Silently, the scullery maid began frying sausages for the morning meal. With a plain face and a figure the size of a barrel, Lizbeth always had a cheerful smile. Emily had liked the maid from the moment she’d met her.

“You’ve horrified him, you know,” Lizbeth remarked as she flipped the sausage links. “Sir High-and-Mighty.”

“The earl?”

“No, my lady.” Lizbeth blushed. “I mean Farnsworth, the butler. He’s told the master that you sent Henri packing.”

“Good.” Emily didn’t care if Stephen knew about her dismissing the cook. The ill-tempered man had been robbing the household blind over the past few months, claiming ridiculous costs for food. They were well rid of him.

“And you needn’t worry about the cooking, my lady,” Lizbeth added. “Mrs. Deepford and I will take care of it until the new cook arrives.”

“Thank you, Lizbeth.” Emily relaxed slightly. Her hasty offer to cook for the household was impossible, she knew, though she had enjoyed seeing Farnsworth’s look of horror. “I am sorry to have caused you both more work.”

“Oh, no, it’s grateful we are. Henri should have been sacked long ago.”

A small part of Emily worried that she had overstepped her bounds. The earl might not appreciate her interfering with staff members, not with her own precarious position. She needed to apologize for her cross words earlier.

“Have you heard anything else?” Emily asked Lizbeth. “From the earl, I mean. Has he remembered anything?”

“No, my lady. I’ve not heard that he has.” Lizbeth cracked an egg into a bowl.

The bell sounded, and Lizbeth jumped up. “It’s his lordship. He’ll be wanting his breakfast tray.”

“I’ll take it,” Emily offered. She wanted to speak with him about the children. The heaping platter of delicious food could improve his temperament while she explained why throwing their family out into the streets would be a very bad idea.

Her stomach grumbled, but she ignored it. She had eaten a slice of toasted bread and a cup of tea, which was enough for her.

By the time she finished climbing the back staircase leading to the earl’s bedchamber, she was out of breath. The heavy tray made her arms ache, but she pressed onwards. Knocking lightly, she heard him call, “Enter.”

The earl was seated in a wingback chair, reading The Times. He wore charcoal trousers, a dark blue frockcoat, pinstriped waistcoat and a white cotton shirt. His dark cravat was tied in a simple knot without any fuss. The shadow of a beard lined his cheeks, and his intense gaze rested upon her with interest.

His hair was wet, drops of water glistening at his temples. He’d taken a bath, she realized.