decided to build it. My father completed the work."
The coach halted in front of the handsome portico and servants poured out to assist them.
"Why not Malloren Square, then?" she asked.
"My grandfather was a friend and admirer of the Duke of Marlborough." He stepped down from the coach and turned to assist her.
Journey over. And what a journey it had been.
As they entered the house it became clear that a message had been sent ahead to tell of the delay and the cause. Of course it had. They had been expected last night. Clearly, despite the attack and the death of his servant, Bey had dealt with a great deal of business before settling down with that decanter of port.
She still didn't really grasp the man he was, and so she looked around at his London home, wondering what it could tell her.
The entrance hall was oak paneled, and more in the style of the country house his grandfather had planned than the modern town house it had become. The oak was not yet painted in the modern fashion, but the room was saved from gloom by four long windows at the top of the sweeping staircase.
Pictures, furniture, and ornaments were all around, and all of finest quality, but unlike most fashionable houses, the effect was not of careful display, just the accumulation of the years. This great house managed to feel like a home, and she couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be to be arriving as his bride.
It had to be possible! Two lives could not be wasted in this way. No family was free of physical and mental taint, and even people who seemed unflawed could have children with problems. She turned to speak to him, but he was giving crisp orders to various servants, organizing the machine again.
With a sigh, she strolled closer to one large painting. Bey in his robes and coronet looking haughtily down on lesser mortals. He looked remarkably chilly and intimidating. Just as she'd imagined him once.
She sensed him come to stand beside her and gave him a quizzical glance.
His lips twitched. "I deliberately chose an artist who was terrified of me. Don't you think it sets the right tone?"
"If you wish everyone to quake in their shoes."
"But of course."
She rejoiced that some trace of lightness remained between them. "You must give me the artist's name. I need a similar portrait just inside the door."
"You wouldn't terrify him. Which means he's a fool." He turned to speak to someone, then said, "The baggage carts arrived safely last night, and your boxes await you upstairs."
He looked unaffected by the news, but Diana could easily have screamed. She masked disappointment as best she could and allowed herself to be taken away to prepare for court.
As she climbed the stairs she became aware of another painting on the landing at the top. This one was of a couple in the fashion of a generation ago. Bey's parents, she assumed. The resemblance between him and the man was clear. Even though the painted features were a little softer, the dark hair and dark eyes were the same. He looked to be a much gentler man than his eldest son, however, though a little sad.
Then she realized that the russet-haired woman must be his second wife - the resemblance to the "red Mallorens" was clear. So, she thought, pausing beneath the portrait, that tragedy explained the haunted sadness.
The marquess in the painting was quite young. People tended to think of parents as middle aged or older, but a portrait such as this reminded that even parents at one time were in their twenties, and possibly as confused and uncertain as oneself.
Despite the waiting servants, she studied the second wife. Golden russet hair and a mouth generous with smiles and kindness. Beauty, too, which she'd passed on particularly to her oldest son, Bryght, melded with the father's dark coloring. It was the warmth and kindness, however, that shone through most.
A woman bitterly missed by all. Perhaps, having lost her, her husband had not fought very hard to live.
You or no other. She sensed it here, too.
Two halves which when divided left bleeding wounds, or at best, terrible scars.
There had to be a way!
She allowed herself to be directed on, to a suite of rooms in which the woodwork had been painted white, and Chinese wallpaper set in the panels. The furnishings were all of the latest style, too, delicately carved and inlaid with decorative woods.
"Lady Elf's rooms, milady,"