The last of the books Paul's mother insisted on buying after lunch had finally found a home on the bookshelves in the family library, where Paul and his mother now sat.

"What a fun day we had, right, Paul?" Sarah propped her feet up on a stool in a most unladylike fashion. But it was her home, so she could get away with whatever she wanted.

"Yes, Mother," He poured them each a glass of brandy, another of his mother's affectations she could get away with in the privacy of their home.

Paul had found ways to engage Emma in conversation at every moment. He wanted to know all about her. Every time she spoke, he became more entranced with her. There was no denying that a special connection had been formed, but the fact remained that he was a duke and she ran a barely profitable bookstore.

"You were glued to young Miss Carter's side the entire time we were at tea," his mother prodded.

"Please, Mother, none of your matchmaking. I'm quite content with my life." Paul rolled his shoulders.

"You haven't been content with your life in quite some time. I'm not getting any younger, Paul, and neither are you," his mother stated the obvious. "I want grandbabies while I can still roll around on the ground with them." She pierced him with her stare. "You've paid penance for Margaret long enough. It's time to marry a good woman and start your family."

Paul returned the stare. "But you're well aware I don't consort with 'good' women, Mother."

"I'd say Miss Carter qualifies, don't you? She's lively, intelligent, and very attractive." Sarah smiled sweetly at him.

"She's neither titled nor does she come with a dowry, so no, she doesn't qualify." Paul leveled a glare at his mother. "It's expected that, when I do decide to settle down, it will be with someone of an equal rank in society. Imagine the gossip that would surround that poor girl."

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, brushed a hand over them, and then took a sip of brandy. Paul noticed her eyes were shiny, as if she were holding back tears. He took a deep breath and waited for his mother to speak.

"You are my dearest son," her voice broke as she spoke.

Paul tried to lighten the mood. "Could it be because I'm your only son?"

Sarah reached over and swatted him lightly on the knee. "Don't be impertinent with me, young man. Since Margaret's death, you've defied convention at every turn, haven't you? The only good that came out of that nightmare is that you've developed your own sense of style. But it's time for the rake to hand over his title to a younger crowd. I say it's now time for you to trust that God has given you a second chance at true happiness when you met Miss Carter. And you need neither a title nor a dowry for that."

"You are saying you don't believe my happiness lies with an appropriate spouse?" Paul raised an eyebrow at her.

"Precisely! I think, instead of raising an eyebrow at me, you should attempt to raise the eyebrows of your peers by marrying who you want, rather than who's expected." Sarah leaned back in her chair and took a breath. "There are quite a few women out there who are totally appropriate, and who are totally boring. They are waiting for you to make a choice. You should choose wisely, but make the choice be one you want."

Paul leaned back, as well, and drained his snifter in one long gulp. "And you think Emma Carter is who I want?"

"Well, you certainly were unwilling to relinquish your gaze from her this afternoon," Sarah laughed lightly. "And her mother is a dear. Just think of it, Paul. You get a woman who's intriguing, and lovely to boot, and I get a companion. Who among your peers can say the same about their marriages?"

"You may be onto something, Mother," Paul brushed his chin with his hand. He quickly categorized his married friends, and could only think of one instance where the man loved his wife to distraction and also got along with her parents. The rest had entered into arranged marriages, and all of their affections had dwindled to near nothing.

But such an unconventional step in his life needed more thought. He allowed himself to ponder Emma Carter as he rose and began to pace. She had a lively personality, got along with his mother, spoke intelligently, her dark hair and blue eyes were a beautiful combination of exquisite English beauty.

She'd hesitated at the suggestion they be seen in public together. How could he possibly court her? She'd resist him at every turn. He'd have to offer something so compelling she couldn't say no. He rubbed his chin again, taxing his brain. She'd never entertain the thought of marriage to him. At least not right away. Perhaps he could let his invitations lead her along.

* * *

Emma prided herself on her strength of character. She had been the strong one, and held her mother together after Father passed away. She had maintained the bookstore, and managed to earn enough to keep a roof over their heads for three years now. She had accepted her lot in life as a spinster and had been content, if not always happy.

But pride goeth before a fall, and she had fallen, in a hard way, for the Duke of Ravenswood. Certain she was nothing more to him than a simple girl who amused him, she allowed herself a few tears as she prepared for bed. She had to shed them privately, since her mother must never know of her feelings. Even though her mother appeared to have a good time with Paul's mother, she had done nothing since their return from tea except to tell Emma she was wishing for the stars if she thought the Duke would be interested in her. According to her mother, she should cut off all contact with him immediately before their neighbors began to gossip.

Emma listened to her complaints all evening with half an ear. Her heart still tingled from his words, and she allowed herself to remember every word, every gaze, and every smile from the day. How he remembered exactly how she preferred her tea, how he noticed the ink on her fingers and teased her about it, how he expressed sincere sympathy about her father's death. Her mother's words drifted around her while her mind rolled out the memory of the day.

Emma never expected to see him again. They were brushing past each other on the road of life. He was headed in one direction, she the other. She'd have to bundle her heart away, along with each memory she had of Paul, for those long winter nights ahead, when she'd try to stay warm with her thoughts of a love that could never be. And live alone, with only her mother for company. Although she knew what her life had in store, she could help but entertain a dream of marriage to a man who seemed to accept her idiosyncrasies. She prayed for guidance before falling asleep. Getting over Paul was not going to be easy, so she put her trust in God's wisdom and not her own limited understanding.

The next few days, she roamed the aisles of the bookstore, duster in hand and a pinafore apron over her dress, unloading a shelf at a time, cleaning every inch of space. Busywork kept her focused at a time when she was decidedly unfocused. The few customers who wandered in were almost an interruption. But she smiled, offered help and reading suggestions, and totaled up the orders.

Still no Paul.