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I think I’ll have my hair styled differently,’ Emily told her lady’s maid. ‘I was visiting Lady Albrighton yesterday and she looked delightful with her hair curling loosely around like this.’ Emily took a few strands and showed her maid what she had in mind.

Jane stood frozen, her hand clutching the brush. ‘I’m not sure I can, Miss Emily.’

‘It is really easy, Jane. It will hold in place like this.’ Emily demonstrated the simple loop, which looked lovely but, even more importantly, used a lot fewer pins and should save her scalp.

Ever since Freddie had looked at her as if she were a wool-brained fool because she willingly wore a painful hairstyle, she’d been busy thinking of ways to reduce her discomfort.

Freddie was right; not that she’d tell him, or at least, not that she would have told him before now.

They seemed to be developing a tentative friendship that might end their years of pointless squabbling, although talking about her hairstyle with anyone other than her maid could be considered deeply strange.

Still, she was more likely to discuss her hair with him now than at any point during their acquaintance.

Any contact between them would probably cease when she married; their paths would rarely cross and they might be more friendly but they certainly weren’t friends who would stride across ballrooms to greet one another happily .

The only way they would stay in touch was if she married the duke.

She took a deep breath as her heart plummeted.

Her mother was convinced the duke was close to officially courting her.

That he called once a week with Charlotte was all the proof she needed.

Emily was sickeningly aware that he did, indeed, appear to be showing her marked favour.

There was nothing wrong with Freddie’s older brother.

He would probably treat her with respect and she would be out of her mother’s reach as mistress of her own home.

There was no need to feel as if a leaden weight were pressing down on her chest trying to cut off her airways.

For one thing, the duke had not asked if he could court her and so she was getting so far ahead of herself she was almost becoming her mother.

Until the Duke of Glanmore made an obvious move in his courtship of her, marriage to him was not something she needed to spend time thinking about.

Nor was there any point in thinking about the press of Freddie’s palm against her lower back as he had led her around the ballroom.

His hand was no different from that of any other and yet she could still feel it against her, days after he had held her.

While she’d been woolgathering, her maid had remained in a fixed position, her hands out in front of her but not actually reaching for Emily’s hair.

‘Shall we start?’ Emily smiled softly. ‘I really do not think it will be difficult to do.’

‘It’s not that, Miss. It’s that I don’t think your mother would like it if I changed your hair. She’s adamant on the style I always do for you.’

Emily’s smile froze on her face. ‘I thought we decided how I wear my hair.’

Jane shifted on her feet, her gaze darting around Emily’s bedroom as if hoping for a rescue.

‘Jane,’ repeated Emily. ‘Tell me that we choose my look together. ’

Jane’s lips pressed together and she shook her head.

Emily attended her dress fittings; she knew that her mother had control over the outfits that were bought for her, but she had thought that, within these confines, she had the final decision on how she put up her hair and what clothes she wore.

Her mother’s opinions were strong and Emily knew she chose her clothes and hairstyles in order to avoid lengthy lectures, but she thought that she was choosing.

From Jane’s expression, it was obvious she’d been wrong.

For a long moment, Emily stared at her reflection.

Who was the woman she saw gazing back at her?

Not anyone to be proud of, that was for sure.

The woman in the mirror was someone who allowed herself to be browbeaten, who took the easiest route when it came to what she wore and how she presented herself.

She let her mother walk all over her purely so that her own life was not difficult.

Hell, the only person she was herself in front of was Freddie, her once-enemy now not-quite-friend but something more than acquaintance.

And, if she could be like that with him, then what was really stopping her from being herself around other people, other than fear?

‘Thank you, Jane. That will be all.’ Jane stayed exactly where she was.

‘You are dismissed.’ Emily never spoke to her parents’ servants in such a manner.

She’d read enough books to know that her mother’s condescending tone towards those she considered lesser than herself was extremely bad manners at best and degrading at worst. Today, anger was bubbling underneath her skin.

Anger at herself for being such a pushover, anger at her mother for never treating her like an equal and, irrationally perhaps, anger at Jane for not being able to put Emily’s wishes first.

‘But, Miss, you are not ready.’

‘I shall manage, Jane.’ Although her knees were shaking, she managed to inject authority into her voice, pretending to be someone she wasn’t, someone closer to her mother than her true self.

Or maybe this was who she was deep down but she had been bending to someone else’s whim for so long, she could not remember.

Jane shot her a look of misery but didn’t argue with her any further. Emily waited until the door shut behind the maid before rushing over and locking it.

Her fingers were shaking so badly it took her several tries to pull off the dress she was wearing.

She threw it onto the bed, glaring at the garment as if it had personally wronged her.

She hadn’t really been paying attention when Jane had pulled it from her armoire and slipped it over her head, but now knowing that she had not chosen it herself somehow summed up all that was wrong with her life.

She scratched her arms, trying to get rid of the strange itchy sensation crawling all over her skin.

Deep inside the house, the old grandfather clock began chiming for eleven.

Hurrying around the foot of her bed, she pulled out the first dress she could find.

It was a plain frock that she had embroidered around the edges of the neckline with yellow flowers, their leaves and stems entwined.

The petals reminded her of her much-loved spot in the Glanmore garden and the soft spring flowers that appeared in early May signalling the start of her favourite time of the year.

It was one she did not wear often. Her mother had pulled a face when she had first spotted Emily’s needlework and had never paid the intricate design any comment, but Emily loved it and was going to wear it in protest.

Sitting in front of the mirror, she arranged her hair into the soft loops she’d been hoping Jane would achieve.

It took far longer than she had anticipated and was a little wonky, but most importantly, it was comfortable and with a little practice she would perfect it.

Besides, it didn’t matter what she looked like this morning, her callers were only Lotte and one of the duke’s maids .

Lotte came over most mornings. It had started as dress fittings but had now morphed into the two of them playing or reading.

They were working their way through a book on animals; the wording was too heavy for the little girl, but the drawings were lovely and Emily was making up stories about each picture as they went along.

The duke occasionally came with Lotte, enough times that her mother was satisfied that Lotte’s visits were a tradition worth keeping; anything to keep Glanmore’s attention.

Emily knew he was dealing with a business matter this morning and would not be with Lotte for this visit, something she had kept from her mother for fear it would be cancelled.

She loved her time with Lotte; the little girl’s innocence was refreshing and the way Lotte already seemed to love her unreservedly was something Emily hadn’t realised she had needed until she’d received it.

She paused, resting her fingers on the door handle.

Maybe marriage to the Duke of Glanmore wouldn’t be so awful.

She would become mother to the little girl she already adored, she would have permanent access to the library and she would be out from under her mother’s control.

The duke may be stern and intimidating but she doubted he would criticise her constantly.

She pulled the door open and began to walk down the long corridor, the floorboards creaking underneath.

If she married Glanmore, she would have to live with Freddie.

The two of them seemed to be getting on better these days, but for some reason, the idea of being married to his older brother set her on edge.

She’d have to see Freddie all the time if they lived under the same roof and now that she’d started noticing things about him, she didn’t think she’d be able to go back to the way they’d been before.

Now that she knew he could draw so beautifully, it would be hard to take his happy-go-lucky nature at face value.

Now that she knew his dark hair curled slightly at the base of his neck, she wasn’t sure she could be in the same room as him day after day and not long to touch it.

Now that she knew he could be breathtakingly kind, she wasn’t sure how she would live through his teasing insults.

As she rounded a corner she heard Lotte’s babbling voice, already audible from the sitting room, and she hurried down the stairs.