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    “Why does the duchess never accompany us to the village?” she asked at one point, when she had grown comfortable enough with the dowager to indulge her habitual curiosity. Holly had expected to miss Maman, as this was the first time in her life she had been separated from her, but she found Hunt’s grandmother often filling her role as confidante.
    “Camilla!” responded the dowager with a snort, her hands buried in the pungent dried herbs she was mixing for a restorative tea. “She can’t be bothered with this humdrum stuff. She’s far too busy primping and making calls to learn the real responsibilities required of a duchess. But there! You’ve made me say what I shouldn’t, for she did bring happiness back into Wickburn’s life after dear Marian’s death. For that I suppose I must be grateful to her, though it’s hard to forgive what she did to Hunt.”
    “To Hunt?” asked Holly curiously, wondering if this were what Lady Anne had referred to.
    “For years he wouldn’t accept her taking his mother’s place,” the dowager told her. “Not until he reached his teens and began to develop a fondness for Reggie. Then he did make an effort, but she’d have naught to do with him—fair pushed him away, and he little more than a child. It’s a good thing I was here, or I’m not sure what he’d have done. But there! I’m rambling on again. Hold this cheesecloth for me while I sift the herbs into it.”
    Holly let the subject drop and went back to work. It was apparent that this constant activity, and the sound knowledge that she was needed, were what kept the dowager young. Holly wanted to believe that was the reason the duchess made no move to assist the dowager but was coming to see that the current Duchess of Wickburn was an idle, vain and rather silly woman who had little interest in what went on beyond her own little world.
    While Holly could have forgiven her that, for her own mother and sister were not so very different in that respect, she doubted now that she’d ever fully forgive her for what she’d done to her stepson. He’d needed a mother so badly. Gradually, through snippets dropped by the dowager, a picture emerged of Hunt’s teens and early adulthood, when he was alternately flattered and repulsed by Camilla and largely ignored by the duke—a picture that tugged at Holly’s heart.
    As January passed into February and winter gradually loosened its hold on the countryside, Holly also began to understand for the first time that far more was involved in being a successful woman than making a brilliant match or being admired by others. There was success in being useful, in gaining self-respect.
    Still, there were times when she grew despondent, missing Maman and Noel, and especially her husband. How could she complete his transformation into a happy, outgoing man when he was more than a hundred miles away? When he and the duke finally returned to Wickburn on thefirst of March, she flew ecstatically out of the door to greet him.
    “Welcome home, darling,” she cried, flinging herself into his arms as he stepped from the travelling coach.
    Not until he stiffened slightly in her embrace did she recall his reluctance to display affection in public. Through her conversations with the dowager, she had come to know her husband extremely well. Unfortunately, Hunt had not had the same advantage. Suddenly embarrassed, she started to pull back.
    But he stopped her. “I vow, I’ve never had so warm a welcome before.” His smile was slow, as though he was out of practice. “It makes leaving almost worthwhile. I missed you, my Holly Berry.” With just one sheepish glance at the assembled family and servants looking on, he bent his head to kiss her.
    “W E LEAVE FOR L ONDON in two days’ time,” Hunt commented over breakfast a few days later. He had a huge stack of correspondence beside him, but was for the moment ignoring it to smile tenderly at her. “Would you care to stop for a day or