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bridegroom without a bride. He stood where he was just inside the ballroom doors and clasped his hands at his back.
    “I am delighted to see that the meal is proceeding,” he said. He looked about him, meeting the eyes of friends and relatives, and noting without surprise that there was no sign of either Lauren or Gwen. “I shall not disturb you for long. But naturally I owe you all a little more explanation than I was able to give at the church this morning. Indeed, I cannot recall what I said there.”
    The Marquess of Attingsborough, who had risen from his seat, perhaps to indicate to Neville the empty chair at his side, sat down again without saying anything.
    Neville had not planned the speech. He did not know quite how much or how little to tell. But there was really no point in withholding anything. His mother was staring at him with blank-faced dignity. His uncle at her side was frowning. There were several servants present, including Forbes, the butler. But the servants had a right to know too, Neville supposed. He would not wait to dismiss them before speaking.
    “I married Lily Doyle a few hours after her father, my sergeant, was killed,” he said. “I married her to fulfill a dying promise to him to give her the protection of my name and rank in the event that she was captured by the French. The following day the company I led was indeed ambushed. My … wife was killed, or so both I and the lieutenant who reported to me afterward believed. I was carried back behind British lines with a severe head wound. But Lily survived as a French captive.” Her captivity by the Spanish partisans he had no intention of sharing with anyone. “She was treated honorably as my wife and finally released. She returned to England with Captainand Mrs. Harris and came on alone to Newbury Abbey to be reunited with me.”
    No one, it seemed to Neville, had moved a muscle since he had begun to speak. He wondered if any of those gathered here had seen Lily last night or knew that she had been turned away from the abbey with the offer of sixpence because she had been mistaken for a beggar. He wondered how many were telling themselves that she was in reality the Countess of Kilbourne. It needed to be said.
    “I will be honored to present my wife,
my countess
, to you all later,” he: said. “But understandably this would be somewhat overwhelming to her at present. Many of you know … Lauren as a friend and relative. Most of you—
all
of you—will be imagining her pain today. It is my hope that you will lay none of the blame for her suffering at—at my wife’s door. She is innocent of any intention to cause either disruption or pain. I—Well.” There was really no more to say.
    “Of course she is, Nev,” the Marquess of Attingsborough said briskly, but he was the only one to break the silence.
    “I beg that you will excuse me now,” Neville said. “Enjoy the meal, please. Does anyone know where Lauren is?” He closed his eyes briefly.
    “She is at the dower house with Gwendoline, Neville,” Lady Elizabeth told him. The dower house was where they had lived with the countess ever since the betrothal last Christmas. “Neither of them would admit me when I stopped there on my way back from church. Perhaps—”
    But Neville merely bowed to her and left the room. This was not the time for thought or consultation or common sense. He had to go with the momentum of the moment or collapse altogether.

    Neville was on his way downstairs when his uncle’s voice called to him from the landing above. He looked up to see not only the duke, but his mother too, and Elizabeth.
    “A private word with you, Kilbourne,” his uncle said with stiff formality. “You owe it to your mother.”
    Yes, he did, Neville thought wearily. Perhaps he ought to have spoken with her first, before making a public appearance and a public statement in the ballroom. He just did not know the proper etiquette for a situation like this. He was not