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demands. You will have your carriage and your horses and a very generous allowance. But never are you to ask any more from me. After all, your father and I had an agreement. I was to provide the physical comforts of life for you, and you were to leave me alone. I shall live up to my part of the bargain, and I expect you to do the same. I expect never to hear from you again. I do not want you to visit any of my estates. I do not want you to visit my London town house. In short, my lady, after today I do not wish to be reminded of your existence.”
    “But, my l-l-lord,” Elizabeth began, horrified at the image her words had created. How could she have been so foolish? Why had she not realized the interpretation he would make of her demands? “You do n-n-not understand.”
    “The stutter was a nice touch yesterday, my dear,” Kenrick said, his lip curling in contempt. “Unfortunately, it has lost its effectiveness today. You waited a bit too long to revert to that particular tactic. If you must try to explain, may I request that you do so without stuttering?”
    Elizabeth stared at her husband in horror. He could not have gagged her more effectively if he had crammed a rag into her mouth. She could not speak now without stuttering, and to stutter would reinforce his belief that she was trying to manipulate him.
    He was watching her, his eyebrows raised, his eyes mocking, waiting for her to continue, waiting for her to try to explain. And she could not do it. There was no way she could defend herself now, so she merely shook her head, her eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears of frustration.
    “A nice touch, my dear,” Kenrick said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “But the game is over. I shall leave you now, but do not worry. The carriage and horses will stay, along with the coachman, if he wishes. I had hired him on a temporary basis for this little expedition of ours. I shall tell him before I leave that if he wants the position permanently, it is his. Your allowance will be sent quarterly through Mr. Blanton in London. Now, was there anything else? No, I believe that was the extent of your demands. In that case, my lady, goodbye.”
    Elizabeth stared for long seconds at the door Kenrick had closed softly behind him on his way out of her life. Tears pooled in her eyes as she dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She had made a mistake—a dreadful mistake. She had failed, utterly and completely. Again.
    But no, she decided, lifting her head and compressing her lips. She would not allow herself to feel like a failure. She might be guilty of using poor judgment, but she had done nothing to deserve her husband’s contempt, and she was determined not to allow that caustic emotion to destroy her. She stood and squared her shoulders. She had a life to live. It promised to be lonely and probably unfulfilling, but she would make the best of it she could.
     
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    July came in mild, but by the middle of the month, the weather had turned sultry and thunderstorms were regular afternoon visitors at Cramdon Cottage. Elizabeth was delighted. She loved the harbingers of storms—those dark, cloud-laden skies and the gusty winds that swayed large trees and sent downed leaves flying in abandonment across the ground. To stand facing a wind so strong it threatened to tear the very breath from her throat was an exhilaration Elizabeth had grown to love.
    One afternoon the storm was unusually late, giving Elizabeth ample time to wander down to Cramdon Cottage’s old apple orchard, her favorite spot for awaiting the rising wind. It was a bit fanciful, she admitted privately, but she couldn’t help feeling some kinship with the old and gnarled apple trees. They seemed to symbolize endurance and a certain timelessness, standing firm against the menacing winds, shaking knobby limbs at the approaching storm as though to vow they would not succumb to such outrageous treatment.
    Elizabeth was not alone