The good thing about the whole event, David decided, was that Sarah was staying at home. Even Sarah did not have the gall to invite herself to a stranger's house. At least, not when the stranger was a baronet with a reputation for a sour temper. It was strange how his spirit lightened as the kisses Sarah blew them receded into the distance as they drove away from Plas Bryn.

Four days later (they were travelling slowly, thanks to Luke and the weather) they arrived at Sir William's sprawling new Oxfordshire estate. Despite the glinting whiteness of the new bricks and the unblemished slate of the roof, there was something grim about the house. It was too clean, too tidy. It looked as though the wind itself would not dare disturb its cropped lawn.

He looked at Cate. She clutched Luke to her chest, eyes wide and dark, cheeks pale. It was useless to say that he would protect her from her parents — whatever it was she was afraid of, it was not something she believed he could protect her from. Instead, he said quietly, "I am very grateful for what you are doing for me, Cate."

She nodded mutely and clutched Luke tighter.

The coach stopped and the grand front doors of the house opened. David got out of the coach, then helped Cate down. Her hand shook in his. He would have kept holding it as they entered the house, but she was holding Luke and that demanded both of her hands. Instead, he stayed close to her. Inside the front hall — a cold marble cavern in white and gilt — Lady Balley awaited them. He kissed the hand she offered him, but Cate, he noticed, was not offered a cheek to kiss, nor even a hand to shake. Lady Balley looked dispassionately at Luke, who stared curiously back at her.

"His eyes are brown," she said. "I thought they would be. But he is not an unhandsome child, I suppose." She turned away. "Your rooms are upstairs. No doubt you will want to rest after your journey, Captain Demery. Catherine, you will not leave the bedroom, except for at dinner. Sophia and Paul are in residence, but you are not to seek them and they are not to seek you."

"Where is Luke?" Cate's voice quavered. "Madalene?"

"That is no concern of yours." Lady Balley's voice was cut glass. "Dinner will be at eight. I do not know what you have brought with you to wear, so I have selected a gown from your old things that is suitable for the occasion. Come along, Catherine."

Lady Balley annunciated every syllable of the name in cold, clipped tones. David suddenly understood why Cate preferred Cate.

Lady Balley went up the stairs and Cate followed her. David came along behind them. They went not to the family quarters of the house, but into an ostentatiously decorated sort of state wing. It might have been a mark of respect, David supposed, but it also implied that Cate was no longer family.

"My old bedroom...?" Cate said timidly, as Lady Balley led them through a gallery full of portraits of long-dead ancestors in fresh gilt frames.

"Paul's tutor sleeps in it now," Lady Balley said. "You will stay here."

She opened a door into a large but stiffly furnished bedroom. The only indication that it was intended for Cate was a wooden crib placed near the bed. The rest of the room was masculine and impersonal, all dark silk drapes and hunting paintings on the walls.

"You must not spill anything or scuff the carpets," Lady Balley said. "And take care the infant does not make a mess."

"I will be careful," Cate said, her voice meek and quiet. "It is a very handsome room, Mama."

Lady Balley did not seem to think that worth a reply. She moved along to the next door in the wall. "And your room, Captain Demery. I hope you will find it comfortable."

It was even grander than Cate's room, with a bed that could easily have held three people and a roaring fire in the oversized fireplace. A decanter of some dark amber spirit had been set up on a table near the fire, along with one small glass — only one. Clearly, he was not meant to share, nor invite company here. David also noticed that there was no door to connect his bedroom to Cate's. He wondered if Lady Balley suspected their marriage was unconsummated. No, if she had, she would have placed them in the same room. The reason for this arrangement was prudery, or perhaps even punishment. Nevertheless, it was convenient for them both.

"How grand it is," he said. "It is the height of comfort indeed."

"If you need anything, please ring the bell or send for me." There was no warmth in her tone, but there was some faint deference in it. "I am at your disposal, Captain Demery."

"Thank you. I think I would like only a rest before dinner."

"Of course." Lady Balley moved away. "Should I send a servant to assist you at seven?"

"I believe I will manage on my own." David had never seen the sense in a valet.

Lady Balley's gaze lingered disdainfully on his jaw and its four days of beard growth. "As you wish, Captain Demery. I will let you alone then."

As she walked away, David rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. He had intended to shave before dinner, but it would almost be worth an itching jaw to go without and see Lady Balley's face. On the other hand, he had come here to ask a favour, and an unshaven face would not help him get it.

A short while later, the servants brought up his travel boxes. David shaved with more care than usual, gave himself a quick wash and tidy, and changed into plain but serviceable evening clothes. He wondered if perhaps Sir William expected him to wear silk breeches to dinner. It seemed rather an excess of formality, but that was how it was in this house, wasn't it? Either way, he had only black woollen trousers, so they would have to do.

The rigours of his toilette had eaten away at the time. It was nearly eight. David left the bedroom and went to Cate's door to see if she was ready. The key was in the lock, on the outside. Well. That was odd. He tried the door. Locked. He snapped the key back and opened it. Cate was sitting on the bed in a drab grey evening dress that bleached the colour from her hair and made her look twenty years older. She looked bleakly up at him.

"They locked you in," David said.

"I know."

"I'm going to take the key away."

She shook her head. "It's best to just accept it. Paul and Sophia are probably locked in too."

Something about her quiet despair made David irrationally angry on her behalf.

"I will not accept it. It's disrespectful, not to mention dangerous. What would you do if there was a fire?" He shoved the key in his pocket. "I am keeping this key with me. If your parents object, we'll leave. I am not having you locked in."

"If you want my father to agree to invest, you'll put the key back as you found it."

That did give David pause, but not for long. "No. If he would refuse for such a reason, then I do not want his money to touch my hands. It's wrong, Cate. You're a grown woman. My wife. He has no right to lock you in your room."

"It's my mother," she said quietly. "She's the one who does such things. But she will tell my father if you take the key."

"Then let her. I will tell him no different than what I told you just now."

The faintest of smiles rose to Cate's pale lips for a moment. "Clearly, you don't yet understand my parents."

"I'm beginning to." David patted the key in his pocket. "Wait here, Cate."

He went back into his own room and took up the decanter on the table. It was brandy. He poured a short glass and went back to Cate's room.

"I'd like you to drink this," he said. "It's strong. I think you need it."

She was a very moderate drinker, he knew, and it would go to her head, but he would rather her tipsy than pale and despondent. At the first wincing gulp, colour flooded her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

"Finish it," he said. "It'll give you the strength to get through what lies ahead."

"Or make me act the fool."

"They already think you're a fool, Cate, and worse. You need to stop caring what they think. That's what the drink is for. A little Dutch courage."

"Is that what you call it?" She pinched her nose and drained the glass. "Ugh. I hope it works."

Her cheeks were flaming now, bringing light to her eyes. Despite the austere dress and plain hairstyle, she looked pretty all flushed and hot. She was pretty, he realized. She had gained weight over the past few months. Recovered from the thin, sickly woman she had been on the day of their wedding. All she needed now was the sadness to be banished from her eyes. A smile, a real smile.

He shook himself as a knock came at the door. It was a servant.

"Dinner is ready," she said. "I am to take you downstairs."

Despite having been given the best bedrooms, the dining room they were taken to was a small family dining room. Cate clutched at his arm as they entered. Lady Balley and Sir William stood at either end of the table.

"Good evening, Captain Demery. We will dispense with drawing room tradition," Sir William said. "It is just us four, after all."

They did not want to spend a moment longer with Cate than they had to, David thought. Nor did Sir William bother to greet her, or even let his gaze rest upon her. Cate must have felt it, for she could barely lift her gaze from the floor.

They sat down. It was an awkward seating arrangement, with David and Cate along the length of the table and Sir William and Lady Balley at the ends. David deliberately sat between Cate and her father, so that she was out of his direct line of sight. That put her near her mother instead, of course, and a brief, tersely whispered conversation took place over the serving of the soup:

"You are not wearing a cap in your hair."

"I do not wear caps."

"You should. Your beauty is spent through disgrace. The vestiges of it should be hidden."

"I do not like caps."

"What you like always did matter more to you than what was decent."

"I think there can be no indecency about it. A lot of married women do not wear caps these days."

"Have you no care for your situation? No understanding of what people think? Stupid girl."

Thankfully, Lady Balley received her soup which interrupted her tirade. David reached out under the table and patted Cate's knee. Her parents had not shown him this side of their nature when he was courting Cate. They had been polite and gracious. Perhaps Lady Balley had been a little domineering, yes, too quick to instruct Cate on what to say or do, but she had not openly criticized Cate. At least, not when David was there.

The rest of the soup course passed in silence, except for a few polite, formal inquiries from Sir William as to David's mother's health and some more probing inquiries from Lady Balley, who was not pleased to hear that Cate had been sick. Not that she was concerned; she seemed to see it as evidence of moral weakness on Cate's behalf. After the soup was taken away and the first servings were plated, it emerged—Lady Balley was being very probing now—that David had left London to attend to Cate and interrupted his business in doing so. Until now, Sir William had been uninterested in the conversation, but finally he spoke.

"It is a shame to interrupt your business for so fickle a reason," he said. "I had heard from Miss Skinner that there was some trouble about your income."

David glanced at Cate. Her cheeks went very white then slowly flushed pink.

"I do not know what you heard from Miss Skinner, but I doubt it was accurate. If some people in this world have rose-coloured spectacles, hers are black."

"She is somewhat a pessimist," Sir William conceded. "I take it, then, that there is no financial trouble?"

"Not what could possibly be deemed such." David took from Sir William's tone that if there had been, he would find no succour here. It did not bode well for his investment prospects. He cast another glance at Cate, who was ignoring the food on her plate and doggedly, desperately drinking wine. Perhaps the brandy before dinner had been a mistake.

"That is good to hear," Sir William said. "I do find that young men who come into sudden fortune often do not know how to manage it."

"I must beg leave to be an exception to such an observation." David thought about it again. "No, I beg leave to contradict. I do not believe such an observation is true."

He should not be contradicting Sir William. He should be politely agreeing with whatever the old man said. Curry favours. Brown nose. Toady. But he could not bring himself to do so while Cate sat so quietly and miserably next to him.

"On what grounds?" Sir William demanded. "Why, I have known some dozen young men who have come into a fortune and frittered it away on cards and horses and frock coats."

"And I have known some dozen old men who have similarly wasted their money. But it is the general concept of mismanagement that arouses my skepticism. It seems that when one person has money, however he spends it, someone else will always say he has spent it wrongly. If he spends his money on improving his estate, he should have spent it on the stock exchange. If he spends his money on the stock exchange, he should have kept it safely in the bank. If he keeps it in the bank, he is letting it moulder away. He cannot be frugal without someone thinking him a miser. He cannot be generous without being called a spendthrift. For all the young men you have observed, I would wager that they have not wasted half as much money as you think. They have profited some from their gambling and probably their horses too, and no doubt saved more than you have seen spent. Even the frock coats may have been an investment of sorts. To enter into the very best society, one must have a certain mode of dress and manner of bearing. It would be insulting to present one's wife at court in an old suit. It would ensure that one never went to court again."

"You are very confident in your observations, young man," Lady Balley said scornfully. "But your confidence does make me wonder if perhaps Miss Skinner was correct. It is easy to be confident out of ignorance."

"I should think it is, for Miss Skinner can have had no knowledge of my financial situation, yet seems to have spoken on it with great confidence. What did she say, exactly?"

Beside him, Cate stiffened slightly. Her wine glass was empty. David moved his foot along the floor until he met hers and pressed lightly against it.

"She said that she had left your wife's service because she found herself going hungry to bed," Sir William said. "That your servants were too few and your house in need of repair. That you had gone to London to make the money that your estate cannot. That she knew the whole story of Catherine's adultery and could not bring herself to suffer alongside Catherine when she had not committed the sins to deserve such suffering."

"Every word of that is a black lie. I will not defend myself from such absurd accusations. Suffice to say, she did not leave Cate's service. I dismissed her and barred her from the house and village. No doubt malice inspires her wagging tongue."

David made sure to keep Sir William's gaze. Sir William looked away, lips pursed.

"Indeed, I gave her no reference. No doubt that is why she came here. I hope you did not give her a good one."

"The Lakes needed a governess," Lady Balley said. "We recommended her. Certainly, she was a good governess for Catherine and her sisters for many years. I cannot imagine why she fell so foul of you."

"I found her manner distasteful from the beginning," David said. "She was a snob. But that is not why I sent her away." He paused for a moment to think up a believable lie, sensing that neither parent was convinced. "When I returned home to my sick wife, I found Miss Skinner wearing one of her dresses and some of her jewellery. She said that Cate had given them to her, and when Cate said she had not, Miss Skinner said she must have forgotten in her sickness. If it were only theft, I would not have been so angry, but Miss Skinner took advantage of Cate's illness, made her doubt her own memory, and lied to me. I cannot abide being lied to."

It was ironic that he was lying at that very moment, but from the look on Sir William's face, he thought he was believed. Even Lady Balley looked unsure of herself.

"She never stole from us," she said.

"But perhaps your daughters gave her more generous presents than you might expect?"

A grim look set on Lady Balley's face. "The China fan. Well!"

Beside him, Cate let out a little sigh of relief. David hoped neither of her parents had noticed. He reached for a wine bottle and poured her more wine. Was it possible to recover from this conversation and ask Sir William to invest? He doubted it. But it was not all to a loss. They would not believe what Miss Skinner had to say about Cate's lover now, and no one else in the world would care to hear it.

Cate took a deep sip of her wine. "I was very sick, you see, though things were much better once David returned from London. I only wish I had not interrupted his business. He was about to sign a contract with Lord Varley, weren't you?"

David wondered what Cate was trying to do. "I was."

"Lord Varley." Sir William looked unimpressed. "Catherine mentioned him in her letter. What kind of business do you have with him, Captain Demery?"

"It is to do with slate. He is one potential investor in the expansion of the quarries into mines."

"Actually, David thought you might invest," Cate said. "That is why we came. Of course we don't need you if we have Lord Varley, but I thought you would be able to give David advice. If he is willing to take it."

David shot Cate a suspicious glance. Was she criticizing the way he had contradicted her father?

"It all goes over my head. I don't understand a word of what David tells me. However, Lord Varley seems very impressed with the scheme, very eager to be involved." Cate was babbling now, and it made David nervous. "Perhaps you can temper some of David's confidence in it. I fear he is too pleased with himself." She drained her glass for the last drop of wine. "Just because he has Lord Varley's money in hand—or near as counts—does not mean he will make a profit out of the thing. It is all underground, isn't it? What if he digs and there is nothing there?"

"I've had surveyors—" David broke off as Cate trod on his foot under the table.

There was a suffused heat across Sir William's cheeks. It made David nervous.

"I might as well look at the proposition," Sir William said indifferently. "I know a little of geology myself. There are some very rich deposits in Wales."

"That's not why I—" David stopped as Cate stepped on his toe again. "—I wanted your advice? But..." She squeezed his knee under the table encouragingly. "...of course your knowledge in these matters..." another knee squeeze "...would no doubt be illuminating."

A final knee squeeze. David's thigh lit up where she had touched it. He squirmed in his seat to rid himself of the feeling. Cate's hands were back in her lap now, clasped together. She had no idea, did she? She was just trying to tell him something. He hoped he had got the message she intended.

"I am pleased to see you are not skeptical of everything I have to say," Sir William said. "The wisdom of years, young man, may outshine the brilliance of youth. We will talk after dinner, while the ladies amuse themselves."

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2023-04-10: Cate, Cate! Being manipulative again! Though for a good reason this time.