– Since when did you become an early bird? – Jeremy narrowed his eyes, but then he smiled and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes and adding, "Tell them to build a fire in the library. I don't want you to be cold, my love.

– I'll do it myself. But you sleep, my love, sleep. – Vivian silently came close to the bed, leaned over to her husband's handsome, sleepy face and kissed him on the cheek, which made him smile sweetly.

"How can such darkness hide in such a beautiful body and behind such a pretty face! Mr. Darbinell, my former fiancé, is no match for you in beauty and youth. But, God, if I had known earlier how much I would have to pay for the title of your wife, I would have preferred a husband like that sweaty hog to you," Vivian thought with a bitter smile as she looked at her husband's fine young body. – But, thanks to you, I became rich and popular, my dear… No, I made the right choice. After all, one day you will cool to me, and I will happily turn a blind eye to your cheating and affairs with other women. I just have to be patient. Your passion for me can't last forever."

Trying not to wake her husband, Vivian quietly left the master bedroom and carefully closed the door behind her. Barefoot, with her hair loose and tangled after the fulfilment of the night's conjugal duty, the girl walked slowly down the long corridor, ignoring the cold, uncarpeted floor. The dull light of morning, so early that even the servants were still fast asleep in their beds, illuminated the corridor and made it cold and uninviting.

Wington Hall, this big, beautiful mansion of which she had been head of household for a month now, was a stranger to Vivian. She still could not believe that this place had become her home. Her own home in London. Because she remembered: it all belonged to her husband, and if he wished to divorce her, she would fall back into the horror of poverty and contempt by all. After all, this is how the perfectly well-coordinated mechanism of the society of the rich and aristocrats: you should fall down the social ladder, as your friends stop noticing you, and then even become ex. But what Vivian needed was not the attention and love of society: she needed to remain Jeremy's wife, whatever the cost. Moral anguish and loss of possession of her own body could be endured, she thought, but the death of the man she loved could not. Everything she did, she did for the good of Richard, whom she loved even more than herself, and if to be able to help him she had to weep with disgust and helplessness – the true companions of every night spent with Jeremy, Vivian was ready to bear it for the rest of her life. No grumbling. No complaints.

All Mrs. Wington needed to regain her moral and mental strength was a couple of spare hours spent alone with herself, writing letters or reading a book. In the first weeks of her marriage she had no difficulty in snatching for herself these coveted hours of freedom, for then Jeremy was very delicate in his love for her. Lately, however, her husband had become incredibly jealous and demanded that she be with him at all times, and Vivian had to dodge and invent urgent matters just to hide from Jeremy and withdraw into herself.

"I'll get up like this every morning. I can't get to bed late at night anyway: Jeremy won't let me out of the bedroom or his arms," Vivian thought tiredly. Her eyes were closed from lack of sleep and her body was so weak that she could hardly move from foot to foot, but she did not want to go back to the bedroom, to her husband's captivity. She would rather sleep in an armchair, in the library, on the floor! Not in the same bed as Jeremy. Not after what he'd been doing to her all those too long nights.