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C ontrary to Emily’s hopes, her mother’s lectures did not diminish at the knowledge Emily had secured an invite into the duke’s home.

She’d been shocked to learn that Freddie had been in the dressmaker’s earlier, but she had forgotten that in the excitement of the invitation to step foot in Glanmore House.

If anything, her mother’s lengthy discourses became worse, the more enthusiastic her mother became; by the time they had finished their evening meal, she had become incredibly shrill.

It was lucky Emily was used to ignoring the majority of her mother’s comments, because she was able to close herself off from the worst of it.

Just the thought of her only unwed daughter getting within the same house as such an eminent title was enough to send her mother into a whirlwind of excitement.

The evening plans were cancelled and an endless array of outfits and hairstyles were tried, the best of Mary’s daughter’s discarded clothes selected and inspected.

By the time Emily crawled into bed, her scalp aching from the bruises from the many pins that had been pushed into her hair, she was seriously regretting ever making the offer to Freddie.

She wished Eloisa were in London so that she could send her best friend a message about everything that had happened over the last few days.

Admittedly she would leave out the trespassing and the strange urge to run her fingers along the length of Freddie’s jaw.

The note would be all about her mother’s behaviour and how over the top she was being.

Knowing she could make light of her mother’s actions, that her friend would understand and would somehow find amusement in the situation would see her through the day, but it was not to be.

Eloisa was away for at least another week, visiting an aunt in the country, and Emily had never missed her more.

By the time the next day arrived, her mother was vacillating between predicting this was the moment Emily’s life changed forever and lamenting the fact that the duke would see her daughter for the lover of books she was and that would ruin any hopes of Emily ever making any match at all.

‘It is unlikely that you will catch the attention of the duke,’ said her mother as they prepared to leave, ‘but do try not to talk to him about how much you read. No man wants a bluestocking for a wife.’

Emily bit her tongue to stop herself from retorting that, if she was unlikely to catch the duke’s attention what did it matter what she spoke to him about? ‘Yes, Mama,’ she murmured.

‘Speak up, girl. Nobody likes someone who mumbles.’

Emily gathered up the dresses in her arms, glad that her sisters had had a prior engagement that prevented them from joining this expedition.

Both sisters had left home when they’d married but seemed to visit with alarming frequency.

It was bad enough her mother had to accompany her to Glanmore House but to have her vibrant sisters as well would have been torture.

That Freddie thought she was a dull little mouse was something of which she was always aware, but they were the type of women Freddie would whirl around the dance floor, laughing and flirting with ease before depositing them back to their husbands. Emily was not.

The contrast between her and Freddie could not be stronger: the quiet girl who liked to read and the charismatic young man who’d never done a day’s work in his life.

Not that any of this mattered. It was highly unlikely that Freddie would even be in this morning.

Despite the fact he had been at the dressmaker’s yesterday, he was probably not going to concern himself further with the business of getting dresses for his niece.

She and her mother would no doubt be greeted by the girl’s maid and not see any of her uncles.

The best-case scenario for Emily and perhaps the worst for her mother.

The butler greeted them warmly and some of Emily’s trepidation faded. The duke could surely not be as austere as he seemed if he had pleasant staff and if he was, she need never be in close proximity to him again after this morning.

The man led them past large, formal sitting rooms toward the back of the house, their shoes clipping on the highly polished floor.

Emily knew from the layout of her own home that the more private sitting rooms were kept in this section of the building.

From the proud tilt of her mother’s chin, her mother knew it too.

Indeed, Emily could see her mother’s ego inflating with every swish of her skirts as the butler led them deeper into the family home.

And then the pitiful wails hit them.

Emily’s grip on the dresses faltered at the sounds of such pure distress.

‘Do be careful, Emily. Nobody…’ But whatever her mother had been about to say was mercifully cut short as they reached their destination.

The butler announced them, but none of the occupants of the room turned to watch their entrance.

Emily paused on the threshold, unable to believe what she was seeing.

One hardly ever saw the Dashworth brothers together in public.

Emily thought she might have seen the two younger brothers together once but otherwise they strode through Society alone.

They were all sophisticated and well dressed, they were the sons of a duke after all, but there was a dangerous edge to them all.

The Ton was simultaneously in awe of them and slightly afraid.

Aside from the duke, the brothers were renowned for skirting close to the edge of propriety, never quite doing anything too awful as to get themselves exiled from Society but occasionally treading dangerously close.

Mothers wanted their daughters married to them but also for them to stay away in case they were compromised.

It was a difficult juggling act, but so far, none of the brothers had been embroiled in a scandal and they were from such an eminent family that every hostess wanted them at their event.

This morning, they were not sophisticated or well dressed and they were currently not at all dangerous.

All four of them wore expressions of extreme misery.

With his crumpled face, Emily thought Edward looked moments away from throwing himself out of the nearest window.

Christopher, the youngest of the brothers, stood, clinging on to the edge of the fireplace, his knuckles white, and even the normally stoic duke had his fingers locked together in what could only be described as a wringing of the hands, something Emily had hitherto only expected to see from elderly aunts.

But it was Freddie who held most of her attention.

Her arch-nemesis was kneeling next to a young girl whose face was contorted in anguish.

His hair was standing on end, his clothes were rumpled and he was blinking rapidly as if holding back tears of his own.

There was not a trace of the amused debonair man she knew him to be.

Emily wordlessly thrust the dresses at the duke, who took them without comment.

She heard her mother’s faint gasp as she strode across the sitting room.

She knew she would surely pay for her unladylike behaviour later, but for now her only concern was the small human whose anguish was being so keenly demonstrated.

From the doorway, Emily heard her mother’s tinkling laugh as she addressed the duke.

‘Children, they do bother so.’ For the first time in her life, she knew for certain that it was her mother who had completely misinterpreted the emotions in the room.

Not a single one of the men here thought that their niece was a burden.

She could tell from their own looks of agony they were desperate to make this little girl happy, that they would do anything to make it happen, that her obvious distress was hurting them all deeply.

Equally, it was she who understood what this social situation required.

She perched on the edge of a settee near Freddie, arranging her skirts in a ladylike way so her mother would have nothing to criticise about her behaviour here.

‘She has not stopped crying for hours.’ Freddie’s voice was hoarse, his lips tight. ‘I think it is time to call a doctor. She is obviously very ill.’

‘I do not think that will be necessary,’ Emily murmured. Now she was close, she had a good idea of what the problem might be and why it was unlikely any of the men in the room had thought of it. ‘What is this young lady’s name?’ she asked, louder this time so she could be heard over the sobbing.

‘This is Charlotte.’

Emily leaned forward and gently brushed a damp strand of hair away from Charlotte’s bright red cheeks.

‘Hello, lovely Lotte. You are having a terrible morning, my dear, but do not worry, it is all going to be just fine in a moment.’ She reached up and touched the little girl’s ringlets, which were tightly bound in a hairstyle better suited to a debutante going to her first ball.

‘I am going to loosen your hair and get those beastly pins out. They must be hurting you terribly.’

Tears continued to stream down the little girl’s face, her whole body scrunched in on itself in distress, but she watched as Emily gently began to unravel the tightly arranged hairdo.

‘I think you need to get someone more used to dressing a little girl than the person you have now. This style is more suitable for a lady of my age,’ said Emily to Freddie, as she pulled pin after pin out from the style.

‘Although, I do not think many of us would enjoy so many of these against our scalp. Feel how sharp they are.’ Without thinking she leaned over and poked one onto the back of his hand.

He hissed, snatching his hand away, rubbing the skin.

‘That really hurt. No wonder she is so distressed. Poor Charlotte.’ He raised his hand as if he was going to pat the girl on the shoulder but dropped it before he connected, and Emily’s heart squeezed.

She knew what it was like to feel awkward, not to know what a situation required.

It was painful and embarrassing and, for the first time, here was Freddie Dashworth in the very position she found herself in most evenings.

He obviously adored his niece; he was gazing at her as though awed by her very existence.

But it was clear he had no experience of young children and had no idea what he should do now.

She was sure that Charlotte would welcome Freddie’s comforting touch, but as Emily hated having her actions dictated to by someone else, she was not about to do the same for Freddie.

She turned her attention back to the little girl, the distraught expression on his face almost too painful to watch.

When Emily had pulled the last of the pins out, she ran her hands through the golden curls, checking for anything else that might be causing pain.

‘There,’ she said. ‘You are free from…’ But she didn’t finish.

Lotte flung herself at Emily, her thin arms wrapping around her legs.

The little body was still shuddering but her sobs finally subsided.

‘I need a drink,’ muttered one of Freddie’s brothers.

‘Me too,’ another one agreed. Emily didn’t turn around to see them leave; instead she stroked Lotte’s back.

She didn’t have much to do with her nieces and nephews and had not really felt the loss of being without young children until now.

She’d been so focused on finding a husband to get away from her mother’s constant stream of criticism, but now she realised there was something else for her to want even more.

To have a child of her own, someone to love and to be loved in return would be nothing short of a miracle.

Her heart swelled at the sight of the blonde ringlets cascading over her lap; there was something quite wonderful about having this little girl hug her so fiercely and Emily knew that she would even consider marriage to Baron Mothchild if it meant she could experience anything close to this again.