Now, it had been a full day since she’d last seen Stephen and the children. She missed Royce and Victoria desperately, her heart sick with fear. How could Stephen have left her behind? It infuriated her that he’d done it, and she intended to blister his ears once she saw him again. Right now, the very thought of her husband made her want to strangle him.

As the footman helped her disembark from the coach, she moved as if in a trance. Nigel lived like a king, but it made her even more nervous at the thought. Though he was wealthy, it did not mean he would treat the children well.

A middle-aged footman with red hair welcomed her, accepting her cloak and bonnet, before leading her into the parlor. ‘Mr. Barrow hoped you would come, Lady Whitmore,“ he said. “I am Roberts, and if there is anything I can do to ensure your comforts, you need only give the orders. I’ve arranged for refreshments, and I shall inform Mr. Barrow of your arrival.”

Emily did not sit but studied the room. Oil paintings of landscapes hung at intervals, along with portraits she recognized. She saw her mother and father, and a deep loss cut through her. She had been only fourteen years old when her mother had died of consumption. And Father had—

She winced at the memory, not wanting to relive his death.

“Emily?”

She turned and saw Nigel. A stout gentleman, with long white whiskers and a balding pate, he gave her a warm smile. “I am delighted you have come. I hope you will stay for a while?”

She did not answer the question. She had come with the intention of taking Royce and Victoria back to Falkirk. Without prelude, she demanded, “Where are the children?”

“They are playing upstairs in the nursery. Would you care to see them? I promise you, I have not sent them to a workhouse or enslaved them.” His eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Yes, I want to see them.”

“Come, then.” Nigel offered her his arm, and she took it with reluctance. He leaned heavily upon a walking stick, and from his slow, steady movement, she realized Stephen was right. Nigel’s age revealed a weakness she’d not expected, and she saw the pain he tried to hide as he moved up the stairs.

“What about Lord Whitmore?” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant, but nerves broke through. “Is he here?”

Nigel tilted his head, stopping to catch his breath. “He is out riding, I believe. He told me you would arrive soon.” He led her down the west wing and gestured toward one of the doors. “The nursery is here.”