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“We will get through this together,” he said quietly.

She threw him a look of such heartfelt gratitude he almost lost control of himself and kissed her. She was so damned beautiful and vulnerable and sweet. He wanted to murder Robert for treating her so.

He then asked after her mare, Diana, and taking her cue from him, she accepted the change of subject and responded that Diana was in fine fettle. And they continued to discuss horseflesh for the remainder of the meal.

*

Retiring to her room later, Ava discovered to her fury that Robert had instructed her maid Hannah to sleep in her dressing room that night, so while he hadn’t locked her up, he had set a guard on her.

She allowed Hannah to prepare her for sleep, and climbing into the large bed alone for the last time, she reflected on the evening.

She had been in a dangerous mood when she entered the drawing room and met Jerome.

Seeing Jerome walk across the room to her, she thought her heart would leap from her chest. He looked so heartbreakingly gorgeous, even with and despite the heavy shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of broken sleep and perhaps excess. Had he been drinking? If he had, he wasn’t drunk tonight. When he took her hand, she wanted to fly apart and collapse into his arms. Instead, she took refuge in her simmering anger and forced herself to smile and pretend she wasn’t falling apart.

She had not meant to tell him of Robert’s threat, but she couldn’t help herself. And when he said he would defend her, that they were in it together—her heart melted. Only by following his lead and talking about their shared passion for horses was she able to stop herself from breaking down altogether.

They had been afforded no opportunity for private speech, so she was unable to tax him with the thing that Robert and Mama were refusing to tell her about his past, though she remained sure it wasn’t true. Indeed, Rob seemed reconciled to the marriage now, so whatever it was, Rob didn’t credit it either, she must assume. The knowledge lifted the last of the heaviness from her heart.

She retired early to ward off an incipient headache, brought on by too much wine with dinner on top of all the stress and worry that came before she finally got to see Jerome and talk to him. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough for her. Once she was Jerome’s wife, she could escape from this house, which had been a beloved home and now felt like a prison of guilt and recrimination. For while Rob seemed reconciled, the same couldn’t be said of Mama, who was still looking at her with sad, bruised eyes. It hurt and put a damper on what should be a happy occasion. To be out from under the disappointed gazes of her family seemed to be eminently desirable. To be Jerome’s wife at last would be a dream come true, even if the circumstances under which she had achieved it were less than ideal.

She knew some nervousness. Not about the wedding night. She anticipated that with excitement; she was confident Jerome would know what to do to make the experience pleasurable for them both. No, what worried her was what came after that. Did he, could he, care for her? Or was she the spoiled, selfish child to him that she seemed to be to everyone else? Did he truly see her as a woman? A wife? His words tonight had encouraged her a little to think that he might. And could she be a good wife? She had no very clear idea of what that meant. The examples she had, her mother and Sarah, even Annis and Emily, made her afraid that she couldn’t, for she wasn’t like any of them.

She tossed and turned beneath the covers, afraid that she didn’t know how to be a good wife, nor even what Jerome would desire in one. What was his ideal wife like? Was Isabella his ideal? If so, how very far from that picture of perfection was she?

Jerome, who never failed at anything, who was always immaculately turned out, who excelled at all sports and who was relentlessly competitive, who had impeccable manners, whose irresistible charm had broken a dozen hearts that she knew of, who was as at home in a ballroom as he was on the hunting field—what did he want in a wife? A paragon of elegance and regal beauty like Isabella? How could she, hoydenish, bouncy Ava, measure up to his no doubt exacting standards?

She had been so focused on her desire to marry him, she hadn’t thought much about what it would be like once she did, beyond a vague picture of the blissful pleasure she expected to find in his arms. They couldn’t make love all the time, though she hoped they would rather a lot. So what else would their life together be?

She finally fell asleep in the middle of a muddled daydream about his kisses and touch and woke to her mother briskly pulling off her covers and commanding her to wake up.

“The wedding is at two o’clock, and we have a lot to do before then,” she said.