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thing to a confession of affection a wife in a marriage like mine is likely to hear; but for all the sentiment he showed, it distressed rather than pleased me. I don’t want him to treat me like a lady. I want him to treat me as a woman.

Wednesday 28 July 1813
    Lord Albert Winteringham arrived today. He did so with remarkably little fuss. A small, black carriage had carried him from London and he had little luggage to speak of.
    My husband, myself and staff lined up to greet him. When he stepped down from the carriage I realised that my husband’s cousin was a very dashing young man. He had black hair, like Joseph, although Lord Winteringham’s had not the grey. He was equally as tall, but where stern lines marred my husband’s brow, on Albert Winteringham’s smooth countenance there were none.
    ‘Good day, cousin. Lady Bexley.’ He bowed deeply.
    My husband and I responded with appropriate and warm welcomes. Albert had sparkling blue eyes, not the brooding darkness of my Joseph; and I dare say they twinkled with amusement as he surveyed my husband and myself.
    Joseph stood stiffly and properly. I had little doubt he would take the young Lord Albert Winteringham into his library and have stern words with him about how to behave like a proper gentlemen. I could only imagine how this dashing young man with the sparkling eyes would take that .
    ‘My valet will see you to your rooms, Albert.’ Faulks nodded. ‘When you are quite refreshed, I wish you to meet with me in my library.’
    Albert nodded, and winked a mischievous blue eye at me.
    I blushed.
    My husband seemed to note the interaction and, if it were possible, I believe he stiffened even more.
    ‘My lady, if I could speak with you?’ he asked, and extended a hand towards me.
    I saw Albert’s eyes dart between me and my husband, before Faulks ushered him into the hall and up the stairs.
    ‘Of course,’ I replied. I felt strangely bemused. What was he going to speak of? Certainly not last night, when he’d neglected to come to my rooms and perform his conjugal duties once again.
    My loins ached, but I revealed nothing of my longing as I allowed Joseph to take my hand. He didn’t often touch me, so I relished the contact.
    ‘Shall we take a turn around the grounds?’ he asked.
    I nodded. The air was much cooler today, and grey clouds loomed over the horizon.
    We walked past the hedging and towards the water-fountain. Several of the flower beds had suffered from the warm weather of the days previous, and the gardener was busy pulling out those deemed too drab to remain.
    ‘I feel I ought tell you the nature of Albert’s scandal in London — although it brings great shame to me.’
    ‘Of course,’ I responded demurely, and we walked past the gardener who did not raise his head.
    We settled ourselves down on the cast iron garden seat and stared over the manicured gardens, and much to my disappointment, Joseph released my hand.
    As we sat, my thigh pressed against his, and the heat flared within me again.
    ‘Albert has been accused of dishonouring Miss Annabel Carroll, his younger sister’s governess,’ he sighed. ‘It seems that the young woman has found herself in a delicate situation, and claims Albert to be the father. This has come at a difficult time, as Albert’s engagement to Lady Hamilton’s eldest daughter has only just been announced. The Hamiltons are in a fine state about it, and my uncle wishes Albert to remain here at the hall with me, until it passes, and hopes that I may be something of a better influence on the boy.’
    Well, dear diary, I was startled at this. What a scandal indeed. I had little doubt my proper and gentlemanly husband would be a good influence on the boy, but really, for the circumstance to pass? That is unlikely — there is a bastard child to be considered, not to mention the ruination of a young governess. Society thrived on scandals such as these.
    ‘It seems that my father’s philandering tendencies live