She hesitated, for she didn’t want to go back. Tonight, she’d looked forward to a hot meal she wouldn’t have to cook and a house that was warm and cozy. Now it appeared that the weather had changed the earl’s plans.
With the greatest reluctance, she allowed him to help her inside the coach. Once the door was closed, his kind manner vanished. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a horse?”
“I could have walked.” She’d made it this far, hadn’t she?
“Were you planning to walk through a blizzard?”
What right did he have to be so angry? He wasn’t the one trying to walk across a muddy pasture in the snow. “I’ve no control over the weather, Whitmore. And I didn’t want to stay home.”
“I’ve postponed the dinner party. Few of the guests could come on a night like this. It’s becoming dangerous.”
She relaxed somewhat when she realized he was worried about her. The coach continued down the road, jostling her against the seat. Emily didn’t look at him, trying to keep him from seeing her frustration.
Her stomach churned at the thought of another night of potatoes. She tried to think of something amusing to say, something witty. But all she wanted to do right now was bawl on his shoulders like a little girl. Her evening of escape was already over, and she couldn’t push aside the bitter disappointment.
While they continued back to Hollingford House, she studied Lord Whitmore. Cool and collected, he was nothing like the young man she’d known so many years ago. There was a shield to his demeanor, as though he were a statue, molded into the shape his father had wanted.
“You never came to see me, all those years before,” she said slowly. “We used to be friends." The hurt balled up inside her, and she forced herself to continue. "I know you must have visited Falkirk. Why did you finally come to pay a call now?”
He studied her, his gray eyes discerning. Almost as if he were trying to find a reasonable explanation. He reached forward and drew the folds of her cloak together. “I should have come to see you. There are no excuses for my absence.”
But Emily knew the reason. The marquess ruled his son with an iron rod, and she wasn't good enough for him. She still wasn't. And now she wished he'd never come at all, making her wish for things she wouldn't have.
“And last night, you suddenly changed your mind?" she ventured. "After ten years?”
“The time was right,” was all he would say.
Right for what?she wanted to ask. Once, she’d hoped for someone to sweep into her life and rescue her. Someone to fix her brother’s disastrous finances since she was in no position to do so. But if that was why he’d come, why had he waited so long?
Her suspicions wouldn’t let go of the sense that something was wrong. There was pity on his face, not interest. And she didn’t want that at all.
When they arrived back at Hollingford House, the earl escorted her to the front door and rapped on it sharply.
“There’s no need to knock,” Emily pointed out. “I’ll be fine now. Thank you for bringing me home again.”
Stephen ignored her bidding and pushed the door open. The interior had grown colder, since she hadn’t been able to light a fire. Nor would it have been a wise idea to keep one burning when she wasn’t at home.
He stared at the dusty interior, and she shrank back, fully aware of his disgust. The bare rooms were hideous, devoid of furnishings. Bare patches lightened the wallpaper where paintings had once hung. It was an embarrassment to her family.
Stephen stared into her eyes. “Tell me you’re not living here alone.”
Not wanting to lie exactly, she offered, “When Daniel is in town, I’m not living here alone.”
“Your brother never should have left you like this.” His anger cut through the silence, making her even more uncomfortable. Before she could say another word, she overheard him giving orders to his coachman, to bring back food and coal from Falkirk.
She should have been grateful for it, but instead, she was annoyed by his charity. “You didn’t have to—”
“You cannot stay here. I won't allow it.” He cut her off without another word.
Her mouth dropped open. Why on earth would he say a thing like that? “It’s no concern of yours.”
She gathered the edges of her cloak, feeling unsettled by the question. Her skin prickled within her gown, and she cast a furtive glance toward him. His expression was masked, and she could not read his intentions.
The earl glanced around. “You’ll need a fire to keep you from freezing to death. From your earlier attempts at chopping wood, I’ll wager you don’t have anything to show for your efforts.”
“I have a few pieces,” she admitted. “But not enough. And the wood outside will be wet from the snow. It won’t burn.”
He muttered a few indistinguishable curses. “I’ve changed my mind. You can’t stay here.” He opened the door to call back the coachman, but the driver had already left to fetch the supplies he'd ordered. The snow fell thickly, the flakes swirling against his hair.
