She was conscious of a certain dissatisfaction with her life as it proceeded and tried to deny it. The honeymoon could not have lasted, after all, and this was the real part of her marriage. But she missed the days of long conversations upon everything under the sun and the walks with joined hands and laced fingers and the laughter and kisses. There was nothing wrong with their marriage except that their busy lives kept them apart through most of each day, and even when they were together they seemed to be with other people most of the time. It was the way of life in the ton, she came to realize. Her marriage was no worse than any other—which was a horribly negative way of reassuring herself. She wanted better.
Perhaps everything would be better during the summer when they went to live in their country home. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she must simply get used to the new reality.
Finally she rebelled.
She was at her grandmother’s house while the rest of her Season was being planned in some detail. Aunt Matilda had raised the point that though Anastasia had been presented to the queen, she had not been presented as a married lady—as a duchess. Grandmama and Aunt Louise looked identically shocked and agreed with her. The presentation must be made.
“No!” Anna was as surprised as they by the firmness with which she had spoken the single word. But she continued after crossing the room to sit on the stool by her grandmother’s chair. “This must stop. I believe I have become an obsession with you all. You were kind enough to put your own lives to one side in order to prepare me for the life that ought to be mine as my father’s daughter. You did that, and I appreciate your efforts more than I can say, for I would have been all at sea without your help and influence.”
“We do not need your thanks, Anastasia,” her grandmother said. “We have done only what had to be done for one of our own, and we will continue as long as is needed.”
“Grandmama,” Anna said, taking her hand, “I understand how much you must still be grieving for the loss of my father despite what he did, and for Camille and Harry and Abigail and their mother. I know that you have seen it as your duty to take me into the family and prepare me for my rightful place. I think you have done it out of love as well as duty. And that is all I want from you and from my aunts and my cousins. It is what I have craved all my life. I need your love. And all I need is to be able to love you. You cannot imagine what it is like to have nobody of my own and then to have a whole family devoted to taking me in and helping me make my way forward. Please. Be done now. I have been introduced to society, and I have a husband with whom to make my own way forward. Just love me.”
“Anastasia!” Aunt Matilda exclaimed. “Of course we love you. I have even begun to think of you as the daughter I never had. Here, there is no need to shed tears. Let me hold my vinaigrette beneath your nose.”
Her grandmother was merely patting her hand.
“You do not want to meet the queen again as the Duchess of Netherby, Anastasia?” Aunt Louise asked. “Or go to Almack’s on Wednesday or attend the balls and concerts we have marked out for you?”
“I do not wish to be a hermit,” Anna said. “But I want to decide for myself or with Avery where and how I will spend my days and evenings. When I visit Grandmama and Aunt Matilda or Cousin Althea and Elizabeth, I want to do so because I love them and want to spend time with them. I want you to be my family, not my secretaries and teachers. Oh, please, I do not want to hurt any of you. I love you.”
“There.” Her grandmother leaned over her and hugged her. “Oh, do put that vinaigrette away, Matilda. Neither of us needs it. It will be as you say, Anastasia. And indeed, it seems that despite all our fears of impending disaster, you are still the sensation of the Season. You and Avery both. Do you love him, child?”
“Oh, I do, Grandmama,” Anna said.
And she did. But, oh, sometimes she was unhappy.
*
Avery’s stepmother was dining with her mother and sister and had taken Jessica with her. He and Anna dined alone together for the first time since their return to London. It seemed like a rare treat, and he relaxed into it, especially when she told him she was not going to attend the concert her relatives had thought important for her.
“Will you be going out?” she asked him with what he hoped was a note of wistfulness.
He had intended going with her even though the main performer was to be a soprano whose voice did not agree with his ears.
“No,” he said. “I will be remaining home with my wife. Sometimes one feels constrained to behave like a staid married man.”
“I think,” she said as their soup was placed before them, “Aunt Louise went back to Grandmama’s tonight because of what happened this afternoon. I believe I may have hurt them. I do hope I have not.”
He looked at her in inquiry.
“I told them,” she said, “that I do not want them to manage my life any longer. I know I am not quite the polished lady they would like me to be, and I know there may be people who frown upon me for all sorts of reasons. I know that at any moment the whole of the ton may turn its back upon me—”
“Anna,” he said, “you are the Duchess of Netherby. You are my duchess.”
“Well, yes.” She chose to smile. “And I know that you would have merely to raise your quizzing glass and everyone would rush to receive me again. But I am tired of leaning upon other people, Avery, of feeling inadequate and incomplete. I begged them simply to love me and allow me to love them. I do love them, you know.”