If that was the only reason, then why hadn’t he simply sent an invitation? Earls didn’t typically pay calls, not when there were servants to do their bidding. Her suspicions deepened when he didn’t elaborate.

But she voiced a polite reply, “Dinner would be lovely. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” At the very thought of it, her stomach wrenched with hunger. Food. Oh, sweet heaven, there would be glorious food.

“What about your axe?” he inquired.

“Oh, one of the servants can bring it back,” she lied, for she had no intention whatsoever of admitting how desperate her circumstances had become. She walked with him around to the front of the house, where his gleaming black brougham waited.

“I look forward to renewing our acquaintance,” he said, tipping his hat again. His deep baritone was like rich toffee pudding, tempting her back to her past infatuation.

When his carriage reached the end of the drive, Emily walked calmly inside her brother’s house. Curse it all, she hadn’t a thing to wear. All of her expensive gowns had been sold. She had nothing but the brown cotton day dress she was wearing now, a black serge mourning gown and a threadbare blue tarlatan dress.

The tarlatan dress had been mended so many times, it was scarred with seams. But perhaps with a good shawl…

Her gaze fell upon the printed sofa in the drawing room. Sometimes desperate measures were necessary.

Stephen hadn’t slept well that night, just thinking of the crumbling Hollingford estate. Overgrown boxwood hedges and a veil of ivy shrouded the house, hiding it from the outside world. The estate was practically a graveyard, and it wasn’t fit for rats, much less Miss Emily Barrow.

Though she’d tried to pretend as if everything was all right, it was clear that she’d been chopping her own wood for fuel. Her cloak had been far too thin for such cold weather, and her gloves had holes in them. Worse, she’d grown too thin, not at all like the girl he’d grown up with.

When Daniel Barrow, Baron Hollingford, had asked him to look in on his sister, Stephen hadn’t known things were this bad. The question was, what to do about it? Emily wasn’t the sort of woman to accept charity. And if he sent Hollingford funds, Stephen suspected they would be gambled away at the tables.

What Emily Barrow needed was a husband. Someone who would give her a decent place to live and take care of her.