ictoria came down to breakfast alone. She knew David had not left the town house yet, but he didn't join her, either. To her surprise, his father did.

Nurse Carter positioned his wheelchair at the table, then curtsied as she took her leave.

Victoria smiled at the old man. "Good morning, my lord."

He only harrumphed, then had a footman bring him ham and eggs. Surely that was more than he'd eaten in a while, and she held her breath as he dug in. By the time he'd eaten a few bites, it was obvious he still did not have a healthy appetite, but it was a start. If he took better care of himself perhaps he could hold off the consequences of his illness for a while longer.

He looked up and caught her watching. "The dinner party a success?"

She wasn't sure how he meant the question, so she just answered truthfully. "Not really." She hesitated. "Lady Sarah Palmer made certain to introduce herself to me." She glanced at both footmen, and they wisely bowed and left the room.

Though the earl scowled, she thought she saw a flash of pain and guilt in his eyes. "Never much to say for the girl. Somehow landed herself a marquess."

"But not your son."

"No." He swallowed and sat back. "The boy was devastated. I wouldn't see that it was my fault until— until recently."

She held her breath, hoping he wouldn't stop.

"I found a woman to keep me company in my old age. I had to pay her, but that didn't matter. Every man pays the woman in his life in some manner."

He looked away, and the gesture reminded her of his son.

"David didn't understand," he continued. "I don't blame him. I thought the ton wouldn't care what I did, that an earl was above any petty gossip. Even after he married you, I still didn't realize what I'd done."

She stiffened. "You were angry at him— at me."

He gave a grudging smile, something she'd never seen on his face. "For a while."

"Why don't you talk to him about these things?" she asked gently.

"It's too late. He'll be rid of me soon enough. Things will be better between you."

"You are not standing between us," she insisted.

He shrugged. "Get me more eggs, girl. I find myself hungry today."

Later, after the earl had been wheeled away, Victoria debated her strategy for her marriage. She was not deterred by David's stubbornness. She deliberately left her household journal at his place at the table, knowing he hadn't eaten yet. Then she went off to visit her mother, who expected a report on the dinner party.

As David walked down to breakfast, he was still berating himself on how late he'd risen. It had been difficult to sleep, knowing Victoria was just next door, waiting for him. But too much had happened last night, and he didn't know what to think about it all. He hated that she knew some of his secrets, and couldn't decide if this strange sensation was relief or just further confusion. And who was he punishing by staying away from her room— her or himself?

She was already gone from the dining room when he arrived, and it seemed very empty without her. But at the head of the table, one of her notebooks had been deliberately placed. Victoria had been trying to get him to read their old journal, though this wasn't it. Maybe this was a new tactic.

He filled a plate, then pushed the notebook aside to begin eating. But his gaze kept darting back to it, and finally he opened it and flipped through several pages. The first date was the day he'd proposed to her, and so began list after list of everything she felt she had to do to prepare for the wedding. He sensed fear and relief and…something else, something hidden.

He forgot that thought as she related her attempts to soothe her troubled mother. Soon his father was thrown into the narrative, and with Victoria's frustration came a stubbornness he admired. He could see her thrill at her first success, when the old man didn't force her to leave his room.

How decent of him, David thought bitterly.

But as he got close to the last written page, going past menus and scribbled music notes and lists of wedding presents, he saw that she'd somehow reached his father.

David could feel it within the house. The tension had eased, and being at home wasn't fraught with waiting anxiety. He'd hoped for this when he'd married her, and he'd succeeded. She'd succeeded. He didn't feel good about using her.

Then he realized that there was nothing in her notebook about him. Wasn't their marriage worth writing about? He remembered the different notebooks he'd seen spread on her desk. She was giving him a glimpse of her life with this one book, but wasn't letting him see her truly personal thoughts.

She was trying so hard to be a wife to him, and he was selfishly trying to keep everything just the way he wanted it. She was attempting to cross a line to reach a compromise, and he was holding back like a coward.

It was his turn to give something back. If it meant so much to her, he'd take her to the duke's ball tonight, and anywhere else she damn well wanted to go. She'd heard some of the worst about his past— at least the public scandals. And she didn't despise him or his family. She didn't seem hurt by it all, except…on his behalf.

But there were other ways he could hurt her, if he wasn't careful.

Victoria was giving her mare a carrot when she felt someone watching her. She turned around and knew it was David, silhouetted against the brightness outside the stable door. She felt a thrill at his very presence, followed quickly by trepidation. Had he read her journal? Did he understand that it was time for him to try to reach his father before it was too late?

He walked toward her, and gradually his features sharpened. He was watching her, his pale eyes full of— mischief?

"Do you have another evening gown?"

She was confused. "The bulk of my new wardrobe won't arrive for several more weeks, but you did purchase me several gowns. Don't you remember?"

"I remember."

His voice went intimately deeper, and she caught her breath.

"Then you know the next one will have an equally revealing neckline," she warned him. "Madame Dupuy took liberties."

"I'll put up with it."

"You will? Why? Are we attending the opera?" she asked with rising excitement.

"We're attending the duke's ball tonight."

She knew she gaped at him, and he actually seemed to enjoy her reaction.

"We are?"

"We are." He tilted his head. "Is this not what you wanted?"

"Yes, but…why did you change your mind?"

He looked embarrassed. "Because it was the right thing to do."

That was the only reason?

She couldn't expect declarations of undying love— not yet, anyway. But a girl could hope.

Victoria had several quiet minutes to spare before Anna returned to help her into her ball gown. She went to her desk, and to her surprise, she noticed that the household journal had been returned to her. Cautiously, she opened it to the last page, and found a man's straight, heavy handwriting.

She gave a little sigh of pleasure and read:

I enjoyed our dance the other night. I'll claim a waltz tonight.

She traced the words with her fingertip, and then opened their childhood journal to compare how his penmanship had changed. He had a bolder hand now, full of confidence. Hers had changed as well, becoming more precise, more careful, rather than hurried and exuberant. They could never go back to the children they were, but she considered this marriage a fresh beginning, and it finally seemed to be that for him as well.

He'd written to her! She put the household journal on the table near his room, hesitated, and then laid out the childhood journal as well. Maybe now he'd want to read and remember.

In her personal journal, she began to write about wanting to make him proud at the ball. With a frown, she sat back and looked at her words. She was so dependent on recording her every thought, as if something might disappear if she didn't write it.

She couldn't take a journal to the ball. She would make no lists of conversation topics, write down no one's name.

Her palms began to perspire, and she wiped them on her dressing gown. She could do this. He needed her to be with him, not to be dependent on a book she couldn't look at.

Very carefully, she opened the drawer and put the personal journal away. Anna soon arrived, and they were busy dressing her hair and stitching her into her gown, but Victoria found herself glancing often at the drawer, as if the journal called to her.

It was a book, not a crutch.

When she finally descended to the last staircase above the entrance hall, David and her mother were waiting below. He was dressed in black coat and tails, with white cravat and gloves. He was so very elegant, the Perfect Husband, who looked at her with admiration, who'd compromised when he hadn't wanted to. Was she really the Perfect Wife of her childhood imagination?

He stared up at her, and in his eyes she saw her future. And she could make it become everything she ever wanted, everything she ever dreamed. On her wedding day she had not dared to hope for so much. She had only thought to be content with a place to live, with the possibility of children.

But now she wanted all of it— she wanted his love. She would make sure he never doubted for the rest of his life that she loved him.

Slowly Victoria walked down each stair, reveling in his smoldering gaze. She felt as if she came out of a trance as she remembered they were not alone.

Her mother stared between them with a look of pride and wonder on her face that Victoria had not seen in a long time. She kissed her mother's soft cheek, then noticed the earl down in the shadows at the far end of the corridor, watching. Victoria waved to him, and he nodded his head.

When she turned, David was looking at his father with an unreadable expression. Victoria quickly took his arm.

"Is the carriage ready?" she asked.

He nodded, and Smith opened the front door for them. She smiled at him, and the butler gave her the most serene, small smile in return.

When their carriage eventually pulled into line behind dozens of others, Victoria peered out the glass window. Down the streets, she saw a palace, not simply a town house. She stared wide-eyed at her husband.

He smiled. "You can see Sutterly Court?"

She nodded solemnly.

"He is a duke," David said with a shrug.

When she allowed David to help her from the carriage, several other couples were disembarking before and behind them. Then the greetings started, names called out back and forth, some she'd heard, some she hadn't.

David smoothly answered any greetings sent their way, then led her up the stairs to the ground floor. Inside, a massive hall rose four floors through the center of the building, ending in a immense dome at the ceiling. A marble staircase split and wound its way up through the town house, and dozens of couples followed it up.

Victoria's nerves were manageable, though still present. She was a viscountess now; she had to act the part.

No wonder David had said he could act. So much of his life seemed about doing that very thing, and now it was her turn.

At the entrance to the ballroom, there was a receiving line with the duke and his duchess. Victoria and David waited for their turn behind several couples.

David leaned down to her. "Are you well?"

Only weeks ago, she would have wanted to retreat to her house and be the kind of wife David had wanted.

The kind of wife he'd thought he wanted.

"I'll be fine," she said serenely. "What about you?"

He cocked his head. "Do I look nervous?"

"No, but you're a born performer."

He laughed. "You are a wonder, Victoria."

As she smiled up at him, a booming voice said, "Ah, newlyweds. You've managed to leave Banstead House, I see, Thurlow."

It was the duke, and he was smiling at them.

She swept into a deep curtsy, knowing so many people were watching. "It is good to see you again, Your Grace," she said, before rising.

After several pleasantries that David handled, they entered a crush of people. It was hot and loud, and she felt a drip of wax land on her shoulder from an elaborate chandelier overhead.

David smiled and brushed it off. "Let me know when you want to leave."

"We just arrived," she said, as someone bumped into her from behind. "And besides, I haven't yet begun to make you proud of me."