the children to consider it would be tempting.
He had asked her to be his friend, but with very little encouragement, or perhaps none at all, she could do very much more than simply like him. There was something about the quiet confidence, the dignity that was far more than his rank—that was simply him. And he was kind. Not in a patronising sort of way; that could annoy. His kindness was bone-deep. And, she smiled, there was something very appealing about a man so obviously fond of his dog. He had been open with her, honest. She would be a fool to refuse...if, in the end, he offered for her. Because he had not offered marriage as yet. He had asked to court her, to have a chance for them to become acquainted.
And there was the other thing that bothered her; she already knew her answer. Just as she had with Peter almost from the first moment of meeting him at that house party so long ago. They had ridden out in a large group, but somehow it had been as if no one else existed from that moment. And she had known, just as she knew now. Although it was a little different. With Peter she had known that she was falling in love; with Hunt she simply knew that she wanted to marry him, that she could be happy with him.
She who, according to her parents, had flung her life away for love was now prepared to marry for convenience.
For safety. For her children’s future.
Only there had been that kiss... Something inside her fluttered, something she had thought if not dead, then asleep.
In the ensuing week Emma was careful not to allow the children to think of Hunt as anything more than a friend of their father’s. He called three times, including two indoor picnics, and by the end of the third outing—a walk, since the weather relented—Emma had no doubts at all. If he offered she would accept. How could she do otherwise with a man who read fairy tales to Georgie on a rainy afternoon? And the way he slipped on his reading glasses was ridiculously attractive in a bookish and scholarly way. Under his tutelage Harry’s chess had improved greatly. He had lent Harry a small book on tactics which Harry had his nose in whenever permitted.
They had not discussed marriage, but she assumed if he was still visiting, then he was still considering it. Only...he hadn’t really kissed her again. Oh, he kissed her goodbye each time, a careful, chaste brush of his lips on her cheek. Exactly as he might kiss a sister.
That bothered her more than she liked. Not that she wanted him making advances to her, but when he had kissed her that first time...
Perhaps he had thought she was too eager and wished to indicate that their marriage should be conducted along more decorous lines. She hoped she could take a hint, but while she thought she could manage a marriage of convenience, she wasn’t sure she would be entirely happy in a marriage where she would be expected to curb her enjoyment of the marriage bed. On the other hand, in a perverse way, she might feel less disloyal to Peter if she wasn’t looking forward to the marriage quite so much in quite that way.
But she liked Hunt and looked forward to his visits, perhaps a little more than was wise. But now, sewing in the parlour while the children played upstairs, she wondered if he would raise the subject of marriage again this afternoon. When he had left the day before yesterday he had said that they should talk next time...they had talked, just not about marriage, so presumably that was what he wanted to talk about. As long as they could be friends, if Huntercombe preferred a marriage where the marriage bed was only for the procreation of heirs, then she would accept that.
So the thrill that shot through Emma at the knock on the door was less than welcome as well as unexpected. It was barely two o’clock. Hunt was early and that embarrassing little leap of delight rubbed in the fact that she had been watching the clock for the past hour.
‘Be the door, mum.’ Bessie appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘You want me to get it?’
Emma rose. ‘No, it’s all right, Bessie. It will be his lordship, so—’
Harry and Georgie clattered downstairs. ‘Is it Lord Huntercombe, Mama? And Fergus?’ Georgie demanded.
Emma smiled. ‘Why don’t I open the door and find out?’
‘It’s not raining,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll be able to walk Fergus again.’
Emma thought ruefully that it would be his dog as much as himself that would render Hunt acceptable to her children as a stepfather.
She opened the door and blinked at the liveried footman.
He looked down his nose at her. ‘The residence of Lady Emma Lacy, if you please.’
Emma took a proper look at the livery. It was only too familiar. ‘This is it.’
The young man’s expression registered shock, then condescension. ‘Inform her ladyship that she has a visitor, my good woman.’
Emma narrowed her eyes. The impudent puppy couldn’t be more than twenty. ‘Do you always take that tone with your elders?’ She used an imperious voice she never bothered with for Bessie.
His jaw dropped.
‘Straighten your shoulders!’ She knew an unholy glee as he snapped to attention. ‘You may tell me yourself who is calling.’ She knew perfectly well, but saw no reason to let him off the hook.
He looked winded. ‘Ah—’
‘Roger! Do they know the correct address, or not?’
The querulous voice had not changed in the least. ‘Good day, Mother.’ Emma stepped around the goggling Roger and walked to the carriage. ‘Whatever brings you here?’
Lady Dersingham stared in disbelief, first at Emma then the house. ‘I thought I must have the direction wrong. What a hovel!’
Emma took a firm grip on her temper. ‘It’s lovely to see you, too, Mother. Won’t you come in?’
Louisa Dersingham actually hesitated, then said in wilting tones, ‘The steps, Roger.’
Emma moved aside as the footman opened the carriage door and lowered the steps. She gritted her teeth as her mother descended as though tottering to her doom. She fixed the footman with a steely glare. ‘Take her ladyship’s bricks to the kitchen and ask my servant to reheat them.’
She knew her mother. Hell would freeze over before Louisa ventured out to Chelsea in November without hot bricks to her feet.
‘Really, Emma.’ Louisa’s voice quavered piteously. ‘If you must live out here, surely a nice villa by the river would be a more eligible situation. I believe they can be had quite reasonably.’
‘No doubt. Come in, Mother, and have a cup of tea to warm you.’
Louisa shuddered. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes.’ Emma offered her arm to support Louisa across the pavement to the house.
‘And what, pray, is that dreadful noise?’ Louisa demanded as they reached the doorstep.
For a moment Emma could not think what she meant. ‘Oh. That’s the stone yard behind us.’ She was so used to the banging that she scarcely heard it any
