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“Except Lady Frances,” he said. “She always declined.”

This was a polite way, Emily thought, of saying that Frances was far too shy to dance with Evan, even if hewasGrace’s brother.

They chatted pleasantly for another minute or two, the Earl doing absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation, until Evan stopped.

“Well,” he said brightly, loud enough for others to hear, “it’s been splendid. I can’t wait to see you both again though no doubt it’ll have to wait until after the wedding, eh?” Then, in a lower voice, he said to Emily. “There. That should help with the snobs a bit. Sometimes being a future duke has its uses.”

“Sometimes?” she asked, even as gratitude washed over her.

He gave her a grin and a quick kiss to the back of her hand before heading off, long legs eating up the path before him at far more rapid a pace than any of the fashionable strollers.

And then Emily was left with her betrothed. It was, she couldn’t help but notice, much more serious company.

Still, she tried to keep a pleasant look on her face as they kept walking. They rounded a bend in the path, taking them to a comparatively private stretch of park where the nearest people were too far away to identify. The Earl came to a sudden halt.

“I have to tell you something,” he said as if he were forcing the words out. “I realized you knew the Duchess of Hawkins of course, but?—”

She waited, surprised. It was unlike him to stumble. Even when they’d been at one another’s throats, he’d been quick with a quip.

“I didn’t realize you were close with Lady Grace, as well,” he said lowly. He had been looking out over the park, but now, he met her eye. “I have letters,” he said, gaze probing. “Between my mother and Dowling.”

This hadnotbeen what she’d expected him to say. She’d assumed they would never, ever touch the topic of his mother’s connection to Grace’s murderer.

“Oh,” she said.

“I think you should have them,” he said firmly. “I haven’t read them all the way through, but I think—” He broke off again. “You should have them,” he said after a long pause. “You should read them and decide what to do about whatever they say.”

Emily was confused, but she also very much wanted to see those letters and didn’t dare push him into changing his mind.

And it was very considerate, wasn’t it, for him to offer? It hinted that she, as his wife, might deserve some…loyalty or perhaps respect. It was a sign that he valued her in some way, wasn’t it?

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He nodded. Again, he was looking away.

“And maybe,” he said. “Maybe it will improve things. Maybe it will…make amends.”

Emily’s heart sank. This wasn’t a gesture of respect. It was abribe. An apology, perhaps, for the kisses he so clearly regarded as a terrible mistake. The thought made her want to fight with him again, to claw at him, to shout—never mind the publicity and never mind propriety.

But shewanted those damn letters.

So she didn’t. She held her tongue as they finished their promenade, got back into his carriage, and rode silently back to Drowton House.

At least,she thought with a slightly hysterical inner laugh as they rode in uncomfortable silence,you didn’t kiss him. Perhaps she even ought to thank him, come to think of it, for making it so abundantly clear what he really thought of her.

Yes, his behavior today had clearly put to bed any amorous thoughts she might be having about her future husband. Which was surely a relief.

Yet when the letters arrived at her house that evening, neatly bundled and conveyed with a note that said,You deserve these. –B,she couldn’t help but let her fingers linger over the curve of that one initial and wonder.

CHAPTER 11

“This,” Diana proclaimed, “is the most bloody ridiculous thing I have ever read in the entirety of my life.”

Frances even let out a long, slow whistle though whether it was at Diana’s swearing or at the pages spread out before them, Emily didn’t know.

Perversely, Emily’s brain insisted on wondering if this reallywasthe most ridiculous thing Diana—who had a taste for gothic novels, the bloodier and more dramatic the better—had ever read. She shook that thought away and attended to the task at hand.

She’d not gathered the courage to read the letters by herself, so she had dashed off notes to Frances and Diana, asking them to meet. They’d agreed instantly though Diana had informed them that, as she no longer fit through her own front door, they would have to gather at Hawkins Manor. Emily had assumedthis was an exaggeration, but looking at Diana, it seemed frankly possible.