Nervously, she twisted her gloved hands, terrified of what they would say. She recognized Phillips, the footman who had tossed her into the streets some weeks ago. Across the ballroom, she saw Lady Rothburne signal to the footman, shaking her head slightly. The acerbic feeling in Emily’s stomach worsened as Stephen’s mother did not come forward to welcome her.

The footman stared at her as though she were an unwanted insect. “I do not believe you were invited, madam.”

Emily struggled to maintain her composure. A deep flush suffused her cheeks, and she forced herself to hold her head high. Do not let them see your feelings. “I am the Countess of Whitmore,” she murmured. “I rather think my husband would be offended if you deny me entrance, don’t you?”

Where was Stephen? She looked around, but did not see him anywhere. Without him as an escort, she felt the curious eyes of the crowd watching her. A wall. She needed a wall where she could blend into the background and await her husband.

Then, a voice rescued her, calling out, “Miss Barrow! By Jove, it is such a delight to see you again.”

Freddie Reynolds beamed as though she’d handed him the sun on a silver platter. He wore a crimson frockcoat with a matching waistcoat and black trousers. His brown hair was combed back, his beard and mustache neatly trimmed. In spite of herself, Emily couldn’t help but answer his smile.

“Oh, forgive me, I mean Lady Whitmore. I was hoping to see your face again, and now that I have, my life holds meaning again.”

His exaggeration made her smile. In all honesty, she replied, “Mr. Reynolds, it is a pleasure to see you as well.”

“But where is your husband? Surely you did not come alone?”

Before she could fabricate an explanation, he waved his hand. “You must allow me to be your escort, if I may be so bold. It would be an honor, Lady Whitmore. Quite an honor.”

“Well, actually, I—”

“Did you like the flowers I sent to you?” he interrupted.

Before she could answer, he held up a hand. “No. If they were not to your taste, I would rather not know.”

“They were lovely, but really, you shouldn’t—”

“Perfect! I shall see to it that you receive more this week. I intend to woo your heart yet, my lady.”

“Not now, you won’t.” The sharp voice of the earl intruded. Her husband wore all black, except for the snowy white cravat that was impeccably tied. Tall and imposing, he eyed Freddie with distaste.

Freddie jerked with surprise at the earl’s unexpected arrival, but he quickly recovered. “Lord Whitmore. It has been many years, has it not?”

“It has. Thankfully.”