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She lowered her eyes. “I have missed you too.”

Adam seemed to suddenly recall that they were not alone. Coming to his feet, he ran his hand across the back of his neck. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to be impolite.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Aunt Millward said. “It’s a pleasure to see your love for each other, and we all rejoice in Phoebe’s improvement along with you.”

“To see such a positive change in her is more than I had dared hope,” he said.

“There have been some other significant changes since you’ve been gone,” Phoebe said.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “It has not been that long.”

Phoebe glanced at Emily, and Emily’s stomach dropped. No, she wouldn’t. Adam had not even partaken of a cup of tea, let alone a large helping of bread pudding. Phoebe’s eyes twinkled. It was the same mischievous look she’d worn when she’d tricked Adam into leaving Emily with Aunt Millward at the Tilsons’ ball. “What has always been your greatest wish for Emily?” Phoebe asked.

Adam looked at Emily. “That she never grow up.”

It was true. He had told Emily that many times.

Phoebe sighed and tried again. “What was your hope for her when you brought her to London?”

Adam frowned, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “That she would find a gentleman worthy of her, who would love her as deeply as I love you.”

“Yes.” With a gentle smile, she set her hands atop her swollen abdomen. “Your first hope was always destined to fail, my love, and your second hope seemed almost inconceivable. And yet, I believe we all have reason to celebrate that the latter was not, after all, a complete impossibility.”

Adam’s frown deepened. Emily did not dare look at Henry, so she kept her eyes on Phoebe, silently willing her to say no more.

Henry, however, seemed to have decided that there was no time like the present. He cleared his throat. “Might I have a word with you in private, my lord?”

Adam’s jaw tightened, shock temporarily stealing his tongue.

“The answer is yes,” Phoebe prompted.

Straightening his shoulders, Adam turned to face Henry. “You may.”

“Use the library,” Aunt Millward said, reaching for the bell. “I shall order tea.”

Henry followed Dunsbourne out of the drawing room. This was not how he had imagined orchestrating the conversation he must have with the gentleman. Allowing him a day or two to recover from his journey or, at the very least, waiting until he’d eaten a solid meal had seemed a wiser course. But the longer he’d stood in the drawing room separated from Emily by protocol, the less inclined he’d been to wait for either of those things.

Lady Dunsbourne’s prompting had, in fact, been an unforeseen gift. Especially after witnessing the obvious affection she and her husband shared. Henry wanted the same thing. He wanted to walk into a room knowing that he could rightfully sit beside Emily, hold her hand, or even place a gentle kiss on her cheek. And he could only pray that her brother would grant him the permission he so desperately desired.

Dunsbourne entered the library and walked to the fireplace. The gentleman’s rigid posture spoke volumes. There was to be no sitting and discussing niceties, it appeared. So much the better. Henry had endured a sufficiently long preamble during Claridge’s visit to be more than happy to cut to the chase this time.

“What are your intentions toward my sister, Buckland?”

No preamble whatsoever.

Henry met the baron’s steely eyes without flinching. “I wish to marry her.”

“Why?”

Why? Lud, how was he to verbalize the way he felt about Emily? His overwhelming desire to always be with her, to support her in her every endeavor, to protect her, to work together to create a home filled with happiness?

“I love her, my lord. Her goodness and intelligence are all the more remarkable because she does not recognize them in herself. She is the most genuine, lovely young lady I have ever had the good fortune to meet.”

“No one deserves her.”

Henry suspected Dunsbourne’s gruffness masked how difficult this was for him. “I agree,” he said. “That Emily has singled me out to be the recipient of her particular affection is almost beyond my comprehension, but I can promise you this: I will strive to be worthy of her love every single day of my life.”

“Exactly how would you do that?”