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Serena shivered, but thought that at least she would recognize her mother-in-law if she saw her—which would give her the opportunity to run and hide under the stairs.

Within moments they were in a beautiful drawing room with white painted walls and a finely plastered ceiling. Though there was a charming air of informality, Serena judged it to be the kind of informality that is long thought on and carefully preserved. She'd never dare to move a vase here.

"This is a lovely house, my lord," she said as she gingerly took a seat in a chair upholstered in rose-patterned silk.

"Francis," he correctly gently. "I'm pleased you like it, for it is now one of your homes."

"Yes, of course," she mumbled, trying not to quake. It was dawning on her that this room—in fact, the whole house—had been created and cherished by someone. That someone had to be Francis's mother, and she was going to hate having an intruder become mistress here.

Especially when the intruder was Randy Riverton's widow.

When the butler and a maid brought in a tea tray and a stand of cakes, Serena made herself take charge of it and do the duties of the mistress of the establishment. If she didn't, she would fail entirely.

"Good gel," said Arabella quietly. "Begin as you mean to go on."

As soon as she had finished her tea, however, Arabella announced that she intended to go out and visit some old friends. Francis overrode some objections and insisted that she take a footman.

When Arabella had left, he showed Serena their bedchambers—two lofty rooms with an adjoining door. To cover her nervousness, Serena asked, "Is Arabella in danger that she needs an escort?"

"Probably not, but I don't care to have her wandering about London unescorted. She doesn't come here often." He restlessly opened and closed an armoire. "You will need a personal maid, I suppose. Arrange for one of the maids here to attend you until we find you one."

"And what of me?"

He turned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Will I need an escort, too?"

"I certainly don't want you wandering about unescorted," Francis said rather sharply. In a milder voice, he added, "Whenever possible, I will be your escort, but if not, you must command one of the maids or footmen."

Serena understood perfectly. In these matters, then, her second marriage was not to be much different from her first. She was forbidden to go about freely, when and where she wished.

"I wish to hire my own maid," she stated firmly.

"Of course. The best way would be to request one of the agencies to send around some candidates. Dibbert, the butler, could see them first if you wish."

"Very well." Serena had no idea how these things were done, but this time she wanted a maid who would not be a warden.

"We don't keep a carriage in London," Francis continued, "as my mother has not been in the habit of spending much time here. You have merely to send to Villier's Livery for an excellent one to be placed at your convenience Dibbert can handle all such matters."

"Very well."

They lunched alone together, eventually relaxing into ordinary chat, then Francis took her off to explore the nearer parts of London. They strolled down to Piccadilly, past Green Park and into the area called St. James. Serena was astonished to find a boating pond in the middle of St. James's Square. Though there were a few hardy souls rowing on it, Francis laughingly refused to take part on a chilly day in February.

In St. James's Park he pointed out where the Chinese bridge had been, which had so spectacularly burned down during the premature peace celebrations in 1814, and bought her a syllabub from the dairy there.

Serena watched the dairymaid squeezing milk, warm from the cow's udder, onto wine, sugar, and spices, and she ventured a protest. "I am not sure I will care for it, Francis."

"It is just the thing to build up a woman's strength."

Serena was just beginning to feel resentful when he grinned. "Don't worry. If you hate it, you don't have to eat it. It's considered a delicacy by many, though."

The milk had curdled to make a kind of pudding. Serena screwed up her face as she took the first taste, but then relaxed. "It's very nice!"

He laughed, and for a moment looked carefree.

When she'd finished the dish, they wandered through the park to Whitehall and watched a parade of troops there. Serena was enjoying herself tremendously, but Francis looked at her and said, "I think Fm tiring you out."

"It's been great fun."'

"Good. But we'll take a hackney home. It is growing dark, anyway." On the way home, he directed the driver to take them along Pall Mall so Serena could admire the gaslights that were just being summoned to life.

"How wonderful," she said, fascinated by a gas-lighter at his work. "We live in an age of marvels, don't we?"

"Yes, we do." When Serena turned, however, he seemed to be looking at her. She saw desire, but more than desire. Could he be growing just a little fond of her? She was growing more than a little fond of him.

Impulsively, she touched his hand, and he turned it to hold hers.

Over dinner, Serena told Arabella of their adventures, then afterward they all played cards for a while. Serena soon embarrassed herself by yawning, however. She cast an anxious look at her husband, for she had sometimes pleaded tiredness to Matthew in hopes of avoiding an intrusion in her bed.

It had never done any good. In fact, it had made him angry.

Francis didn't seem annoyed. He merely smiled and suggested that she go to bed. When he chose to escort her there, she wondered about his intentions, but he left her with a gentle kiss on the cheek. Serena wished she could urge him to her bed, but she truly was exhausted. She was not usually so feeble, so she had to assume that this was the effect of carrying a child. If she was not to anger her husband, however, she would have to be careful not to become so tired in future.

* * *

When Serena went downstairs the next morning, she found Francis and Arabella at breakfast. "My goodness," Serena said anxiously, "you make me feel such a sluggard. I do promise to do better—"

"Good Lord, Serena," declared Arabella. "A woman in your condition is allowed to rest."

Serena sat and ate a hearty breakfast. As the days passed and her husband remained kind and courteous, her appetite was reviving.

When she'd finished, Francis said, "If you are up to it, Serena, I think we should make some purchases for you."

"Must we?"

He raised a brow. "Your wardrobe is hardly adequate for a fashionable life."

"But if we were to be unfashionable..."

"We would soon be bored to tears. Unless we stay indoors entirely, we are bound to encounter members of Society."

That was exactly what Serena was afraid of. Ah, well, if she had to face disaster, she might as well do it in fine feathers. She made no further objection, and they were soon on their way in a hired, but elegant, barouche.

Serena had never bought any of her own clothes except for a few simple personal items. As a girl, first her mother, then the housekeeper had arranged for them; as a wife, Matthew had sent her clothes from London as the mood took him. Consequently, she entered the discreet modiste's establishment very nervously.

Madame Augustine D'Esterville proved to be a lively Frenchwoman who was delighted to have a wealthy customer at such a dead time of year and ecstatic to have a beautiful one.

Francis cut short the woman's raptures with the information that Lady Middlethorpe was in an interesting condition.

"Helas!
" exclaimed Madame.

Serena started.

"We arc, of course, delighted," said Francis coldly.

The modiste flushed. "Of course, milord. I meant only that it is a shame that London will enjoy Lady Middlethorpe's beauty for so short a time this year. Milady," she continued to Serena, "to dress you will be pure joy, and I will allow ample material in the skirt for your convenience. And next year, you come back to me and we create a sensation, yes?"

Serena smiled politely, but to herself she said,
Not if I have any say in the matter.
Once safe in the country, she intended to bury herself there for the rest of her life.

Serena was measured and eyed and then presented with a bewildering array of fabrics and designs. At first she was hesitant, but then discovered that she did have a clear idea of the sort of garments she wanted—elegant but very discreet.

As a consequence, she and the modiste had a few genteel disagreements.

Madame Augustine ventured that milord might prefer a slightly lower bodice to this particular dress. It was the fashion.

Serena insisted that it remain exactly as she had specified.

Madame recommended a soft and clinging fabric.

Serena chose the more sturdy one.

The modiste shrugged with Gallic fatalism. "With your looks, milady, you could wear sackcloth neck to toe."

Francis took no part in the selection and merely waited patiently. The astute Madame D'Esterville had copies of the sporting papers and the
Monthly Magazine
available for her customer's escorts, and he appeared happy to peruse them.

When Serena was finished, Francis took her off to purchase some made-up items: chemisettes, neckerchiefs, scarves, gloves, and bonnets, as well as drawers and stockings. These were mostly only for immediate use. Better ones were ordered to be made especially for her.

Serena had to admit to finding pleasure in the novelty of visiting different emporiums and making selections for herself, but she eyed her patient escort curiously. "I would have thought you would find this tedious."

He smiled slightly. "It's not the most exciting business, but I have a mother and three sisters. I am accustomed. Ah, this is more appealing."

It was a jeweler's that had caught his eye. He led Serena in to purchase a fine silver brush and comb, fillets for her hair, pins, bracelets, pendants, and a jewelry box to keep them in.

Serena was delighted, but she noted that none were particularly expensive.

He caught the thought. "There are plenty of grand ornaments at home. These are just for fun."

"Fun," said Serena, fighting tears over the pretty bounty placed before her. She hadn't realized how extraordinary it was that she had never had any normal jewels other than her rings.

Since she only had a couple of pairs of plain slippers and her half boots, a shoemaker was found who could promise a number of pairs of silk slippers, one by tomorrow.

"No riding, I suppose," said Francis regretfully.

"I don't know how, anyway," she said.

"You don't know how?" he echoed. "That we can rectify in time."

A future opened before Serena like a beautiful vista. She had known they were starting a life together, but until this moment she had not thought of next year, and ten years, and twenty. She looked at her husband as he considered some perfumes in a perfumer's. What would he be like at forty? At sixty? She thought his fine-boned elegance would age well.

Was it possible that she would be by his side to see it?

He turned and raised a brow to see her staring. "You should choose, I think," he said. "Perfume is a personal thing."

"But I would wear it for you. Which do you favor?"

He touched one vial. "This one."

Serena tested it and decided to be honest yet again. "No. It is too flowery for me."

She investigated others and then found the one she liked. It was soft and subtle, but more spicy than flowery. "I like this one," she said.

He put a little on her wrist and raised it to breathe in the fragrance. "God, yes," he breathed. "That's perfect." And his eyes told her he wanted her, then and there.

Serena had always regarded male desire as the enemy, something to be avoided at all costs. Now she was discovering that it was rather pleasant to arouse desire in Francis, and that she wouldn't mind satisfying that desire.

The assistant was happily wrapping a purchase of perfume, creams and soap in her chosen fragrance. Serena faced her husband. "You were afraid I'd choose something like that other perfume, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"I hated it."

"Good." He smiled and lowered his voice. "You know I want you, don't you? Want you here and now."

She could feel color in her cheeks, in part from her alarm at what he might actually want to do. "Yes..."

"I'm going to restrain myself. I'm not even going to take you straight back home and ravish you. After all, I'm going to have to develop great self-control, or I'll be a husk in a week."

And Serena giggled, the first time she had ever giggled about sex.

Once out of the shop, Francis asked, "What would you like to do now?"

Serena tried to judge what he would like but couldn't, so she said, "I enjoyed what we did yesterday—just exploring the city."

"Very well, but not so much walking. We don't want you so tired again." Then he looked rather self-conscious and she had to stifle another burst of amusement. "We'll drive by the Tower," he said briskly. "If you'd like, we could visit the Mint."