Outside, rain poured in sheets, buffeted by an icy wind. She’d have to go out in it and soon, even if it meant catching her death of cold. One ear cocked in the direction of the kitchen, she listened for sounds of impending doom, or in her case, Billings’s precise march. Servant or no, he’d haul ...
One day, it seemed, her aunt was badgering her about a trousseau, and the next Emma was standing in the drawing room reciting vows in front of a parson. The ceremony passed in a whirl, not unlike the waltz she had shared with Battencliffe. How little time was required to attach her life irrevocab...