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The next four days were the worst of Emmeline’s life.

Aiden’s body was laid out in the public drawing room.

People came by and paid their respects. Her mind and body refused to comprehend it all.

It was better that way really. She didn’t cry, nor did she feel much of anything.

She was just numb. Her body moved, and she heard herself say all the proper things to the visiting mourners, yet somehow, she didn’t exist. A fog blanketed her, protecting her from her pain and allowing her to go on.

When Aiden’s body entered the earth in the graveyard on Mount Street for the parish members of St. George’s, Hanover Square, she walked away knowing half of her had gone into the ground with him.

*

Two and a half long years after Aiden’s death, Emmeline was shocked when Andrew showed up at her door late one night, drunk.

She’d barely seen him since the day she’d buried Aiden.

She’d become a recluse, barely leaving the house and not socializing except for the Ladies’ Society of Mayfair she belonged to.

The members and her charity work kept her busy enough and saved her sanity.

She did not need the London social scene.

Life as she had known it was over for her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling him inside. “Get in here before someone sees you.” Once inside, she tugged him up the stairs and into the drawing room, forcing him to sit in a chair. Before settling on the settee, she checked the ties to her robe, hoping she was sufficiently covered.

Sitting, her hands trembling on her lap, she studied Andrew.

Gone was the impeccably groomed and put-together young man, and her heart ached.

Before her sat a man she didn’t recognize; his hair was overlong and disheveled.

His clothing was askew, and his cravat was untied and bore wine stains.

His scuffed boots looked like his valet hadn’t polished them in weeks.

But what shocked her the most was how much weight he’d lost. His cheeks were hollowed out, and his eyes sunken, bloodshot, and rimmed with dark circles.

His overall pallor was gray-tinged. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was on death’s door.

Tears sprang in her eyes, and she fought them back along with the lump in her throat.

It went without saying that her heart had pounded inside her chest from the moment she opened the door.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink or eat?”

His hands tugged at his hair, and he made an unintelligible sound. “Something to eat would be nice.”

“Excuse me while I see what I can find in the kitchen.” She hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, where the cook always left food for such an occasion as visitors in the middle of the night or someone needing a snack.

Mostly, she left it for Harrison, her butler, as he spent many wakeful nights in the kitchen.

Emmeline fixed a plate of cold turkey, bread, and cheese with a glass of lemonade and hurried back to Andrew, surprised to see him still awake.

She had been almost positive he would fall asleep while she was in the kitchen.

She handed him the plate and placed the glass of lemonade on a side table.

He ate in silence, his attention focused solely on his food. When only crumbs remained on his plate, he put it on the side table, picked up the lemonade, and downed the glass.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

She barely heard him. She cleared her throat.

“What brings you to my door at this hour?” She would be lying to herself if she hadn’t been waiting for him to come to her door once her mourning for Aiden had ended.

But the more time passed—and he still hadn’t come—the more she sank into despair that he would never come.

Perhaps he had never loved her. Now finally he came, one and a half years out of mourning, and he looked to be at death’s door.

She fought back the tears—her intuition warned her he wasn’t here for her.

His shoulders rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled. “My father threw me out. Threatened to disown me. I’ve been staying at Mayfair Imports and Exports. Weston and Caldwell have a sofa in their office.”

Emmeline’s mouth opened in shock as she tried to find the words to speak. “He threw you out?”

“I think I made that clear.”

“But why?” Her eyes connected with his, and Emmeline’s heart stopped at witnessing tears slide down his face. The only other time she had seen Andrew cry was when Aiden died.

“I’ve been an arse. Gambling. He refused to cover my debts. I’m essentially homeless.” He wiped the tears from his face. “Christ, I’m a bloody mess.” He stood and groaned, “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“But you did. You may as well tell me why.”

He ignored her and made his way out of the room and down the stairs. He paused before the door and turned to her, his face full of anguish. “I came to say goodbye.”

Goodbye. Where was he going? “You are leaving London?”

“Yes. I’m setting sail tomorrow with Weston to the West Indies. It may be years before I’m back to stay.”

Years? Her heart stopped or shriveled and died—she couldn’t tell which. Nor did it matter. “I see.”

He moved forward so he stood only inches from her. “Before I leave, I want to know why Aiden was unhappy. He never drank to excess, especially when riding and hunting were involved. What did you do to him?”

Emmeline gasped and covered her mouth in shock. Was he blaming her for Aiden’s death? He wouldn’t be that cruel, would he? What had happened to the Andrew she had known... and loved?

He held up his hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” With a look of contempt, he left her standing in the hall, her heart in her throat and tears raining down her face. Not only had she lost her husband but now the man who owned the other half of her heart as well.