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distinctly sorry for her. That clutch-fisted uncle of hers did not even provide her a proper wedding breakfast. He wondered briefly why her family was so eager to be free of her. What if she were a bit mad—not playing with a full deck—or possessed of an unstable disposition? This was a fine time to think of that, he told himself.
    The Atherton estate to which Trevor was taking his bride was located in East Anglia. He remembered visiting his grandmother there and being disappointed that, in the heart of England’s horse country, the various farms associated with the property dealt largely in sheep and the production of wool.
    Well, that suited him just fine now. He knew little of sheep, but surely there was a competent steward and Trevor considered himself a “quick learn.”
    Soon, the swaying carriage and his sleepless night combined to make his dozing off no longer feigned.
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    When they stopped for a change of horses and the midday meal, Caitlyn shook herself out of the sense of melancholy that had settled on her after that brief glimpse of Bertie.
    She had always been a cheerful child, accepting what fate sent her way, dealing with it, and getting on with her life. Had she not lived in relative harmony with the Fiskes? She could surely deal with one young man.
    The innkeeper had shown her to a room where she could freshen up. When she came into the parlor, Trevor stood to assist her to the table where a modest meal was laid out.
    â€œHow is it that you travel without a maid to assist you?” Trevor asked. His tone indicated only conversational curiosity.
    â€œA maid?” She was surprised. “I have never had a maid, sir. My father had only the housekeeper and a handyman. My aunt and uncle have their own dressers, but I could hardly expect to have a maid assigned to me.”
    â€œHmm. That will have to be remedied. I shall not have my wife going about unattended.” He poured himself another glass of wine.
    She was pleased that he wanted her to have the privileges of any young matron. She was emboldened to ask, “May I . . . uh . . . may I know where we are going, sir? And when we expect to arrive?”
    â€œOh, I am sorry. I just assumed you knew—though why you should is a mystery.” He smiled, and it occurred to her that that smile had probably caused many a heart to flutter in London drawing rooms. Why, look what it was doing to hers already. “We shall arrive at our destination sometime late tomorrow afternoon, I hope.”
    â€œAnd that is . . . ?”
    â€œAtherton. Near Lavenham and Newmarket.” He explained how he had come by the estate and told her as much as he remembered of it.
    â€œIt sounds wonderful, sir,” said she who had lived in a modest vicarage most of her life.
    â€œDo not allow your expectations to get too high,” he warned. Then he added, “You must call me Trevor, for that is my name. And I shall call you Caitlyn. I believe first names are customary between married people.” His tone had a teasing note.
    â€œTrevor. Trevor. . . . Yes, I like it.” She smiled. “It seems to suit you.”
    â€œThank you, kind lady.” He gave her a mocking little bow, and they continued the rest of the meal talking of innocuous subjects and generally getting to know each other.
    Caitlyn noticed that Trevor drank rather more wine with the meal than she had ever seen her father imbibe in the middle of the day. But he seemed in control of himself, and, after all, what did she know of the habits of a gentleman?
    Back in the carriage, they continued to chat amiably until each lapsed into silence. Caitlyn thought he might have dozed off again.
    She tried to keep her mind on other matters, but she could not help wondering what this night would bring. In truth, she had no idea what to expect.
    She recalled overhearing her father’s housekeeper and her friend talking one time. What was it they had said?