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“You don’t count,” Heath snapped. “She said her father disapproves of the man, but only because I had her cornered with my questions and she had to say something.”

Damien shrugged. “If I had a daughter who was determined to marry some Flemish Balthasar Blommen, I’d disapprove of the match too. Terrible name.”

“He’s not real,” Heath ground out, wondering why he’d decided to confide in his irritating friend in the first place.

“So you say. Do you want me to ask Lady Isabel to be certain?”

Heath gaped at his friend. Was Isabel Whitton the reason Damien had made his quick departure from the parlor earlier? “I didn’t know you were acquainted with the lady.”

Damien shook his head. “I’m offering to help you. Do you want my assistance or not?”

Hardly. Who knew what sort of trouble he’d be in with Damien’s assistance. “No. I can’t imagine those girls keep secrets from each other, and then Emma would know that I know.”

“Ah, yes, that’s clear as mud.”

“Never mind,” Heath grumbled. “Just forget I said anything.”

“As you wish. If you decide you want my help after all, you only have to say the word.”

* * *

Emma collapsed across her bed. She was the biggest fool ever to take in a breath of air. She still couldn’t believe he was betrothed.Betrothed! She groaned and her heart ached at the thought. Why hadn’t her blasted brother ever said anything? Probably because she never revealed to Drew how desperately in love she was with Heathfield. Still, one would have thought the topic would have come up at some point over the years.

And now…now she was stuck with Lord Heathfield in the same castle for the next fortnight. Drew would return home, and he’d be surprised to find his friends at the castle. And then it would all come out. That he hadn’t written the letter. That she didn’t have a fiancé. That she was the biggest fool to have ever been born. Emma groaned again.

Blast it all! Her plan had been so simple. Heathfield should have arrived at Danby Castle, taken one look at her, and fallen just as deeply in love with her as she had always been with him. Then by the time Drew arrived, nothing else would have mattered. Lord Heathfield wasn’t supposed to have brought Mr. Lockwell with him. And he wasn’t supposed to be betrothed. Nothing had gone as planned.

Heavens, how was she to even show her face the rest of the time Heathfield and Mr. Lockwell were here? Well, she just couldn’t. Perhaps she could feign an illness, curl up in a ball and stay abed through the holidays. She could bat her eyes at Dr. Willis and beg him to keep her secret. Then after Lord Heathfield left for London, Emma could make a miraculous recovery and…

Her door was tossed open, and before Emma could even tell the interloper to go away, Isabel plopped onto Emma’s bed beside her. “Let me guess, he didn’t drop at your feet and beg you to marry him.”

“Much worse.” An anguished moan escaped Emma and she covered her head with a pillow.

Isabel snatched the pillow away and peered down at Emma. “You do realize you’re being a baby.”

Emma pouted in response. She just couldn’t help it. “He’s betrothed, Izzy. He has been betrothed practically his whole life.”

“Just blurted that out, did he?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Emma complained, reaching for the pillow once more, but Isabel lifted it above her head. “Give me back my pillow.”

“So you can mope the rest of the night?” Isabel shook her head. “It’s nearly time for dinner anyway.”

A distressed squeak escaped Emma. “I can’t go to dinner. Make an excuse for me.”

“An excuse?” Isabel’s brow lifted in surprise.

“Say I’ve come down with something. Say I’ve got a fever. Or better yet, just say I’ve died.” She felt like she might die anyway, so it didn’t seem like that big a stretch.

Isabel scoffed. “I will not say you’ve died. Either come down with me for dinner, or mother will come for you herself. You know she will.”

“You are the worst sister ever.” Emma scowled.

Isabel shrugged. “No, I’m the worst hostess ever. That irritating Clara Mason and her brother are dining with us tonight. Please don’t make me entertain those people. They’reyourfriends.”

Emma wouldn’t say they were friends exactly—neighbors more than anything else. Still, Emma couldn’t abandon the Masons at dinner. Clara was friendly for the most part and her brother, Sir Thomas, was the local magistrate. It would be quite ill-mannered to stay abed. No, shehadto go down to dinner. She’d have to feign an illness or her death tomorrow.

CHAPTER5