Emily spent the day by the fire, a dish of tea at her elbow, Pride & Prejudice open on her lap. She had not read a word; instead, she stared into the dancing flames, her thoughts circling chaotically.

She had never dared hope that she and Stephen might cobble some sort of life together. He would one day be The Earl of Durham and she was a lady’s maid. It was akin to a mouse falling in love with a lion. What life could they live?

But such unions were not impossible, she reminded herself. Lord Berwick, a baron, had married his mistress not three years past, had he not? And they were happy, by all accounts.

She sighed and rested a hand on her little bump. Even if all good society refused to admit them into their parlors, it did not signify. Stephen and she would be together. They would be a family. It would all be worth the sacrifice for him, surely.

Society may very well cast him out anyway, if the letter from Morris was to be believed. Marriage lines would be difficult for the family to dispute.

She sat back in her chair and drew a steadying breath. Guilt nettled her. Stephen did not even know about the marriage license, and Morris was still in Dublin, awaiting his response. She would do well to return it to Stephen’s desk, so he could confront the issue without delay.

Rising, she put her book down and walked to the wardrobe, pulling the letter and license out from her cloth bag. If she restored them to Stephen’s desk, he need never know she had them.

Earlier, Bess had told her Stephen and Miss Westgate had left to go shopping. Now might be Emily’s only opportunity to get into his study and back out again without arousing notice.

Tucking the little bundle into her bodice, she ducked out of her chamber and down the corridor. On the staircase, one floor below, the distinct sound of weeping drifted toward her. Emily paused. These were the guest quarters. Could it be Miss Westgate?

It was none of her concern, whoever it was. But she was much too compassionate to ignore such a thing. So despite her better judgment, she turned and moved toward the sound. She quickly found the source of it. One of the doors was ajar and she peered inside the room. It was Miss Westgate. She and Stephen must have returned from their shopping early. That certainly put a damper on her plan to return the letter.

The young woman sat at her vanity, crying as Bess tried—unsuccessfully—to arrange the woman’s hair into a plaited knot.

With a huff, Miss Westgate took a piece of hair between her fingers “No, no, this part here is sticking out too far.” She pointed to an illustration in a magazine that she held in her other hand. “See, look, it should be smooth just there and then curl up and join with the knot.”

“Oh, yes, I see…I think,” Bess replied.

“I must look perfect. I have reason to believe Lord Devon will announce our engagement at the Pembroke’s this evening and I fear I will not pass muster.”

Dear heaven, Emily’s heart lurched. She still believed herself engaged to Stephen. They had spent the day together—had he not spoken to her regarding Emily? Surely she would break off the engagement after hearing he wished to build a life with another woman. Or perhaps not. Perhaps Miss Westgate didn’t care. Perhaps all she wanted was his title.

“Apologies, Miss,” Bess squeaked. “I am doing my very best.”

Emily sighed inwardly. Bess was not a lady’s maid, and her skill, at present, was nonexistent. The knot she had chosen was far too complex for a housemaid to attempt, but Emily had done it many times. With a deep breath, she pushed through the door. “May I be of assistance, Miss?”

Both Bess and Miss Westgate turned toward Emily. Horror flashed across Bess’s face, but she quickly concealed it. Miss Westgate, for her part, looked mildly irritated. “Who are you?”

Emily blinked. She hadn’t quite thought this far ahead. “I am a maid here, ma’am.”

Miss Westgate lifted her chin, her eyes wandering over Emily freely. Whatever she found must have satisfied her. “Have you any skill at styling hair?”

“I do, indeed.”

Miss Westgate nodded once and turned back around to face the mirror, silently giving her consent to continue. Bess backed away, hands clasped demurely in front of her.

Stepping forward, she flashed Bess a reassuring smile, or what she hoped was reassuring. Emily took a comb off the vanity and gathered Miss Westgate’s silky brown hair in her hand. As Emily twisted and pinned her hair, she took the opportunity to study Stephen’s fiancé. She had not gotten a good look at her in the library.

She was far more homely than Emily had imagined. There was nothing extraordinary in her manner or expression, but that did not signify. Perhaps she was woman of wealth and consequence.

“Does your own lady’s maid not travel with you, ma’am?” Emily asked.

“My maid of nearly five years found a situation in Scotland. I didn’t have time before departing to find a replacement. And the Countess’ lady’s maid is unwell I am told. Truthfully, I suspect she doesn’t wish to wait on the likes of me.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked.

“I am not so dignified. My father was an attorney and my mother was a gentleman’s daughter. Doubtless, the Countess’s lady’s maid feels it beneath her dignity to wait on me.”

Emily reeled. Miss Westgate was not a woman of wealth or consequence? She was certainly not beautiful. Was it possible Stephen harbored true affection for her?

Emily swallowed, suddenly nauseous. Sweat beaded on her temples. She had not retched in the months since discovering she was with child, but she feared she might in that moment.

“I am sure you are mistaken.” Emily said weakly.

She pinned Miss Westgate’s wayward curls into an elegant, yet wistful knot on the top of her head. “There you are,” she said.

Miss Westgate glanced at herself in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. “Remarkable.” She turned and looked up at Emily. “You have an extraordinary skill.”

“It is nothing,” Emily replied, her stomach still tied in knots.

“When Lord Devon and I are married, will you not be my lady’s maid?”

“It is a kind offer, but could not possibly...” her words trailed off. What could she say?

Miss Westgate nodded. “Yes, I understand. You are very loyal. Her Ladyship is fortunate to have you.” She stared at herself in the mirror. “I often wonder how different my life would have been were I a maid and not a gentleman’s daughter. I could be whomever I wished, love whomever I wished…”

“No situation is without its struggles, ma’am.”

Miss Westgate wasn’t listening. “Have you any idea what it is like to flit from ballroom to ballroom, all the while play-acting?”

“No, ma’am.”

Miss Westgate’s eyes watered and she shook her head. “It doesn’t signify. Lord Devon has proposed and I have accepted. We shall be married and that will be the end of it.”

Emily squinted, utterly befuddled. “Do you love him?” Emily asked. Please say no.

A woman entered the room, and Miss Westgate brightened, waving Emily away. “Thank you for your assistance,” she said to Emily and then turned her attention to the woman who had walked through the door. “Harriet, darling. What do you think?”

The woman smiled dimly. “You look stunning, as you well know. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Emily nodded to Bess and they walked out of the door. When they were out of hearing range, she turned to Bess. “Who is that woman with Miss Westgate?”

“Oh, that is her companion, Miss Pearce. They are quite close.”

“Yes, it certainly appears so.” She shook her head and then turned her thoughts toward Stephen. “Is Lord Devon at home?”

She had left her room with the intent to return the letter, but with him at home, that would be far too dangerous to attempt. Still, it appeared they had much to discuss. Namely, why he hadn’t told Miss Westgate about her and the babe.

“Yes, he is in his study.”

Emily smiled. “Thank you.”

In seconds she was downstairs, standing in front of the double doors leading to his study. Pulling in a deep breath, she steadied her thoughts and knocked lightly. When she did, the door pushed open slightly, giving her a glimpse inside the room.

Stephen was not alone.

He sat, brandy in hand, with a young, remarkably handsome man. Neither man had heard her knock or noticed the door had opened a crack.

“As it happens, I have the perfect solution,” the man said. “Install your pretty little maid as your mistress. Then you may enjoy the best of both possible outcomes.”

Her heart leapt into her throat as she inched closer. They were speaking about her?

“Yes,” Stephen said. “Perhaps you are right.”

The man laughed. “Of course I am. What other purpose could you have for engaging with a scullery maid?”

“Lady’s maid,” Stephen corrected.

“Same kettle of fish,” the man said dismissively. “Install her in a house nearby and fuck her when it pleases you and then come home to your wife. It is the best you could offer such a woman.”

Stephen said nothing, but his silence was akin to agreement and that cut her deeper than any words could have.

Emily swallowed, her throat cinching impossibly tight. She could scarcely breathe and she swayed slightly on her feet. Stephen had promised a life together, but this, what he was agreeing to, was thrusting her back into a life of service. Not as a maid, but as something much worse. His tart. His harlot. The woman he would come to when he could not countenance lying with his wife.

She was seething with fury. How dare he use her so callously. She refused to be his plaything, to exist solely to serve his baser impulses. She was not a whore he could bribe and command.

The selfish, unfeeling cur.

Steeling herself, she straightened her spine and pushed the door open before she could find a reason to stop herself. Both men turned in her direction as she stepped into the room.

The shocked look on Stephen’s face quite satisfying.

Silence pulsed between them, until at length, the other man stood and swallowed the rest of his drink, then placed the empty glass on a nearby table. “I’ve suddenly remembered, I have a pressing engagement with a clutch of squealing young debutantes. Please excuse me.”

Pressing her lips together, she lifted her chin and watched as he left the room, clicking the door shut behind him. She turned her attention to Stephen, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere but there, facing her.

He stood. “Whatever you heard, Emily, you must allow me to explain...”

He’d lied to her. He’d allowed her to believe they had a future together. And all along, he’d planned on setting her up as his mistress.

She advanced, stopping in front of him, toe-to-toe. He could not treat her like a whore. She would not allow it. Her eyes filled with tears of fury. “You are a cur and a coward.”

Trust was not something she gave easily and yet she had trusted him. Perhaps that was the worst of this. That she had placed her faith in a man who clearly did not deserve it.

Or perhaps it was the harsh confirmation that the man she’d fallen for in Scotland no longer existed. Perhaps he never had.

Turning on her heel, she moved to make a theatrical exit, but was stopped when he caught her elbow, halting her. “Wait, Emily. You must see the difficulty I am in—”

She wrenched her elbow from his hand and glowered at him. “Yes, I see quite clearly now. I suppose I should thank you for enlightening me. I now know the sort of man you are.”

Each breath felt as though she were drowning. A sea of emotions engulfed her, creating a heaviness in her chest that prevented her from drawing in a full breath.

“This is not a fairytale, Emily. If I do not marry Miss Westgate, everything will fall to ruin. My title, my fortune, my family’s reputation.”

She was thoroughly perplexed. “What does the scandal have to do with Miss Westgate?”

“Her guardian is a judge with tremendous influence. If we marry, then that influence is at my disposal. Rumors can be silenced. My family name would be protected.”

She wanted to laugh. “Your connection with Miss Westgate will not save you.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Emily’s throat tightened. How much to reveal? If she told him she possessed the letter, then he would just strip her down until he found it. He had no scruples.

She tipped her chin upward. “I have read a letter,” she said. “In it, the author revealed the name of your father’s first wife and enclosed a copy of the marriage license.”

His eyes narrowed, dangerously thin, and his lips were pulled tight in anger. This was not a man one wanted to cross, and yet, he’d given her no choice. It was this or remain under his thumb indefinitely.

“You are lying,” he said.

“Am I?”

“Where would you have seen such a letter?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I have seen it.”

Something in his eyes flickered. Did he believe her? She could see his mind working, weighing the possibilities and the consequences of what she was telling him.

There was a light knock on the door before the butler admitted himself. “Miss Westgate and Miss Pearce are in the parlor, my lord.”

“And the carriage?”

“The carriage waiting.”

Stephen nodded once. “I will be out in a moment.”

With a stiff bow, the butler left the room.

Stephen turned his attention back to Emily. He stood stiffly, his jaw clenched. When he spoke, his tone was calm, firm, “Who authored this letter? Where is it now?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I could tell you, for a price.”

A tic pulsed in his cheek. “For a price, of course. What price might that be?”

“As I told you when I arrived, I only wish for a small loan. Grant me that and I will tell you everything.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I will not be blackmailed.”

It was her turn to narrow her eyes. “Then, I am afraid, my lord, we have nothing more to discuss.”

With a sharp pivot, she stalked out of the room.