“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Gibson.” He didn't offer his hand and Emily did not curtsy, she merely nodded politely. She might be as poor as a country mouse but she knew how to behave.

“I have read my letter, Mr Foster. It will take us a few days to get ready for a move to Westerham.”

“Of course it will, Miss Gibson. I have arranged to put up at the Bull, in the next village. I will leave a groom here, if that's acceptable. Please send word with him when you're ready to depart.”

Emily agreed she would do that. An extra pair of strong male hands would be a boon moving trunks and belongings down to the hall. Glebe House no longer had male indoor servants. She had had to let them go when her father passed away.

She picked up her skirts and ran lightly upstairs, the letter for her mother in her other hand. The one addressed to herself was burning a hole in her pocket. She felt her colour rise as she remembered its contents. The Earl had offered the Gibson family his protection and wished for them to come and live with him at Westerham. He had also agreed to find her a suitable husband but suggested that it would meet with his wholehearted approval if she agreed to marry his great-grandson, his heir, her second cousin, Sebastian Edward Lessing, Viscount Yardley.

She knew little of the man, apart from he was four and twenty years old and already a respected diplomat. She also knew that he lived in London, so must suppose he was a member of the ton, a Corinthian, and a man of taste and wealth. After all he had been living on his expectations for years as both his father, and grandfather, had predeceased the Earl of Westerham.

She smiled ruefully at her faded grey gown, twice made over, and sadly in need of renewal. Whatever would a fashionable man about town see in such a country mouse as she?

She stopped dead, clutching the banister for support as an appalling thought occurred to her.