Emily had written to her grandfather, telling him of her father's death, and her mother's poor health, but had received no response. She knew there was no point applying to her Uncle Peregrine for he had died many years ago. She supposed that she must have cousins and second cousins but the connection was too distant to be of any use to her now.

Her spirits sank when she looked at the pile of papers on the desk. All demands for payment and she had scarcely enough funds to cover them. And now the roof had sprung a leak and there was nothing she could do about it. At this rate Glebe House would fall down around their ears before they had the wherewithal to repair it.

She sank back on one of the threadbare, sagging chairs and her shoulders slumped. What could she do? Was there no way out or did certain ruin face them? Where could she obtain the necessary money to solve their problems?

Suddenly she sat up; clapping her hands to her mouth as an incredible idea occurred to her. Yes; it was the only way. She would find a wealthy man and marry him. She frowned as a potential problem occurred to her. She didn't know any men wealthy or otherwise. But she knew someone who did!

She scrambled up and hurried over to the desk. She pushed the pile of bills to one side and placed a clean sheet of paper in front of her. She would write, one last time, to her grandfather.

He was, after all, her guardian, and the head of her household, even if so far he had ignored his duties.

She carefully trimmed a quill and prepared to write the most difficult letter of her life. She was going to ask her grandfather, the Earl of Westerham, to find her a suitable husband. Years ago he had arranged a match for his daughter, Althea, but she had refused his choice. Perhaps his granddaughter's willingness to be married to a man that he selected would heal the breach between the families.