“I mean, the way you consider problems as just…well, items to deal with.”

  “That is all they are.”

  “Yes, but I had never thought of considering them in that light before. Have you thought of writing it down, the way you think?”

  Adam smiled. “Why would I? It has all been written down before, by master thinkers far more enlightened than me.”

  “Really? Who are these masters? Why have I not heard of them?”

  “You have not heard of the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius?”

  “A Roman emperor thought the same way you do?”

  Adam shook his head. “I have come to think as he did, by reading his writings.”

  Ann pressed her lips together. “You just happened to come upon French translations of an ancient Roman emperor—”

  “He wasn’t that ancient,” Adam said. “He was Emperor of Rome in the late second century anno domini.”

  Ann wanted to insist that anyone who lived more than a thousand years ago was ancient. Yet such a man’s writings still existed and were valued as more than historical records.

  She thought of the calm which Adam had imparted simply by facing problems squarely. “I think I might like to read such a book.”

  Adam looked pleased. “Then I will find you a good English translation…unless, do you read Greek?”

  “Do you?” she asked, startled.

  “I did not, until I learned more about Marcus Aurelius. Then I learned Koine Greek just to read the books in the original.”

  Ann sat back, feeling somewhat winded. “You decided, just like that, to learn Greek?”

  Adam shrugged. “There is a great deal of spare time, when one is constantly travelling.”

  “Men go to university to learn Greek and read ancient books,” she pointed out.

  “Do they?” He seemed disinterested. “I had neither the time nor the funds to attend university, so I found a different way.”

  Ann considered that. The simple acceptance of limiting circumstances and the finding of a way around them fit the pattern of Adam’s behavior and thoughts that was building in her mind. “I suspect your approach to education would amuse Great Aunt Annalies. She has spent her life railing at the powers that be who would not let her attend university, and when they did let women attend, would not let them graduate. She has done out of necessity what you have chosen to do—she speaks five languages, now, and I believe she is currently learning Norwegian.”

  His eyes narrowed. “She teaches herself Norwegian because of your engagement?”

  Ann’s cheeks heated. “I believe so. Filip seemed pleased when she spoke to him in his language. He said her accent was negligible.”

  Adam’s gaze didn’t shift from her face. “You didn’t see fit to teach yourself Norwegian?”

  Ann shifted uneasily. “I didn’t have the chance,” she admitted. “The moment I accepted his proposal, it was as if time was no longer mine to use as I wished. There were appointments and fittings and official introductions and examinations and—”

  “Examinations?” Adam repeated, puzzled.

  This time it was as if her entire body blushed. “To establish that I was actually…well, fit to marry the Duke,” she said awkwardly.

  Adam sat back. “God’s teeth,” he muttered. “That is barbaric.”

  Ann straightened her spine. “It is his right to demand such a…a status.”

  Adam’s brows came together. “He can demand all he wants,” he snapped. “I care not. What I find offensive is that your word was not sufficient.”

  “Oh,” Ann said, winded. “I had not considered it in that way.”

  “Clearly,” Adam said dryly. He looked out the window as trees flashed by, the scowl increasing.

  “Anyway, it was Filip’s secretary who insisted upon the…test,” she added.

  Adam’s gaze didn’t shift from the window. “Now I am glad I hit him as hard as I did.” And for the next two hours, until the train slowed as it reached Leipzig, he contemplated the passing countryside, leaving Ann to deal with novel ideas and new ways of thinking that increased her discomfort—especially when she recalled the events of the last few months.

  Perhaps she didn’t want to read Adam’s Roman emperor, after all. Not if it made her reexamine her past and find it sorely lacking.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Montagu Square, Marylebone, London.

  Marylebone was a completely unfashionable area for society members to live, which was why Vaughn had not thought to look there. Now he lingered in yet another park, this one in Montagu Square, and still he railed at himself for not leaving the matter alone.

  It had been simple to follow Laura home one day to the white stone building across the way from where Vaughn now lingered. A simple act, but one burdened with guilt and heavy self-recriminations. He reasoned to himself that Laura had cut him off, leaving him with no other choice.

  He must learn if she was happy, that he had left no great scar upon her life. That is what he repeated to himself as he leaned against the great tree trunk, watching the house. Once he was assured that Laura did not suffer, he would move on.

  That was, if he could find a way to sever this dishonorable connection with her. That was a problem for later, though.

  For now, he watched. Why he watched, he could not say. What could he possibly learn, lingering here?

  He had learned that the house was well-founded, with a formidable butler guarding the door, and clean, neatly dressed servants using the staff entrance throughout the day. Laura’s husband liked bacon, cigars and black treacle, for Vaughn had seen all three delivered yesterday afternoon.

  Laura’s cook had a sharp tongue, for Vaughn had watched her arguing with the greengrocer over the state of his potatoes, yesterday afternoon.

  This morning, Vaughn had watched the usual milk and bread deliveries, and the newspaper boy’s timid dropping of the Times down upon the staff entrance doorstep.

  Now breakfast would be over. Vaughn’s interest sharpened, for it would be now when members of the family emerged, including Laura, who would venture out for her daily morning walk to St. James’ Park and back.

  You are a fool and a blackguard, lingering here like this, he told himself. Yet it was not sufficient to make him push away from the tree, turn and go about his business. Just one more glimpse, he promised himself. This would be the last day he would put himself through the torture of watching her from afar. Enough was enough.

  He straightened as the front door opened. He saw movement within and held his breath.

  Laura and the gray-haired companion moved down the steps, talking softly. Laura raised her furled parasol, preparing to open it, then paused, her attention caught by something inside the house. She laughed and thrust the parasol at the companion, then lowered herself to the ground, the white muslin pooling around her boots, and held out her arms.

  A small boy in stockings and breeches ran down the steps, taking giant strides to descend each step, then threw himself into Laura’s arms.

  A nurse followed the boy out of the door, pushing a perambulator with another infant in a bonnet sitting inside.

  Vaughn pushed himself away from the tree, his heart running hard, as he stared at the boy. The child looked to be about five years old.

  Five years old. He would have been born not long after Vaughn’s trial.

  Vaughn grew aware of the ache in his fingertips, where he gripped the rough bark of the tree. If he let go, he might drop to the grass beneath, for he was not sure if his knees alone could hold him up.

  He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the boy, who had dark hair and light eyes. Vaughn had seen Laura’s lord. Her husband was a ginger-haired man with muddy dark brown eyes. Laura’s eyes were a soft gray. This boy had blue eyes.

  Like Vaughn’s.

  The park was not very wide, although it was long. Vaughn had lingered on the far side of the narrow park from the white house, but now he found himself drawn closer like iron filings pulled by a magnet. The thin bushes edging the other side were all that separated him from Laura and her son.

  He made himself stop just on the other side of the hedge willows, feeling the sickness beat and swoop in his veins. From this close, the truth was undeniable.

  He must have made a sound, something which alerted Laura and the companion. He was not himself and his hearing was muffled by the scream of his heart. Maybe he choked or made a gasping sound. On the quiet street, and this close to her, it would be the same as clearing his throat for attention.

  Laura rose to her feet, pushing the boy behind her light summer gown. Her face grew pale as her gaze met Vaughn’s.

  He froze, unable to speak or make a single movement toward her, shame and guilt gripping his throat, fighting with the tumultuous feelings generated by finally learning the truth.

  The companion scowled and reached for Laura’s arm to reassure her.

  Laura shook off the companion’s hand, pushed the boy toward the nurse, who waited patiently with the perambulator. Then Laura picked up her hems and hurried up the steps and into the house.

  The door shut with a sharp thud.

  Vaughn whirled away, almost panting in reaction. He made his feet keep moving, taking him farther from the house.

  Only, it didn’t matter how far he walked, nor how fast. Nothing would erase the knowledge that his son was the heir of another man.

  As the train was not scheduled to halt at Leipzig and only paused long enough for Ann and Adam to step off, it meant that no one expected them there. It afforded them time to draw breath.

  Adam spoke to the Leipzig ticket clerk, who answered in French; “The very next train, sir? Munich, in…” He glanced at the clock. “Twenty-three minutes.”

  Adam purchased two first class tickets, then picked up the valise and moved away from the ticket counter and consulted the tickets. “Platform three.”

  “Over there,” Ann said, pointing.

  “There is a bench we can use while we wait,” Adam said. He looked around once more. “I will seat you there, then I must find some newspapers. There will be newsboys somewhere nearby.”

  They moved over to Platform Three, which had no train waiting beside it yet. Ann sat upon the bench. Adam placed the valise next to her feet, then strode away in search of newspapers.

  He returned in only a few minutes with three newspapers, all in German. “There was a copy of yesterday’s Times, but I need fresh news,” he explained as Ann bent her head to peer at the headlines.

  As Ann understood even less written German, she contented herself with watching travelers move around the platforms and climb on and off trains, while doves swooped and fluttered beneath the high curved roof.

  A train arrived at the platform they sat upon. Doors were flung open by passengers anxious to depart. The passengers moved along the platform in front of Ann and Adam’s bench. Many glanced at them, then looked back with startled second glances.

  Uneasiness built in her. “Adam,” she murmured.

  He did not answer. His attention was upon the broadsheet in his hands.

  It felt as though everyone stared at them. The women, in particular, seemed taken aback. Ann watched one matron tug at the arm of her friend and murmur in her ear. The friend turned quickly to stare at Ann, then said something to her friend which made them both draw their skirts aside as they passed the bench.

  “Adam,” Ann said more urgently. “I think we’ve been discovered.”

  A soft gasp sounded, drawing Ann’s attention back to the platform. A woman gripped the arm of her husband and yanked at it, while pointing at Ann.

  Ann looked away as if she was unaware of the scrutiny, her discomfort increasing. She should get up and move off. Perhaps hide in a corner or behind the big bulletin board where the schedules were pinned.

  The man marched toward the bench, his expression grim.

  “Adam,” Ann warned. This time she squeezed his wrist.

  Adam lowered the paper.

  The man glared at him, then at Ann. “You two. You are the lovers running away from her husband, no?” He spoke English with a thick accent.

  “No,” Adam said, his tone cold. “We are not running away from anyone, monsieur.”

  “You are they,” the man declared. “You should not be here.” He looked at Ann. “Go back to your husband. We do not like women like you in our city.”

  Ann’s lips parted as her jaw sagged.

  The woman sniffed and marched after her husband, her chin in the air.

  Ann sagged on the bench. Her heart thumped erratically. “I…I should go and…and…wait elsewhere.”

  “You mean go and hide, do you not?” Adam snapped the newspaper straight and folded it closed with sharp movements. He turned to her. “You should not care what they think of you. They only attempt to make themselves feel morally superior. You have done nothing but run away from a marriage you are uncertain is right for you. You are not married to the man, and—” he waved the folded newspaper in his hand, “—the papers have not reported it that way, either.”

  Ann twisted the hem on her sleeve, misery squeezing at her chest. “But they are simply the more outspoken people of many who must think that way.”

  “You do not know that,” Adam said. He paused. “Besides, you cannot change what everyone thinks, whether they are right or wrong to think so. Therefore, there is no point in worrying about what they think. It will not change their opinions.”

  “They think I am…that I am a fallen woman.”

  “So?” He turned to face her properly and rested his arm along the back of the bench. It made him seem intimidatingly large, next to her. “We know the truth, you and I. Does it matter what anyone else thinks?”

  Ann bit her lip. “My parents,” she whispered. “My sisters and brothers.” She swallowed.

  “Who have better sense than to believe what the sensationalist newspapers are reporting,” he assured her. “Your father knows you are with me…” He paused and grimaced. “Actually, now everyone knows you are with me,” and he lifted the newspaper in his hand.

  Ann looked away, still feeling ill. Adam’s assurances were not helping. She watched porters carry trunks onto the train in preparation for departure.

  “Perhaps we should find a seat on the train and wait inside the carriage for it to leave,” Ann murmured, for even the porters were glancing at them with expressions of recognition.

  “No,” Adam said flatly. “We will wait right here, until we choose to move onto the train. There are fifteen minutes until departure, and I want to stretch my legs.” He thrust out his boots and crossed his ankles…and his arms.

  It was the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of Ann’s life, with one solitary exception: the last few minutes of her journey to the cathedral yesterday had been uniquely torturous.

  Had it really only been yesterday?

  Adam did not speak again. She left him alone. He did not find silences troubling. Only, it left Ann with nothing to do but examine her thoughts as they swirled, grey and troubled.

  “Perhaps I should return to Silkeborg,” she murmured, almost to herself.

  “No,” Adam said shortly. “You should not.”

  “There is running away to take time to think and there is, well, defiance,” she said. “You are angry about what they’re saying about you and that is making you recalcitrant. That is not a good reason for staying away, when doing so causes so much trouble.”

  Adam turned to her. “What they are saying about me?” he repeated, sounding thunderstruck. “I am angry—no, I am furious—for you. For what they are saying about you.” He stabbed a long finger at the folded paper on the bench beside them, his jaw tight. “They applaud me for my romantic courage and daring, if they say anything at all.”

  Ann stared at him, astonished.

  Adam sighed and pushed his hand through his thick hair, ruffling it. “Let’s go aboard,” he said, his voice rough. Then he shoved himself to his feet and picked up the valise, giving her no chance to refuse.

  The train to Munich took only a few hours, but night fell while they were aboard. A supper of Schweinebraten und Kohl was served, with strudel for dessert.

  Adam barely spoke. He was polite and he dealt with the conductor and waiters, which saved Ann from their speculative stares. Otherwise, they stayed in the compartment with the curtains drawn against the glances of strangers as they passed by.

  After the supper, Adam settled in the corner of the opposite bench and pulled from his jacket a small, slender volume with no identifying print upon the cover to tell Ann what he read.

  She considered the book. “That is your Roman emperor’s teachings?”

  “Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations fill twelve volumes. This is a commonplace book.” Adam tipped it enough for Ann to see the interior.

  It was a notebook, with a fine hand filling the pages.

  “A commonplace book?”

  “I copy quotes which move me or speak to me from every book I have ever read.” He gave a very small, hard smile. “Most of them are Marcus Aurelius, but not all of them. Rereading them helps…” He paused, frowning.

  “Soothe your anger?” Ann asked.

  Adam closed the book with a soft thud and glanced out the window. “I suppose, yes.” His voice was a deep growl.

  “Perhaps you should stop reading the newspapers,” Ann said, “as they make you so angry.”

  He glanced at her and away.

  “You told me I shouldn’t care, but you care,” she added.

  “Very much so,” he muttered, but still did not look at her. “I am a poor example of a Stoic,” he added. “At the first sign of trouble, I revert to base instinct.” He looked down at his hand, curled around the book.

  “It is not an ordinary type of trouble I have landed you in,” Ann pointed out.

  “Trouble is just trouble,” he murmured, gazing at the night beyond the window. “At least, it should be, yet this time, I find myself…” He let out a gusty breath. “We should be in Munich inside the hour,” he added.

  “And then what?” Ann asked. “The next first train to somewhere?”

 

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