Emily wasn’t sure which of her feelings hadn’t already been crushed by the woman’s meddling gossip, but she waited.

“The earl intended to wed Miss Hereford, long before he met you. This scandalous marriage has quite broken her heart.” Lady Thistlewaite fanned herself, tut-tutting. With a sly smile, she added, “You really shouldn’t have chased after the earl, you know. It speaks of ill breeding.”

Emily gritted her teeth. “I never chased after him.”

Lady Thistlewaite offered a sympathetic smile. “It isn’t obvious to you, I’m sure. But the earl has kept his distance from you tonight, hasn’t he?”

Emily squared her shoulders. “He did not know I planned to attend.”

The matron shook her head sadly. “My dear, it is obvious that you are in desperate need of advice. For instance, the dress you are wearing is far too plain for a gathering such as this. Lavender does not flatter your complexion. You look as though you are wearing half-mourning. Blue or rose would be better.” The woman lowered her voice as though she were about to impart the secrets of warfare. “I have a dressmaker you should see.”

Emily counted to five before answering. Losing her temper in front of the Whitmore household would not precisely endear her to the marquess. She managed to nod. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Lady Thistlewaite lifted her hand. “Call upon me in the morning, and I would be happy to advise on proper attire. You are the daughter of a baron, after all. Since your departed mother cannot be here for you, I shall take it upon myself to instruct you. It would be my Christian duty to help you understand the necessary etiquette.” With a pat to Emily’s shoulder, the matron sailed across the ballroom to find another target.

Emily said nothing, tears pricking her eyelids. From the stares directed toward her, no doubt most people sided with Lady Thistlewaite in believing that Stephen was embarrassed by her.

She watched her husband mingle with the guests and dance with simpering young misses vying for his attention. He didn’t look at her once, though she watched his every move.

It hurt to see him pretending as though she didn’t exist. She went over to stand by the refreshment table, wishing she had never opened her mouth.

“I suppose you think to worm your way into our lives,” a deep voice said.

It was her father-in-law. And here, she had thought the evening could not get much worse. He had come to finish her off and pick his teeth with her shattered feelings.

Lovely. Just what she needed.

The Marquess of Rothburne stood just behind her, behaving as though he weren’t speaking to her. But Emily knew the remark was aimed at her.

“You do not like me,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “I am aware of it.”