Her words silenced him. He didn’t respond, seemingly turning over her suggestion in his mind. The opportunity was here, laid bare.

She took a step forward. Then another, until she stood so close, they were almost in an embrace. He reached out and took her hands in his. “Come with me tonight, then. My family was invited to the Yarrington musicale.”

The very thought of entering society as a countess made her knees tremble. She couldn’t. The marquess and society would cut her to shreds.

“I—I can’t go.” She fumbled for an excuse. He would never understand her fears. “It isn’t proper for me to attend a public gathering. I’m still in half-mourning.”

“You’re hiding.”

Of course she was, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “This is about respect for my brother.”

“You’ve mourned him long enough.” He drew her closer, resting his hands upon her waist. “If you truly want to try again with our marriage, you cannot remain at home.”

“I don’t have a dress. Everything I own is black.”

“I’ll order a gown for you and have it sent to the house.”

“It’s not possible to make a gown so soon,” she protested. “No seamstress alive could do it.”

“With enough money, any gown can be altered to suit you. Or you can borrow one of my sister’s. Hannah has gowns she’s never worn.”

Though his offer was kind, she rather be flayed alive than attend the musicale. If she ever chose to set foot in society, it would be on her terms, not his.

But Whitmore appeared unaware of her fears. Instead, he touched her cheek. “I will see you this evening.”

Chapter Six

“Look at these, my lady!“ Her maid Beatrice carried several large boxes with her, beaming as she entered the parlor. She laid the boxes upon a velvet-upholstered sofa, bubbling with youthful excitement. “The master asked me to help you prepare for the musicale tonight. He sent you these.”

Emily reached inside the largest box and found a modest gown of lavender tarlatan. White panels of intricate scalloped lace overlapped the skirt, and the waist ended in a sharp vee. The sleeves would leave her shoulders bare, while the bodice consisted of swags of more white lace. As she ran her fingers across the delicate fabric, she remembered how she had once sewn a gown such as this. She had remade her mother’s gowns, bringing up the hemline. As the years passed, she’d lowered the hems until she had gained the height of a young woman. It had been so long since she’d had a new gown of her own.

This was a gown worthy of a princess. And yet, the idea of wearing it out in society made her feel terrified. She’d never had a Season, didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.