“Of course, my lord, Lydia will direct you to your chamber. Lydia, show Lord Wesleigh to the Green Suite, please.”

Lydia, who appeared just as pale as Lord Wesleigh, nonetheless followed her mother’s dictum. She left the room, Lord Wesleigh following. At the doorway of his chamber, feeling compelled to say something, she mentioned that he must be pleased his father would be arriving soon.

“What’s that? My father?” Marcus asked in stronger tones then he had employed thus far.

“Why, yes, he is to arrive today, is he not?” Lydia asked.

“Of course, of course. Just so.” Lydia left him, and Marcus took off his glasses and began a hurried note to Alexander “Williams,” which he dispatched with one of the servants to be delivered to the vicarage.

Soon after Lord Wesleigh’s arrival, Emily took a maid and went for a walk in the village. She had no real errands, but wanted an excuse to get out of the house. She felt after meeting the marquess that she had some thinking to do.

She did not want to admit to herself how disappointed she was with the marquess. She realized now that she had been deceiving herself all along. She had thought, when she offered to marry the marquess in her sister’s stead, that she was being practical and reasonable. Now she realized that she had been hoping the whole time that the marquess would turn out to be someone she could love and respect. “A knight in shining armor,” she muttered disgustedly to herself. She had been as impractical and unreasonable as it is possible for a silly, romantical nineteen-year-old girl to be.

She knew as soon as she saw the marquess that she would not marry him. And she knew Lydia should not be forced to do so, either. So they were in a proper fix. Lydia, if she were allowed, would marry a vicar, and Emily would be maiden aunt to all their little blue-eyed babies. That was a far cry from the life of travel and excitement she’d dreamed of for herself. Unless, of course, she were to marry a certain curate . . .

Emily shook her head. He was a dastardly knave, toying with her affections and who knew what else. She was convinced he was not a curate at all. He wore a ring on his fifth finger that was probably worth a curate’s salary for the entire year. She didn’t know what he was up to, but the more she thought on the matter, the more she was convinced there was something not quite right about Mr. Williams. Unfortunately, there were times when she felt that there was everything right about Mr. Williams.

She sighed and, looking up, saw the man she had just been daydreaming about walking toward her. It was the first time she’d encountered him since their kiss, and she felt her cheeks coloring in memory. He smiled at her; really, it was almost a smirk, as if he knew what she was thinking.

“May I walk with you, Emily?”

Emily nodded, although all her instincts were telling her to flee, to run away as fast as she could from this man, with his twinkling brown eyes and mysterious behavior. She noticed he had called her Emily more than once now, and although she had not given him leave to call her by her first name, she had to admit she enjoyed hearing it on his lips. She would have also felt quite ridiculous making an issue of it, when she had allowed him the greater familiarity of embracing her.

“I wanted to apologize for my abrupt departure the other evening.”

Although Emily’s cheeks now felt as if they were on fire, since his words could not help but recall their actions directly prior to his departure, she felt this would be the perfect opportunity to get some answers to the questions that were plaguing her. “It did seem rather sudden. I could not help but think you were avoiding Lady Cynthia for some reason.”

“Now what reason would I have for avoiding such a beautiful young lady?”

“That is exactly my question, sir. She said afterward that she thought she recognized you.” Emily looked up at Alexander, fixing him with an accusatory glance she felt sure would signify to him that she knew he was up to something. To her dismay, he just laughed, and said, “My nanny always told me that everybody has a double somewhere. It appears Lady Cynthia has encountered mine. Now let us quit this subject. I find that when I am with you, I have no desire to discuss other young ladies. Do you not have any shopping to do, so that I will be forced to carry your parcels for you?”

“No, I should really be returning home.”

“Yes,” Alexander replied, removing a speck of lint from his sleeve, “I hear you have a guest in residence.”