She went through the motions of changing into the gray silk dress and brushing and reknotting her hair while her mind dwelled deeply on the encounter with Hetherington that afternoon. She had known that he could be cruel, that he was basically heartless, but she had never had face-to-face proof of the fact before. The voice and the facial expression that she had witnessed during that walk along the street in Granby had made him a stranger to her. She had never seen him cold, sneering, sarcastic before. He had behaved as if he hated her. But why? She was the one who had been wronged, hurt almost beyond bearing six years before. Was it conscience that had made him turn upon her with such contempt?

Elizabeth had tried to hate him in that first year when the pain had been intense enough to drive her almost out of her mind. But even then she had not been able to. The best she could do eventually was to dull all feeling, so that a mere empty ache would gnaw at her when her mind strayed to that episode in her life. She had trained herself to think of him, if at all, as he was at the beginning of their relationship.

Their friendship had developed through frequent meetings at ton events. Always he would seek her out and spend as much time with her as propriety allowed. But at first it had been pure friendship. They had sparked a note of sympathy in each other. They had found it easy to talk about their deepest feelings and dreams. Elizabeth had told him all about her life at home, her dreams of a home of her own in which family ties would be close, in which love would be the ruling spirit. He had told her about his home life, his sense of alienation from his family. He found his father and his brother too stern and joyless, too much attached to the city, with too little love of the land. They considered him a misfit, a nuisance. Both frowned upon his wish to enlist, yet neither could suggest a useful employment for this younger son. They seemed to expect him to be an idle man-about-town although the family had very little money. Living in a style that he considered appropriate to his rank, the marquess had put too much stress on the income from his estates.