Deep topaz eyes met his, and, on impulse, he caught her by the nape and kissed her. Her lips parted in surprise, but she kissed him back. It was too short by half, but the softness of her touch, the scent of vanilla, inflamed him.

“Uncle Stephen, come on.“ Royce pulled him away, and at last he relented.

“Later,” Emily whispered, after they had both left. She wanted so badly to believe he could be her helpmate and friend. But a part of her held back.

For three months she’d been alone. It had been the worst time of her existence because Stephen had disappeared, and she hadn’t known if he was dead or alive. She’d woken up in the middle of the night, wondering if she’d only imagined the marriage.

And when he returned, he hadn’t remembered her at all. Would he ever learn to love her? And if not, was it enough?

Farnsworth cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts. “There is a solicitor to see you. Mr. Terence Robinson.” The butler handed Emily the man’s card.

What was this all about? A wave of fear washed over her. She hadn’t seen Mr. Robinson since her brother’s death, when they’d been unable to locate Daniel’s will. They had assumed that the title and entailed property went to Royce.

Dread gathered in the pit of her stomach, gaining momentum. Was there something wrong?

She wiped her hands upon the apron. “I must change my gown. Please serve him tea in the parlor while I prepare myself.” Then she added, “Send for Lord Whitmore.”

The butler bowed, and when he had gone, Emily raced up the staircase, tearing off her apron. When she reached her room, she rummaged around, looking for something suitable to wear. There was nothing, save the lavender ball gown, which was completely inappropriate.

Oh, why hadn’t she brought any of the new gowns Stephen had given her? She’d left them behind, too afraid to wear them. Almost as if putting on the silks and satins would force her to become a true lady and a countess. But it was too late to worry about that now.

There was no choice but to continue wearing the black serge dress. Quickly, she pinned up her hair, moaning in dismay at her appearance. Flour spots marred her hair, and she tried to blot them out with water. She washed her face with scented soap, drying it with a towel. She prayed it would not take long for Farnsworth to find Stephen.

Her heart pounding, she took a deep breath. Each step toward the parlor felt like a step closer to an execution.

Emily opened the door, preparing for the worst. Mr. Robinson sat on the couch, a cup of tea in his hands. His dark wool jacket strained against the buttons, and he brushed the crumbs of a treacle biscuit from his buff-colored trousers.