Several minutes later, Lord Landon's carriage rolled down the drive and out of the gate. Verity watched it go from her bedroom window, her heart beating slow and heavy in her chest.

"I'm not in love with him," she told herself. "Why would he say that to me?"

It felt like an accusation of a sin.

She sat down on the bed, and stared at the wall. She stood up, and paced the room. She sat back down on the bed.

"I'm not."

It came to her, piercing through the haze of her confusion, that this was not even the biggest problem the visitor had brought her. Annulment.

What would Neil think of that?

Despite her protest to his brother, she could not quite be sure that Neil would marry her again come January, if they succeeded in the annulment. She thought he would, but she could not quite be sure, without asking.

She didn't want to ask him. She didn't want to tell him that his brother had visited to offer her that disgusting proposition. She wanted to pretend it had never happened, and hope that he would just go away, and give up.

She buried her head in her pillow, and pretended it was a dream. Yes, a nightmare.

Some time later, she heard the door bell ring, and got up and went to the top of the stairs, overlooking the hall.

It was Neil, giving the butler his stick, and shaking off his coat. He never wore a hat, and his curls were wind-tossed atop his head.

She came down to meet him, slowly. When he heard her, he turned and gave her a smile as greeting. Something happened at that moment, something that had been building up for weeks: A dam in her heart broke, and the entire flood of her feelings washed over her at once, leaving her bedraggled in its wake.

She stopped half-way down the stairs, clutching the banister like an anchor.

He came running up to meet her, and kissed her lips.

"You look pale. Was she that bad?"

For a moment, she didn't know what he was talking about.

"No... Yes... but it's not that."

"You're shaking." He took her hands in his. They trembled in his grasp. "You must be ill. I'll take you to bed."

He put an arm around her, and led her away up the stairs. She was not ill, but she was full of a sweet agony of emotions, that made her unable to say or do anything for the moment, except be led gently to bed.

"I'll call for Mrs Roper. Hot soup, and tea."

"No." She put out a hand. "I'm not ill. I just – had a shock."

She was recovering from it now. Her breath returned to her. Her heart steadied in her chest. She had never known before that you could be so happy, and so sad, all at the once. And it was strange that her happiness didn't mitigate her sadness, and her sadness didn't mitigate her happiness. They each seemed the stronger for the existence of the other. She laughed, with tears in her eyes, and then held out both hands towards him, and he came and sat on the bed beside her.

Her fingers twined around his. His touch steadied her, and she was able to speak calmly, despite her thrumming heart.

"Your brother is suing to have our marriage annulled."

Neil went very pale, very suddenly. The lines of his face seemed deeper; his eyes seemed black.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I should have told you better – I don't know how to say it."

"I – I don't understand." The words came with an effort. "What – Why?"

"Your brother – He looked like you, but he was short, and crippled. He was waiting to see me today, when I got back from my grandmother's."

"Richard," Neil said slowly. "His name is Richard."

"Yes. I suppose – he came and—"

"How did he know we were here?"

Verity stopped.

"Y-you didn't tell them?"

Neil shook his head. "I haven't spoken to any of my family since I was twenty years old. I should have told you before – they're not good people. They're very much not. That he's here..."

He swayed where he sat, and put his head in his hands. Verity put her arms around him, and pulled him closer.

"Someone will have told them. Mr Prothero, Mrs Walthrope – Miss Walthrope. Someone else entirely. Mrs Roper might have spoken to a friend, who might have spoken to one of their servants. They were always going to find out eventually. Well, now they have. They know we're here. They are going to sue for annulment. What will we do?"

She didn't waste time comforting him. She didn't know how. He had kind words for her whenever she was upset, but she had not yet adopted any more than a pale imitation of them for her own vocabulary. Now, in a moment of crisis, she could only do as she had in every other moment of crisis she had ever experienced, and look for a solution. She pulled him close, and repeated,

"What will we do?"

"I don't know." Neil shifted in her arms, rested his head on her shoulder, and spoke drearily into her hair. "I don't know."

They sat silent and still, arms around each other. It began to rain outside, but there was a fire in the grate, and the room was soft and warm.

I am in love with him, Verity realized. I've been in love with him forever.

It felt like it, at that moment anyhow. She had fallen in love with him by shades of deeper feeling over the past few weeks, so subtly in love that there was no moment where it seemed to begin, and thus it seemed to have been forever.

She didn't want to tell him that. She was not often intuitive about emotions, but she had an instinct that it would be a very bad thing to say right now. He was not in love with her. She knew he was fond of her, but she knew too that he was fond of every harmless woman he met, the way some men are fond of kittens or children. To be in love with a man was to be a danger to him. He would not be so fond of her if he knew.

But how ironic that that cold, cruel brother of his had seen it so clearly – before she herself had even suspected!

The weight of Neil's head lifted from her shoulder. He met her eyes. For one terrifying moment she had the irrational feeling that all her thoughts were visible on her face, and froze, but they weren't – or if they were, he was blind to them.

"How was he?"

He wasn't seeing her. He was seeing some far-place and time – a memory. She was almost relieved.

"Healthy, I suppose. He looks younger than you – at least, he does, when you have that expression on your face. His leg seemed to hurt him."

"It always hurts him." Neil sighed, and got off the bed, away from her. The colour was coming faintly back to his face, but he still looked drained, defeated. He went to the window, and leaned his face against the chilled glass. "You'll have to tell me everything he said."

"I don't remember everything he said. He was waiting for me when I came back – the butler let him in, in secret, and now I don't trust the butler."

"It's not easy to find new staff in a little village like this. We'll have to tolerate Perkins. What did he say?"

"He was rude, very rude. Family trait, I suppose."

"What!" Neil turned, and then, as she had intended, gave a short laugh. "Oh – well, I warm up better, don't I?"

"You warm up very well. Mr Richard did not. He asked about you, but then seemed to think it a distraction, and hurried to the point, where he offered me twelve thousand pounds to persuade you not to contest the annulment."

"He –" Neil shook his head. "They always think it's about money – oh, it is, for them. What happened next?"

"He tried to persuade me to take it. He told me I could negotiate. He told me that he didn't want to destroy me – only our marriage. He said you weren't very wealthy, and that your father had cut you off. He even offered to find me another husband. I got the impression that he really thought he was being very generous."

Neil made a small, disbelieving sound. "Richard was always a – a fool."

Verity had the feeling that if she wasn't in the room, he would have used stronger language. She smiled faintly. "Not so much a fool. What they're doing will succeed, won't it? I don't suppose anyone thought to have my father sign his consent."

"No. He gave it – I asked him that morning, and he said yes, and that was the end of it—" Neil almost turned to her for a moment, and then stiffened and didn't. She caught the movement of his shoulders and wondered.

"What aren't you telling me about it?"

He was silent.

"You're paying him money, too, aren't you?"

"I pay his rent, and give him an allowance – I'll threaten to stop it, see if that changes mind."

"Oh, Neil!" Verity said softly. She wasn't angry. She had always suspected something of the sort, but not dared ask about it. "He won't, you know. How much do you pay him? A hundred pounds a year? They gave that much to him today. Ten thousand pounds when the annulment goes through. You can't outbid them. And my father only cares about one thing on this earth. He won't listen to reason, or compassion, or justice."

Neil's shoulders slumped. "I only give him five pounds a month. Anymore and he'd gamble and drink it all away. I could raise it—"

"You can't outbid them."

"Then what else do we do!?"

In the midst of everything, that one half-shouted phrase gave Verity a spark of hope.

What do we do?

She took a deep breath. But he wasn't finished.

"Twenty-two thousand pounds!" he ranted. "They can't afford that either – it's Lady Laura Brockett's money, some of it – snide, simpering little witch. Her father never—" He broke off suddenly, his hands in fists. "I must see Richard. He can't have left town already. I'll tell him to stop this nonsense – I know he's a cripple, but I swear..." His fists worked in and out by his sides. "If I have to beat the sense into him—"

"No."

Verity rose from the bed and took in his shoulders in her hands. She'd never seen Neil so angry before – not like this. This was a hot, alien anger, an animal, blood-lusting anger. She remembered Jane Walthrope's warning: 'He's all cold on the outside, and hot within. He never shows his temper.' But he was now. His shoulders shook at her touch.

"You're not going to get in a fight with anybody. And as for what we're going to do – we're going to let them do their worst. We can't do otherwise. But I told your brother that if our marriage was annulled, you'd marry me again next January, when I turn twenty-one. Was I – was I right?"

Her voice quavered. In that moment, Neil's sudden, strange anger vaporized like mist on a summer's afternoon. His hands came loose, and the tension in his shoulders melted into the usual warm suppleness.

"Yes."

He kissed her.

A moment later, they collapsed together on the bed, body against body, lips against lips. For some time, their problems were abandoned, and the silence was punctuated only by sweet nothings and the rustle of silk upon cotton.

"As if I would let them take you from me," Neil whispered.

For a moment, she thought she might be able to tell him she loved him, but he added, inconsequentially, his lips by her ear, "You're too beautiful," and she kept her secret.

It was nevertheless an entertaining diversion, but he cut it short, and sat up, with his back against the bedhead and his arm around her waist. She played with his cravat with one hand.

"Why stop? Dinner isn't for an hour or two."

He kissed her cheek. "What will we do if they succeed in annulling our marriage, and you come with child? We'd be in trouble."

A short thrill of nervousness shot through her stomach. She had not dared broach the topic of children with him before. "Do you want a child? We haven't talked about it."

"Yes." He kissed her cheek again and settled his arm more comfortably around her. "But not out of wedlock. And we might be in that state, if we're not careful."

Verity's upbringing had not been so sheltered as to keep her in ignorance of how babies came into the world, and she could see the sense in his discretion. She mournfully let her fingers fall his cravat, and counted the months on them.

"I could outlive the scandal of being a pregnant bride," she said ruefully, "but if we started a baby now it might be born before we could be married again – why do they have to ruin everything?"

"Perhaps they won't." He kissed her musingly on the forehead, and then pulled away again. "I'm going to the inn to see if Richard's there."

"Don't fight him. It wouldn't be fair."

"I won't fight him." He got up, and began to straighten his mussed clothing. "I probably should have told you a long time ago, about them. They opposed my first marriage too. My father cut me out of his finances. I was twenty years old, and wouldn't come into my mother's money for over a year. He couldn't take that from me, but I was flat broke. I didn't even have the money for my passage back to Italy – to the woman I loved. I asked to borrow money from Richard, but he refused so I worked my way back, as a ship's hand, and a carriage driver, and an interpreter, and a footman. It took me months. When I got there, I was still three months from my coming of age, and still broke, and we were married within the hour. That's the kind of woman she was. She didn't care that I wore stinking travel clothes and needed to shave and had no money – she married me. Her family wasn't pleased about it, but they weren't like mine. They accepted it. Every six months or so, I'd get a letter from Richard, or my father..." His voice trailed off. "I only read the first few. I was still hoping, then. But they were all the same, so I burned the others, without looking."

She was silent, for a moment. Half her heart ached with pity for Neil. The other half glowed with a secret, silent joy that he trusted her enough to tell her these things. "He didn't seem – entirely – like a bad person," she said hopefully.

"His letters said that if I came home, and married Lady Brockett, they would forgive me, and reinstate my income." He pursed his lips. "They would forgive me."

"Then, if you can't forgive him, why are you going to see him?"

"Oh." Neil opened the door, and gave her a wry, parting smile. "I'm just trying to see how much further damage he's going to do."

Duh-duh-dramah! Again!