If her mother had been well Emily would not have contemplated such a drastic step but in the present circumstances she doubted that her decision would be questioned.

“Have you taken leave of your senses, my lord?” The Right Honourable, Sebastian Edward Lessing, the Viscount Yardley, looked down his long aristocratic nose at his great-grandfather, the Earl of Westerham, seated comfortably in front of a roaring apple wood fire.

“Sit down, my boy, and stop glaring at me. I have merely suggested that you consider marrying my granddaughter, Emily Gibson. I do not see why you are so outraged.”

The tall, elegant young man, kicked viciously at a log in the grate, making the sparks shoot up the wide chimney. “I have no desire to become leg shackled, my lord. I have my duties in the government to perform. Taking a wife in such circumstances would be the height of folly. Good God, sir, I am hardly in the country at the moment. Since Boney escaped from Elba I could be sent abroad at any moment, surely you understand that?”

“Exactly, my boy, and what happens if you are killed? I know you are a diplomat, but you are often at the front line of battle, are you not?” Reluctantly Sebastian nodded. “You have no heir, with your death the title would die out, would you have that happen?”

“No, of course not.” Sebastian turned, flicked a piece of ash from his glossy top boots, and strolled back to stare unhappily out of the window. Acres of lush parkland rolled away from him.

Westerham had been in the Lessing family for hundreds of years; he owed it to his ancestors to ensure it remained so. He supposed great-grandfather was correct; he really had no choice. He needed to marry and set up his nursery.

“Very well, sir; I accept that I need to find a wife. But why my second cousin Emily? I did not know of her existence until five minutes ago. And what makes you suppose she would wish to marry me?”