Demery did not dine with Cate that night. After what he had said on the drive home, she thought she understood. Miss Skinner did not understand and remarked at length on the strangeness of Demery's absence as she slurped, crunched, and gnawed her way through a meal which ultimately she deemed to be only edible. After dinner, they retired to Cate's sitting room. Or rather, Cate retired to her sitting room, and Miss Skinner marched in after her, sat down on the most comfortable chair, and said that Cate must want a cup of tea to fill the spot that dinner had not. Cate, who was too timid to ever openly rebel, seized upon the rare chance for a left-handed victory and said mildly that she was quite stuffed and could not possibly fit in even a cup of tea.

Miss Skinner could not now decently say that she wanted a cup of tea. She moved her lips about as though trying to dislodge something stuck between her teeth. Cate hoped she would say good night and leave. It was barely eight, but the pink bed in the other room was beckoning her name.

Instead, Miss Skinner asked, "How did you find Captain Demery's family?"

Had she asked immediately after Cate returned, Cate might have complained of her treatment. Now, the sting of the offence had faded, and she could even find it in herself to understand their position. They loved Captain Demery, and she had betrayed him, so they found it hard to like her. Miss Skinner would not understand that. Miss Skinner would cavil, as she usually did, and that would only make Cate feel bad again.

"They were well," Cate said.

Miss Skinner was too occupied with sucking at her teeth to reply. To distract herself from the action, Cate added, "His sister is widowed. It must have been some time ago, for she does not wear weeds."

"Mmm." Miss Skinner's cheek bulged as her tongue worked against her teeth.

"And the brother is married and lives in Wrexham," Cate continued, trying to look anywhere but at Miss Skinner. "I understand that he is a solicitor. There may be a baby out of his marriage soon, but it is too early to be sure."

That distracted Miss Skinner from the thing between her teeth. "Demery will have a nephew?"

"Or perhaps a niece. Or perhaps none at all. Mrs Wynn suggested that Mr Paul Demery was being too hopeful."

"You should pray that Mrs Wynn is right. Were Demery to have a babe in his own family to give affection to, he might be inclined to mistreat Luke."

That had not occurred to Cate. She thought doubtfully of the blue, perfect bedroom for Luke. That had been designed without any affection, and with every consideration. "I think that unlikely."

"We must be prepared for any possibility," Miss Skinner said. "Your position is by no means certain even if you are his wife. It is clear the man does not love you."

Somehow, that was more a relief than a worry. Cate relaxed back a little onto the cushions. "For now, I feel secure enough here in this room."

"Of course, you do," Miss Skinner said. "You know I am here with you, to look after you."

Politeness had been bred too deeply into Cate to reply with anything but perfect promptness. "I am very thankful for your presence, Miss Skinner."

Miss Skinner smiled broadly, revealing a lump of lamb fat wedged between incisor and canine. Cate wondered if she dared go to her bedroom to retrieve a toothpick. No. Miss Skinner would think it an insult.

"But what of Demery's mother?" Miss Skinner asked. "She must be about my age, I think."

"I should put her at just past fifty." Cate looked doubtfully at the creases around Miss Skinner's eyes and mouth. Miss Skinner had never admitted her age. It was safer to say... "Some years older than you."

Mis Skinner looked pleased. Of course, flattery was dangerous, because it was a deception, but Cate was loth to risk losing Miss Skinner's often uncomfortable company. Miss Skinner had been her governess, and then her sisters' governess. With Sophia still in the schoolroom, Miss Skinner could have continued in that position for a few years yet, but she had chosen instead to become Cate's companion when Cate had been sent away in disgrace. Cate had never liked Miss Skinner, and could not like her more for this unasked-for act of mercy, but she recognized in her a protectress, and, thinking of Demery's family, knew she might need one.

"Mrs Demery is a strong-minded, plain-spoken woman," Cate said. "I confess, I found her a little difficult."

"You always did like people to wrap their words in cotton wool around you. I would like to meet her. She sounds sensible."

"I am sure you will soon. Captain Demery asked his family to look after me when he goes to London."

"He is going to London?" Miss Skinner sat up straighter.

"Yes. He said by the end of the month." Then, knowing Miss Skinner would find out eventually, Cate added reluctantly, "He will spend most of his time there."

Miss Skinner's eyes shone. "London! Of course, we will have to stay here for a little while. The scandal is still too fresh. But next year, perhaps, we can join him there!"

"I do not think he intends to ever bring me with him," Cate said. "I do not think I could go, even if he wished. The scandal was too great."

The light in Miss Skinner's eyes went cold. "Do you mean to say he is to gad off to London and leave us behind in this— this seaside pile! He has married you just to abandon you!"

Cate had not thought of it like that. She looked around the pleasant pink sitting room, its windows now revealing the slatey mass of the Irish Sea under a silvery twilight sky, its fire crackling merrily in the grate. This was a far cry from the draughty cottage her father had sent her to. Sometimes, in the darkest days after Luke was born, she had wondered if her father had not sent her there in the hopes they would catch pneumonia and die. At the very least, he had chosen to deny her comfort. To punish her. Captain Demery was denying her nothing but his company.

"But this house is very comfortable," she said. "And I cannot blame Captain Demery if he wishes to live apart from me. He married me for the sake of honour, despite the fact that I wronged him. It is a marriage of convenience on my part, and inconvenience on his."

Miss Skinner got to her feet and paced back and forth, the same way she used to when drilling Cate on French verbs. "A marriage of convenience it may be, but that is no excuse for him to act the Bluebeard. If you let him live apart from you, he will fall under the power of other women and abandon you."

"I am sure that is not true."

"What trust you have in men, after all they have done for you!" Miss Skinner laughed scornfully. "Forever naive, Catherine. Women will be crawling all over him in London. Young, handsome, rich — and with an absent wife."

Cate shuffled uneasily in her seat. Handsome? She did not think he was handsome. But, then, she had often been surprised by what other women found handsome. Her tastes inclined her to men of a certain manner, quick to smile, never at a loss for a word, and in full possession of easy confidence. Looks were secondary, and Demery was so serious and quiet in manner that she had never really considered his looks at all. She tried to imagine some London flirt cozying up to Demery, perhaps slapping him with her fan or pretending to lose an earring that he might replace it, and laughed. Demery would not know what to do.

"The idea is absurd."

Miss Skinner must have thought Cate was laughing at her. The tip of her long nose went pink. "I am only trying to help you, Catherine."

"I know, I know. And I'm grateful to you for it, but I simply cannot credit the notion. Demery is not the type."

"But any man might— no, you are deaf to good advice, Catherine. You always were."

There was nothing to say to that, so Catherine said nothing. They fell into silence. Miss Skinner sat down again and picked contemplatively at her fingernails. Cate thought longingly of the pink bed in the other room. The bone-deep exhaustion that had come over her after Luke's birth had not yet entirely lifted, and now that evening had fallen she was acutely aware of the aftereffects of the past few days' travel. Her back ached and her head hurt.

It did not do to dismiss Miss Skinner abruptly. She would hold a grudge for days. Instead, Cate yawned theatrically. When that drew no response, she said, "It has been such a long day."

"It certainly has," Miss Skinner agreed. "You will want a bath, I think. Let me call to arrange for one."

The unexpected kindness surprised Cate. Miss Skinner was not normally so thoughtful, particularly not after an argument. Now she thought of it, hot soapy water seemed almost as seductive as the bed in the next room. And it would be wonderful, after the bath, to slip clean between fresh sheets and surrender to sleep.

"Why, thank you," Cate said.

Miss Skinner got up to call for the servants and arranged it. It took time for the bath to be filled. While they were waiting, Miss Skinner pressed a glass of wine upon Cate, saying that it would help her sleep, and ordered about a maidservant in the finding of brushes and combs and towels and soap and the setting of the screen just so around the fire. The wine clouded Cate's head a little, but not enough for her not to think Miss Skinner's solicitude suspicious. Her suspicions dulled the pleasure of the bath. As she washed behind the screen, she could hear Miss Skinner bustling about her room opening and closing chests and drawers. When she came out, practically squeaking with cleanness and wrapped in a linen nightgown, Miss Skinner directed her to sit down and started to comb her hair. Her hands were rough and clumsy. Cate took the comb firmly away from her.

"I can do it myself."

"No need to be touchy," Miss Skinner said. "I am just trying to be helpful. Here, I have got the rose oil for your hair."

She was definitely planning something. Cate rubbed the comb in oil and untangled her hair delicately. After Luke's birth, her hair had fallen out in chunks. It was only now beginning to grow back properly. That, at least, was repairing. The shadows under her eyes were as dark and hollow as the day he had been born, and any colour in her cheeks was due only to the heat of the bath and the wine Miss Skinner had given her. Cate tried not to look at herself as she unsnarled the knots in her hair. Other women did not lose their looks after a baby. Perhaps Laurie was right, and illegitimate births were harder.

As if she could read her mind, Miss Skinner set a bottle of Olympian Dew on the dressing table in front of Cate. Cate looked suspiciously at it. Ordinarily, Miss Skinner insisted that nothing was needed for the care of the face than clean water and soap. She had a lot to say about women who applied lotions and powders to their skin.

"I think a good night's sleep will do me just as much good as Olympian Dew," Cate said.

"There is no harm in trying both. Besides, you may not sleep much tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"Captain Demery will be expecting you."

Cate stared at Miss Skinner, confounded.

"In wayside inns it was quite impossible," Miss Skinner went on, as if that explained everything, "but in the comfort of his own surroundings, he will want to make you his wife."

Had Miss Skinner missed the implication of their earlier conversation? No. She was not stupid. She must know what it meant for Demery to wish to live apart.

"I don't think he does," Cate said politely. "And I am far too tired anyway."

Miss Skinner rapped a hairbrush against the back of Cate's chair. "You cannot be too tired. You must stake your claim upon the man before he leaves for London. Tonight is best. The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to change his mind."

"I have married him. That is all the claim I need."

"Have you not been listening to me? Men are all the same, Catherine. They want what they can get. You know that better than I do."

Cate flushed. "Don't bring Luke into this."

"I must. You have him to think of too. What Demery does for you he does because he loved you once. If his heart falls to another woman, he will neglect you — and your child."

"I am not sure he did love me. He knew me a week before he proposed. That is not long enough to love someone."

"It is for a man. Their hearts are easily taken. If you do not give him reason to remember you when he is in London, he will forget, and some other woman will steal it."

"I cannot give myself to him so easily!"

"Why not?" Mis Skinner said coldly. "You did so for another man once before."

"And it was a mistake." Cate tugged at her damp hair. "I cannot repeat it."

"A mistake only for its unhappy consequence. It will be no tragedy when you bear Demery a child. No. The tragedy will come if he does not get from you what every man expects from a wife — love and children. You must show him you can give him those things or he will seek them elsewhere."

Miss Skinner pulled Cate to her feet. "Trust me. Go to his room and offer yourself up to him. Take him under your power. It is the only way to protect Luke."

Cate did not believe Miss Skinner's dire predictions. Not entirely, anyway. But she cast a glance at the door beyond which Luke lay sleeping. Were another woman to come into Demery's life — even a mistress — his position would be more precarious than it already was.

Miss Skinner must have sensed her doubt. "Demery has no reason to protect him other than what he feels for you."

"He promised."

"And men never break their promises." Miss Skinner's tone was acid.

Cate bit her lip and dared glance at her reflection in the mirror. Pale, even after the wine and her bath. Thin, but for her milk-swollen breasts, and despite that thinness too soft in the belly. Damp hair lying flat over her shoulders, despite the oil. If Demery had thought her beautiful once — she had been, she thought — he would not tonight.

"I don't want to."

Miss Skinner scoffed. "I tried my best to warn you." She turned away. "Good night, Catherine."

When she left, Cate went into Luke's room. He was sleeping soundly, for she had nursed him before dinner and given him some stewed pears. She had probably an hour before he woke and needed cuddling and fussing back to sleep again. There was little point trying to sleep for an hour. She hesitated, then flung a dressing gown over her shoulders. In an hour, she could get it over and done with. It could not be worse than the last time. This time, at least, she would have a bed, not a damp wooden staircase with splinters pricking her back.

She did not dare try the door between Demery's room and hers, and so went around to his main door and knocked. Footsteps sounded from within, then it opened. Demery was still in his riding clothes. He must have dined in them, which meant, Cate thought, that he dined alone, preferring solitude to her company.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "Do you need something?"

"No," Cate said hastily. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing is needed."

He looked at her in silence for a long moment. "Then what are you here for?"

"I... I thought you might... want me."

"Want you?" His inexpressive eyes showed neither desire nor interest. "What for?"

"We are married. But have not... behaved as married couples do." Cate's cheeks burned. "I came to tell you, Captain Demery, that I am willing to... to participate. In such a manner as, um, as that."

Demery's expression did not so much change as set in place. He opened the door wide. "Please come in."

Cate tiptoed into the room. There was no set of connected apartments here. Demery's bedroom was simply that, though the addition of a writing table and a pair of armchairs, half-divided from the sleeping area by a broad archway, formed a sort of sitting room. A tray of empty plates on the writing table and an open book next to it hinted at the company Demery had chosen for his meal. Cate walked past it, through the archway, and sat down upon the edge of the bed. Demery would have to prepare himself first. Remove his coat and shoes. Perhaps snuff the candles. She would prefer it in the dark.

Fully clothed under the light of nine candles, Demery stood in front of her, looking down. The set of his eyes and mouth could not quite be called a frown, but they showed more displeasure than desire all the same.

"I think I must explain something to you, Catherine. I had thought you understood my intentions, but I see now I was mistaken."

"What are your intentions?"

"Fulfilled." Demery reached out and touched the meagre gold band on her finger. "With that."

"What do you mean?"

"I agreed to marry you. Not to love you. Not to make love to you. I cannot. My feelings lie in quite the other direction." His voice trembled with suppressed emotion. "I would forgive you if I knew how, but I do not. The best I can do is my duty, and having done it, to preserve myself, leave you well alone."

His words washed over Cate like cold water. "You hate me."

"Not by choice. It is like a poison, the feelings that come over me when I think of what you did." He turned away from her, as though even the sight of her face hurt him. "Your kiss would kill me."

Until now, Cate had never suspected Demery to be capable of deep feeling. His manner was so restrained and proper, his face so expressionless. She had thought him cold all through. Now, for the first time, she heard heat simmering in his voice, and she shivered.

"I'm sorry. I can see I have misjudged matters." She slipped off the bed and pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself. "We will never...?"

"Never." His voice was hoarse. "Do you understand now? Our marriage is a marriage in name alone. That is all it can ever be."

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2022-10-8: So you say now, Demery...