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into the house. Two days later, he was gone.
    Amaryllis determined not to be forlorn. She threw herself into her new home and family. She took to teaching the girls herself when they played truant, so in the end, they were not truant at all, and, indeed, they had learned more in the few months since Amaryllis’s arrival than they had learned in a year of deportment classes.
    The governess, a kindly woman, but pale and of ill health, was only too grateful to the new countess, so the regime remained unchallenged.
    The Countess of Redding also took a keen interest in the stables and in the bloodstock of her nearest neighbor, Sir Hugh Finlay-Orb, an easygoing country gentleman who happened to share her passion for bloodstock. When she was not consulting Sir Hugh, she was doing the rounds of the district, for a positive heap of calling cards had arrived for her, and there was simply no end to the amount of invitations she received.
    Amaryllis was still reserved in company, but there was no doubt that her new rank helped a great deal—it gave her confidence, and no one would have believed that the shy little mouse who had sat out most of the dances at Lady Coverford’s ball was now the poised young lady who honored the neighborhood with her wit and occasional bright and dazzling smile.
    At night, however. Amaryllis felt the loneliest, for without Stephen the residence seemed very large and cavernous, and though there was much to read in the library, and much to discover in the various drawing and music rooms, she could not settle her thoughts, or devote her attention to the well-cared-for tomes as she should.
    She found herself staring out of windows, dreaming of those first magical nights of her marriage. Oh, if only Stephen felt the same way about her as she did about him!
    But she must not be maudlin, nor should she complain. The situation had been plain to her from the outset, and she had no reason to regret matters now. She wondered, for the hundredth time, what Stephen was doing, and she blushed when she remembered that house on Honeydew Street. She stood up restlessly and took up her embroidery frame. If she concentrated on the complicated pattern, she would not be able to torment herself with improper—and decidedly unpleasant—thoughts.

Chapter Eight
    Improper thoughts were exactly on Lord Redding’s mind as he sent up his card to Lady Luttlow. It was a mere courtesy really, for he expected her to be within and he had already divested himself of his jacket and cane when she made her appearance. Very fetching it was, too, in a gown that could hardly be called modest, so low-cut as it was. Her skirts were dampened and Lord Redding noted that she had applied an alluring patch to her slightly rouged cheeks. Well, doubtless she thought it alluring. He did not, though he was not so unmannerly as to say so.
    Indeed, he wanted no conversation at all, for Lady Luttlow’s finest points lay not in speech, but in the seductiveness of her touch. Unfortunately, though she hovered close to him, in a manner he had always regarded as inviting, she also seemed desirous of verbal reassurances.
    Perhaps she was threatened by his lordship’s marriage, though such inconveniences were commonplace to the demimonde and should really have affected nothing at all. Perhaps the sight of Amaryllis in her wedding gown had come as a shock.
    Lady Luttlow, who had come by her title by a scandalous marriage to the Baron Westenbury, who had thankfully not survived the Peninsular wars to know how many times he had been cuckolded, was annoyed. She had been perfectly reconciled to a simpering little wallflower becoming Stephen’s bride. Indeed, she had laughed at the matter, for even those who are not admitted to the illustrious venues of the haute ton know something of what takes place within their hallowed walls.
    Amaryllis, as far as she had been aware, was one of those unfortunate young ladies who simply did not