The maid ran outside to alert the footman who was to escort her mistress downstairs. Emily brace herself for her ordeal. As Millie and Serena were to remain upstairs with Mary; she would have to brave the supercilious stares of the staff on her own. Jenny opened the door and the footman bowed.

“I am to take you to his lordship, Miss Gibson. Would you kindly follow me?”

Emily nodded and glided gracefully out of her sitting-room to retrace her steps down to the Grand Hall. She had time to wonder where her mother was and if her reunion with the Earl had progressed well, and then they were in front of imposing, ornately carved doors.

Two footmen guarded each side, like sentries. They sprang forward and flung open the double doors, leaving her framed in the doorway. One of them stepped forward and announced in a loud voice. “Miss Emily Gibson, my lords.” He bowed and disappeared back down the wide carpeted passageway.

Emily felt unwelcome perspiration trickling down her spine as she walked into the room. The elderly gentleman, with a shock of grey hair, impeccably attired in superfine topcoat, knee breeches and shining top boots, watched his eldest granddaughter approach. He smiled, just. “Welcome to Westerham, my dear. We are so glad you have found the time to join us, at last.”

Emily froze in mid-step and flags of colour appeared on her cheeks. She dropped into a low, formal curtsy, dipping her head, not wishing her anger to show. With careful elegance she rose and met the Earl of Westerham's critical gaze. “I apologize if I kept you waiting, my lord.” She stopped there, offered no further explanation, or greeting, or effusion of delight at her incredible good fortune.

The man, leaning nonchalantly against the mantelshelf, his fair hair cut fashionably short, hid his smile. His great-grandfather would not like that answer one jot. Sebastian decided that maybe he had been premature in his judgement of Miss Gibson. The girl had backbone, and intelligence, and in that rig she looked almost presentable.