“Forgive me, Lady Whitmore, but if you do not abide by the conditions of the will, Mr. Barrow has the right to alert the authorities.” He shook his head. “While I hope he would not do so, I beg of you not to impose such a hardship upon the children.”

“I will have a footman escort you to the door, sir,” Emily repeated.

The solicitor sighed. “I am sorry to have upset you, Lady Whitmore. I shall send over a copy of the will for you to peruse at your leisure. And you may wish to answer your uncle’s invitation.”

Her answer was to crumple up the letter and toss it into the fireplace. “Good day, sir.”

Mr. Robinson bowed and departed.

Emily clenched her skirts, willing herself to remain calm. She was not going to allow anyone to take Royce or Victoria. Will or no will, they belonged to her. Not her uncle, who hadn’t even bothered to come and see her in almost fifteen years.

She paced across the room for nearly half an hour until at long last, Stephen and Royce arrived. Her nephew’s hair was rumpled, his face glowing with excitement.

“I rode a horse!” Royce exclaimed breathlessly. “He was a brown gelding, almost fifteen hands high. Lord Whitmore taught me how to canter him.” The joy in the boy’s voice made her not want to spoil the moment.

“You wanted to see me?” Stephen asked.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Emily replied to Stephen. “I would like to hear about your first ride.” Giving Royce her full attention, she forced a smile while he described his experiences.

Her eyes met Stephen’s. There was amusement in his expression, almost fatherly in the way he listened to Royce’s boyish excitement.

“He did well, though I imagine his backside will be sore in the morning.”

“I am fine,” Royce insisted. “Can we ride more today?”

Stephen shook his head. “Tomorrow.” With a glance down at the empty plate, he asked, “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and see if Cook has any more biscuits?”

After the boy had left, Stephen turned his attention to Emily. “You look worried,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

He reached out to rub the tension from her neck, and gooseflesh rose up on her skin. Emily could smell his skin, the light scent of shaving soap and the outdoors. It made her want to pull him closer.

She wanted so badly to pour out her troubles, to lay her head on his shoulder and let him relieve the burden of responsibility. “My brother’s solicitor, Mr. Terence Robinson, came to speak with us about Daniel’s will.”

“What did he want?”

“The original will was finally found. Mr. Robinson claims that Daniel did not name us as guardians of the children. He named my uncle guardian.”

Stephen’s hands moved down to her waist. “Have you seen the will?”