rolled over so she was lying on his side of the bed, groaning at the throbbing pain.

Then he was there again, his hand on her shoulder. ‘I do not think I can leave you like this, sweetheart.’

Oh Lord, it hurts so much. ‘Please do not call me sweetheart, leave me alone.’ She could not bear to hear kind words from him now she knew they were false. But the nausea rose up. She clutched his wrist. ‘I am going to be ill again.’

The chamber pot was placed before her and Mary retched painfully. His palm rested on her shoulder and he whispered soothing words.

Lies, all lies!

‘I will not go out this evening. I will stay with you,’ he said when she had stopped retching, and he put the chamber pot aside.

She did not argue. It felt as though a farrier were hammering a horseshoe on an anvil in her head.

His fingers pulled at the buttons at the back of her dress.

‘Leave me!’ she begged.

‘Mary, darling, if I release the buttons and loosen your stays, you will be more comfortable. The maid cannot do it as she is not due for hours.’

She lay pitifully still, as he worked the buttons free and pulled the laces loose.

‘May I help you take your dress off? You will be more comfortable in your chemise.’

She could smell vomit on her dress too. She sat up and helped him strip off the bodice of her dress and stays, then lifted her bottom so he could slide her dress off over the layers of her petticoats and chemise.

Before she lay down, he untied and removed her petticoats too. Then he helped her climb beneath the sheet and blanket and tucked her in the bed.

Her stomach clenched at the intimacy as misery hollowed out her soul.

The mattress rocked as he sat on his side of the bed, with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out. His fingers pulled the pins from her hair, then they stroked from her temple to a point behind her ear, gently, over and over.

Her headache began to ease, and sleep slowly claimed her.