The Accidental Countess. Michelle Willingham

gathering in her throat. He wasn’t worth the tears. The sooner he left Falkirk, the better.

      Emily forced herself to rise from the chair, suppressing the desire to smash every piece of china on the tea tray. Self-pity wouldn’t get her anywhere. She was married to a stranger, to a man who hadn’t kept his promises.

      And if he annulled the marriage, she had nowhere to go.

      The sound of a shouting child broke through her reverie. Emily gathered her skirts and rushed towards the bedchamber she’d converted into a temporary nursery. Inside, her nephew Royce sprawled upon the floor, playing with tin soldiers.

      ‘Attack!’ he yelled, dashing a row of soldiers to the floor. The tin soldiers and a book of fairy tales were the only things he had brought with him after Daniel had died. She smiled at Royce’s boyish enthusiasm.

      When he let out another battle cry, the shrill fussing of an infant interrupted. Royce’s face turned worried. ‘I didn’t mean to wake her up.’

      ‘It’s all right.’ Emily lifted the baby to her cheek. Her niece Victoria was barely nine months old. A soft fuzz of auburn hair covered the baby’s head. Two emerging teeth poked up from Victoria’s lower gums. The baby reached out to grab Emily’s hair.

      As she extricated Victoria’s fist, Emily strengthened her resolve. Though her marriage was in shambles, she had her family. She would keep her brother’s children safe, for she had sworn it upon Daniel’s grave. Now she had to gather up the shreds of her marriage and decide what to do next.

      ‘Aunt Emily?’ Royce stopped playing and drew his knees up to his chest. ‘Has Papa come for us yet?’

      ‘No, sweeting. Not yet.’ Like the worst sort of coward, she hadn’t yet told Royce that his father was never coming back. How could she destroy her nephew’s safe world of hope? Royce would learn the truth soon enough.

      She pulled Royce into an embrace with her free arm, holding both children fiercely. ‘I love you both. You know that.’

      Royce squirmed. ‘I know. Can I play?’

      Emily released him. The seven-year-old waged imaginary wars against the helpless tin soldiers, shouting in triumph when one soldier defeated an enemy.

      She sat down in a rocking chair, holding the baby. Victoria wailed, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Emily patted the baby’s back, wishing she could join the child in a fit of howling. She almost didn’t see the shadow of the Earl hovering at the doorway.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ She stood, clutching the baby as though Victoria were a shield. ‘You’re bleeding. You shouldn’t be out of bed.’

      His frigid gaze stared back at her. ‘This is my house, I believe.’ Tight lines edged his mouth, revealing unspoken pain. His dark brown hair was rumpled beneath the bandage wrapped across his temple. He leaned against the door frame, thinner than she’d last seen him, but he did not betray even a fraction of weakness. A rough stubble upon his cheeks gave him a feral appearance, not at all the polished Earl she’d expected him to be.

      And suddenly, she wondered if she knew him at all. Not a trace remained of the boy she’d idolised as a girl. Gone was his lazy smile and the way he had once teased her. His eyes were a cold-hearted grey, unfeeling and callous. Even in his wounded state he threatened her.

      Emily took a step back, almost knocking over the rocking chair. ‘Your head took quite a blow. You’re not ready to be up and about.’

      ‘That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it? If I were to stumble and bleed to death.’

      She kept her composure at his harsh words. ‘Quite. But your blood would stain the carpet. There’s no reason to trouble the servants.’

      ‘I pay the servants.’

      ‘And your fortune would continue to do so after you are dead.’

      Why, oh, why did spiteful words keep slipping from her mouth? She wasn’t usually such a harpy, but arguing made it easier to conceal her fear. He could make them leave.

      ‘I am glad to see I married such a docile model of womanhood.’ His sarcasm sharpened her already bad temper. Then his gaze narrowed on the children. ‘Who are they?’

      Emily’s defences rose up. ‘Our children.’

      ‘I believe I would have remembered, had I fathered any children.’

      ‘They belong to my brother. You are their guardian.’

      ‘Their guardian?’

      Emily cast him a sharp look, praying she could stop him from saying more in front of the children. It would break Royce’s heart to learn of his father’s death. ‘We will speak of Daniel later.’

      ‘Where is their nursemaid?’

      ‘I don’t want a nurse,’ Royce interrupted. ‘I want Aunt Emily.’

      ‘Royce, now, you see—’ Emily tried to placate him, but he refused.

      ‘I don’t want one!’ he shrieked, throwing a tin soldier on the floor.

      Emily knew what was about to happen. ‘Here.’ She stood and thrust her niece into the Earl’s arms. He took the baby, holding Victoria at arm’s length as though she had a dreaded disease.

      She knelt down beside Royce, trying to reason with him. ‘Shh, now. There, there. We won’t be getting a nurse. You needn’t worry.’

      ‘Papa will come soon,’ Royce said, his face determined. ‘He will take us away from here.’ With a defiant scowl towards Lord Whitmore, the boy let her comfort him.

      The guilty burden grew heavier. She couldn’t keep Daniel’s death from Royce much longer.

      ‘Emily—’ There was a note of alarm in Whitmore’s voice. Immediately, she released Royce and went to the Earl. She took the baby just as Whitmore’s knees buckled and he collapsed against the door frame. He bit back a moan of pain, and blood darkened the bandage around his scalp.

      Quickly, she placed the baby back in the cradle, ignoring Victoria’s wails of protest.

      ‘Help!’ she called out, hoping a servant would hear her. ‘Someone come quickly!’

      She knelt beside the Earl, supporting his weight with her arms. The flicker of a smile played at his mouth.

      ‘So you decided not to let me die after all,’ he whispered.

      His eyes closed, and she muttered, ‘The day isn’t over yet.’

      Stephen was not certain how much worse his life could get. He had a so-called wife who despised him, two unexpected children, and no memory of the past three months. This last aspect was the worst, and so he had summoned the butler Farnsworth to find the answers he needed.

      He struggled to sit up in bed, though the effort made him dizzy. Farnsworth arrived at last, clearing his throat to announce his presence. The butler had a fringe of greying hair around a bald spot and his cheeks were ruddy and clean shaven.

      ‘Tell me what happened the night I returned,’ Stephen prompted.

      ‘My lord, I fear there is little to tell. It happened two nights ago.’

      ‘Who brought me here?’

      ‘It was a hired coach. He didn’t know who you were. His instructions were only to deliver you to the door.’

      ‘Did he say who had arranged for my travel?’

      ‘You did, my lord. The coachman was an irritable sort, being as it was the middle of the night, and he insisted on being paid his fee immediately.’

      Obviously this chain of questions was going nowhere. ‘What belongings did I have with me?’

      ‘Nothing. Only the clothes on your back, such as they were.’

      ‘What