Page 40

London

2nd October 1816

Madam,

I am delighted to learn that you are well, admired, and the subject of verse. I confess I find a sonnet to your ankles rather forward in a stranger, since the ankles in question are, as it happens, spoken for.

I wish to extend my sympathy to the gentlemen of Geneva. It must be exhausting to go so far out of one's way to court a countess, and never once be told that this particular countess belongs to me.

You may dance. You may play at cards, and sing, and be admired for your profile as often as the men on the Continent can bear it. But do not forget whose name you carry, or that the only bed you will ever share is mine. You told me you were my wife in name, in body, in mind. Do not forget that either.

I must also remark on your method. You wait so expectantly for a reply, and then flit about the Continent without giving it the chance to find you. Your letter from Milan reached London while I was visiting my mother in Scotland, and by the time it was forwarded to me, you had crossed the Alps. So if you truly want an answer, madam, do give me more than two months' lead time.

This letter goes to the Villa Belle-Rive, on the strength of your very plain directions. I should be obliged if you would remain there long enough to read it.

Your husband,

Sutton

P.S. That sauerkraut sketch fairly popped from the page. I would have loved to know its taste.

Temperance awoke to a flurry of echoing thuds on the ground floor, accompanied by rapid footsteps and the panicked rustle of servants scurrying down the corridors.

Guests? At this hour?

Then another thought struck.

A doctor again?

Is Sutton unwell?

She was out of bed before she had finished the thought, the coverlet flung aside and her feet groping for her slippers. She shoved her arms into her velvet dressing gown and yanked the sash around her waist with trembling fingers. She did not stop to pin up her hair as she flew down the corridor.

She reached the head of the grand staircase just as a ringing voice echoed up from the foyer. She took the first flight at a run, her heart in her throat and one prayer repeating in her mind: please let him be all right, please, please⁠—

Then she reached the turn of the stairs and peered down.

Sutton was standing upright, very much alive and well. Flanking him were two lavishly dressed travelers, fresh from the journey, their wool cloaks dusted with road dirt. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and he carried himself with the imposing authority of a military commander. But it was the woman who dominated the space. She stood a full head shorter than both men, her flaming red hair the exact shade of Sutton's, her voice loud as she cupped Sutton's bearded jaw and began dressing him down in a thick Scottish brogue.

"We found out frae the scandal papers that our lad was nearly killed!" the woman snapped.

Our lad?

Of course. These were Sutton's parents.

Temperance had met them only once, at their wedding breakfast, and they had seemed pleasant, if cold and reserved. Nothing like the fiery woman she was seeing now.

"Ye couldnae send us a note that ye were wounded? Och, and that that woman has returned!"

Temperance flinched behind the balustrade, her fingers tightening on the railing. That woman?

Temperance should not have been surprised or offended. Of course Sutton's parents would not be fond of the woman who had broken their son's heart and then disappeared for the better part of her marriage.

"…and has the absolute audacity tae⁠—"

"Mother, please," Sutton interrupted. "I am quite well, an' my wife couldnae have returned at a better time."

Temperance frowned. Did Sutton also have a slight Scottish brogue? She had never noticed it before.