They first stopped at a building along the main street, sandwiched between a grocer and a milliner. Marina was confused at first, for she had expected to go to Philip's house, but instead they walked into what appeared to be an office. It was a rather small room with two large desks at opposite ends. One wall was lined with books, and there was an older man seated behind one of the desks. He put down his reading when they entered, standing to greet them. "Ah! Philip! You have returned."

Philip nodded to him. "Yes. Marina, may I introduce my partner Mr. Locke."

Mr. Locke bowed to Marina, a broad smile across his wrinkled face. "Welcome dear woman! When Philip told me he was going to be married, I must say-"

"I'm sorry Mr. Locke, but we have had a long ride. I'm sure Marina must be tired," Philip interrupted.

"Ah yes of course!" Mr. Locke stammered, "I won't keep you." He bowed to Marina again. "It is a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Crane."

Marina almost looked behind her to see who he was addressing as Mrs. Crane before she remembered that was her name now. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again," she offered, wondering at Philip's rudeness. Why would he bring her to his workplace just to be rude to his partner? But Philip indicated for her to follow him through the office, and she saw that it was not just his workplace; he opened a door in the back and gestured her into his house.

The door in the back of the office led to a small foyer, where Philip took her riding cloak and hung it and then turned to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't think Mr. Locke would be in the office today – we could have come in the back door, but it is often muddy through there."

"It's quite alright," Marina assured him, giving him her best bright smile. "I'm not shy."

"Hmm right." He turned away quickly, but she could swear she caught a glimpse of blush on his cheeks. He indicated the room to the right. "Kitchen is through here – it is the dining room as well I'm afraid. And over here is the sitting room." Marina peeked in to see a tidy kitchen, and across the hall, a small sitting room with several large bookshelves pushed against one wall. Both rooms had sunshine streaming through the windows, making them look warm and inviting. She'd never have any big parties here, but they looked comfortable enough. Philip led her upstairs next, where there were two doorways. He opened the one on the left and showed her in. "You can have this room."

It was much the same as her room in London had been, though the furniture was not so grand, nor the bedding and carpets so fine. The window here was oriented in the same direction as the rooms downstairs, so the sunlight fell on a patch of carpet that had nearly worn right though.

"I hope you like it. If you don't, it was my mother who furnished it in any case."

Marina turned to see the smile flit across his face and she found herself laughing. So he was capable of some levity at least! "It's lovely," she said. There was a fireplace in the wall, and a large armoire in the corner. Her eyes fell then on a door on the opposite wall – apparently connecting the bedrooms.

"My room is though there," Philip said, noticing her gaze. "If you need anything you can knock for me." He moved closer and she unconsciously took a step back, despite her resolution to be his wife, no matter what. He stopped, looking uncomfortable, and reached in his pocket then held out his hand to her, a key dangling from his fingers. "Here is the key. You can lock the door from this side." Marina reached out and he dropped the key into her palm.

"I didn't mean…"

"I'll go fetch the luggage, then I have to return the carriage. Make yourself at home, as you please." He turned to go.

"Um, where…" He turned back to her. "Where is the privy?" she asked, and he definitely blushed this time.

"Ah, yes. It is out back, through the yard." He bowed again and left.

Marina sat on the bed – her bed – and looked around the room. It could have been worse. It could have been Lord Rutledge and his slimy fingers on her. She laughed to herself. She'd rather have a house like this than a husband like that! Besides which, the house she had grown up in hadn't been much bigger than this – or at least, it hadn't felt much bigger, with all her siblings and her parents and servants and farmhands crammed into it. She laid back and smiled, holding the key against her chest, feeling the sun warm her cheeks. She could make do with this.

She dozed for a bit and woke with a powerful need to pee. The baby inside of her was starting to take up more and more space, starting to push against her other bodily needs. She opened her door to find her trunk and boxes stacked beside her door, but she couldn't concern herself with them at that moment. She hurried downstairs and out the back door, rushing through the yard just in time to relieve herself on the privy. She sighed happily, and returned to the yard, noticing this time how charming it was, though clearly untended. A small fruit tree grew in one corner, just beginning to fruit, and a low stone bench sat in its shade, overgrown with thistles and vines. There was a stone pathway leading from the back door to the privy, and to the gate in the back wall, but the stones were covered in wild thyme and clover, and were quite uneven. Near the kitchen window there was a water pump, making it easy to draw water and pass it straight in. The whole area was small, but felt cozy and secluded, especially with the afternoon sun shining down on it.

Her stomach rumbled, so she made her way to the kitchen where she found herself some bread and cheese and took a slice of sausage. She poked around a bit, but didn't find anything very exciting – a bachelor's kitchen wouldn't be too well stocked she supposed.

She stared at a copper pan hanging from a hook on the wall, her distorted reflection looking back at her. Not a bachelor anymore.

Would she and George have had a house like this? How joyful this sunny space would have been with his laughter filling it, his animated talk crowding these rooms, his arms around her. They could have made a room for the baby, and slept in one bed together, listening for his cries during the night.

She realized she was standing in the middle of the kitchen with tears streaming down her face, staring at a pan on the wall, and she shook herself. She wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and her eyes fell on a jar of dark tea leaves.

Filling the kettle from the pump tired her out more than it should have. "Well, when you waste your energy on crying…" she muttered to herself. Luckily there was a good supply of kindling and wood stacked by the hearth, saving her the labor of fetching wood.

Once she had her tea she took it into the sitting room with her. Too bad she hadn't found any biscuits – she was craving a sweet just then, but she didn't have the energy to make it herself. She made do instead with sitting on the settee and sipping her tea. She felt strange in this new house, but after a moment she slipped her shoes off and propped her feet up over the arm of the settee. The sun began to fall low, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever see her husband again, when he appeared at the door as though summoned.

She let her surprised smile show through, but he looked at her with a dour expression. She slipped her feet off the furniture onto the floor, feeling guilty.

"My mother wishes to visit you," he said. He sounded ominous, and Marina sat up straighter, trying to show she could be proper if need be.

"I… when?"

"At your earliest convenience. I can put her off if you like, though not for long I'm afraid."

"No, of course not! She should come. We should…" It occurred to her that George's mother had likely read the letters to George from her as well, that she would know all about their relationship, that her marriage to Philip was a sham. "Does she… Did she give her blessing, for our marriage?" she asked.

"It was her idea," Philip said flatly. He seemed to notice Marina's distress then and said, "You needn't worry that she will be cruel. She wanted to bring you into the family. Only she is a too enthusiastic sometimes. You must tell her to stop, if she bothers you too much."

Marina scoffed silently. Easy for him to say, her own son, a man with his own means. No doubt he had only ever seen the best side of his mother, but Marina had seen how cruel mothers could be when they were trying to protect their own. She let out a sigh. Just when she had begun to feel some measure of comfort, some little hope for the future, another pitfall was thrown in her way. Well, she could be charming, though she had more luck in charming the male sex than the fairer, in her past experiences. "Let her come tomorrow, if she likes," Marina said, raising her chin. She might as well get this introduction over with as soon as possible. "I am not too busy."

"Very well," Philip nodded, business-like. "Have you eaten?"

Though she had just eaten a few hours prior Marina said she had not and went to the kitchen, a little surprised that he also went, though she reminded herself that he had lived here alone before she came along, and he must have eaten then.

He pulled out much the same food she had had for lunch. "Sorry it isn't much," he said. "I have lived a bachelor's life here, and I don't usually fuss overly much with my meals."

Marina smiled. "I don't mind." She bit into the bread and cheese, surprised at the strength of her hunger so soon after her last meal – and having hardly done anything since either.

"I think…" Philip started, and paused. Marina got the impression he wasn't very used to speaking to women, or to anyone, for that matter. How could two brothers have turned out so very different from each other? "If you like, we could afford to hire a maid – for a couple of days per week perhaps."

She got the impression that 'affording' a maid would require sacrificing some other expenses. "What do you know of my family?" she asked.

"Very little I'm sorry to say. Mother said your father is a land-owner?" If he thought her change of subject odd, he did not show it.

"You could say that, though in reality he is a farmer. Well-off for a farmer, but not a rich lord by any means." When Philip just kept looking at her with that even gaze she went on, feeling oddly frustrated. How could someone be so unresponsive? "I think you may have the wrong impression of me, based on our meeting in London. I am the daughter of a man Mr. Featherington owed money to," she said, her cheeks burning with anger still at the situation she had been forced into. "I never lived as the Featherington's do until this spring, and for a brief period even then." And even then she had been unable to enjoy her rich surroundings, too embroiled in petty arguments and heartbreaks, in finding a husband, and losing one. "I don't need a maid," she finished bluntly.

Was that a smile she saw? That barest twitch at the corner of his mouth? It could just as easily be disdain – she had learned in London how one could masquerade as the other.

"Very well," he said. "Though I shall put aside some funds for the later months of your confinement, just in case."

Marina would have snapped at George, playfully, if he had said something like that to her. He would have laughed with her… She turned her head to the side, blinking back tears. "Shall I make some tea?" she asked, once her throat relaxed enough to speak.

"Certainly, if you wish," Philip said and stood. "I have some work to finish – if you need me I shall be in my room."

Marina blinked after him as he stiffly bowed and left the room. Well! She didn't have to worry about him being an overly involved husband did she? She rubbed her cheeks and looked at the kettle and – exhausted even at the thought of refilling it at the pump- she decided she would rather just go to bed and cry to herself until she fell asleep.