“You are not welcome here,” he said without preamble. “Furthermore, you are not going to touch a penny of my son’s fortune.”
“I don’t want his money. I don’t need it.”
The marquess glanced at Emily’s faded dress with unconcealed disdain. At his attempt to intimidate her, she stiffened. She had no choice but to fight for the children. If they went home, Daniel’s enemies would find them.
“I want to see the earl,” she repeated.
Lord Rothburne folded his arms, annoyed at her defiance. “I do not care what you want. My son does not wish to see you again. And if you do not leave of your own accord, I shall have Phillips remove you.”
Emily was strongly tempted to call out to Whitmore, in the vain hope that her husband would somehow appear and rescue them.
With a nod from the marquess, the footman scurried from beside the staircase and opened the front door. Outside, the rain slapped against the cobblestones. Emily had no choice but to beg. She couldn’t leave, not with the children’s future at stake.
“Please. Just let me see him for a moment. I won’t cause any trouble.” Outside, she could hear Victoria crying again, amid the noise of the London streets.
The marquess said nothing, his face stony with resolution. Emily stepped backwards, and the icy rain pelted her bare skin. A moment later, Phillips tossed her the cloak, and Emily caught it before the door shut firmly.
She stared up at the illuminated windows, not caring that the rain had soaked through her thin gown and hair. Her husband hadn’t come. What had she expected?
Woodenly, she returned to the coach, not knowing what to do next. She donned the cloak and then her bonnet, tying the soaked ribbons into a bow.
“Are we going inside, my lady?” Anna asked, bouncing Victoria against her shoulder.
Emily reached out and stroked her niece’s head while she held back the tears that threatened. “No.”
She should have been prepared for this. Lord Rothburne had never approved of her childhood friendship with Stephen, a fact that apparently had not changed. Though Whitmore held the courtesy title of earl and the power that went with it, the higher authority rested with his father.
“What will we do?” Anna asked.
“I don’t know.” The coachman was waiting for her to make a decision, but she could not think of any alternatives.
Had her husband really wanted to send her away? Or was it the only the marquess’s doing? Whitmore might not know she was here.
In her mind, she conjured up the image of a handsome prince, locked in the tower. Or, in this case, the unsuspecting earl who had left his wife and children freezing out in the cold.
Before she could stop herself, she opened the door.
“Where are you going, my lady?”
“Tell the driver to circle around the streets. Keep going, and don’t stop until you see me outside again.”
The sheer force of her willpower drove her to do something rash. The rain blinded her, but she pushed through it, moving toward the servants' entrance. As she’d hoped, it was unlocked.
The kitchen staff stared at her in shock. A plump cook nearly dropped the kettle she held in her hands.
“I won’t be but a moment,” Emily said to them, holding up the ruby ring. “I am here to collect my husband.”
Emily found the back staircase and took the steps two at a time before the startled servants could pursue her. If Stephen were here, she would find him.
Dripping wet, she steeled herself in case the marquess appeared. He didn’t. She listened carefully at each door, moving down the hall. Not knowing her whereabouts, at last she chose a door and opened it.
A snowy-haired woman in a champagne-colored dress sat reading. She stifled a shriek at the sight of Emily. “Emily Barrow, what on earth are you doing here?”
She recognized the marchioness, Lady Rothburne. “I am looking for my husband.”
Lady Rothburne gaped at her. “Does Stephen know you are here?”
Emily shook her head, just as a footman burst in through the open door. “My lady, I am so sorry. She came in before we could stop her.”
