The inevitable was a long time coming. The day began fairly enough, a glorious late-summer Saturday spread beneath a rare blue sky, but as the hours ticked past, the clouds began to gather and the sun was gradually extinguished by a veil of cheerless gray. The darkness that followed in mid-afternoon was almost prophetic, and the gentle wind swept past my windows with the low voice of a weeping woman.

I found Rachel in the cramped front bedchamber which had so lately been her own. The narrow bed was stripped and bare, no mark of her occupation remaining. She would spend her wedding night in the comparative luxury of the corner chamber, in the great four-poster bed that had been my grandfather's. It would be the last night she slept in this house.

How I would survive the days without her I did not know, and the thought weighed heavy on my heart. Her thoughts, I knew, were heavier still than mine, yet she did not share them. She touched the window with a steady hand, staring with unseeing eyes toward the road. 'It will be rain by nightfall,' she said, aware of me standing in the doorway. 'Our guests will get a wetting.'

'They'll scarcely notice, like as not.' I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me to shut out the sounds of music and merrymaking below. 'In spite of Uncle's disapproval, they've already drunk two barrels of the ale he set by.'

She smiled faintly at the news. She still wore her best gown of pale-pink silk, ruched and embroidered, in gay contrast to her husband's somber attire. Elias Webb had proved a dour bridegroom, and in the church that morning the minister himself had hesitated over the words of the service, as though it troubled him to join a young and vibrant girl to such a man.

'My husband does not drink, I'll warrant,' Rachel said. 'He is Puritan in his habits. Know you what the hour is?'

I shook my head. "Tis approaching supper time, but I do not know the exact hour. Will you be coming down, soon?'

'Presently. I—' She broke off suddenly, flattening her palm against the window glass. I was standing close behind her, close enough to see what she saw approaching by the road. The huge gray horse and rider were unmistakable. Beside them, Evan Gilroy sat tall and determined on his own bay steed, leading behind him a spirited black mare that seemed to dance above the rutted road.

'He came,' Rachel breathed, on a kind of ragged sigh. 'He actually came.' She turned to face me, her eyes shining with a wildness I could not understand. 'Grab you your happiness with both hands, Mariana,' she advised, her lip trembling, 'and hold it tightly, for you cannot tell when you might lose it.'

I wanted to hold her, comfort her, but before my arms could move she brushed quickly past me with downcast eyes, and I heard but the echo of her footsteps descending the staircase. Below me in the yard, Navarre gave a toss of his gray head as Richard dismounted. Evan led all three horses to the crooked pear tree by the south wall, and tethered them there. Downstairs, the sound of revelry swelled and dipped and swelled again, unaffected by the arrival of the new guests.

Richard's voice floated upward through the floorboards beneath my feet, bringing me away from the window and down the stairs to rejoin the general company.

'My lord,' Rachel's voice cut clearly across the din of babble, her smile wide as she crossed the floor to greet them. 'You do us honour with your company.'

Richard doffed his hat and bent gallantly over her outstretched hand. 'Your company, madam, would do honour to any man,' he countered smoothly.

Her smile did not falter as she turned her attention to the man beside him. 'Mr. Gilroy,' she acknowledged, offering her hand again.

His kiss was brief, but his eyes lingered on hers. 'I wish you happiness,' he told her quietly.

My uncle came forward as well, his cold eyes betraying his mask of hospitality. 'You are welcome, gentlemen. Come and partake of some refreshment.'

Richard nodded absently, his eyes searching the room. 'Where is the good Mr. Webb?' he asked. 'I would speak with him a moment.'

Uncle Jabez beckoned to the bridegroom, and Elias Webb approached the men, a black scowl on his wizened features. Richard appeared not to notice the coldness of their greeting.

'May I offer you my congratulations, sir,' he said pleasantly, 'on your most excellent marriage.'

'I thank you, your lordship.' It was a grudging reply.

Richard smiled. 'I wish to make you a present, in honour of the occasion. In the yard, you will see a black Barbary mare. It is a lady's mount, and a fitting accessory to your wife's beauty. I pray you do me the honour of accepting this small gift.'

Elias Webb glanced back at a blushing Rachel before making reply. 'On behalf of my wife, I do accept your wedding present with thanks,' he said. But it was plain he was not pleased.

The musicians, on lute and pipe and tambourine, struck up a rollicking air, and Richard tilted his head, listening.

'That is a pleasant tune,' he commented. 'Tell me, sir, would you think it bold of me to claim a dance with your lovely wife?'

The bridegroom's ugly face froze over. 'I regret, my lord, that I cannot permit dancing at my wedding. Music and drink I can endure, in moderation, but dancing is the devil's pastime.'

Richard had not once glanced at me since I had come downstairs, and I had thought him unaware of my presence, but now his eyes found mine unerringly. I pressed back against the paneled wall, praying that he would not dare to challenge me to dance, with my uncle standing there at his shoulder.

From his smile I knew that the thought had also crossed his mind, but he looked away politely and, excusing himself from Rachel and her husband, moved on to mingle with the other guests, trailing Evan Gilroy in his wake.