The Baron to Break

There are times in life where
change is so slow, it seems as though it isn’t happening at all. Miss Emily Cranston, daughter of Viscount and Viscountess Marsden, had spent years hoping to be out from beneath her mother’s watchful eye.

And for years, absolutely nothing
had changed in this regard. Emily’s mother decided which parties she attended, to whom she spoke, what she ate, and when she slept. Emily had secretly begged for the iron hand of her mother to be lifted so that she might choose something,
anything, for herself.

But now, at the age of twenty,
without warning, not even the smallest hint, the greatest change of them all had occurred. Death.

Didn’t people often have a
premonition in this regard? Some clue, a shiver or a dream or something that warned them irrevocable circumstances were about to occur?

She’d received not even the
smallest hint…

And in one swift accident, a muddy
road and an overturned carriage, she’d lost both her parents, and now, Emily found herself alone. She was finally able to make her own decisions, and she’d give it all back to have her parents with her. Alive. A tear slid down her cheek, covered by the veil she still wore on her head.

The funeral had been hours ago, but
she’d not bothered to take her heavy veil off, nor had she removed the simple black gloves that still covered her hands. Anything lavish would have seemed…wrong.

Her brother had been gone for near
a year on some tour of Europe and while word had been sent to him, Emily had no idea when he might return or how long she’d have to drift along these halls without a bit of company. He’d been due back months ago and not only had he not
come home, they’d not received a single letter since he’d left France bound for Spain. Worry fluttered in her stomach.

She felt like a ghost in this
moment, alone and not really living at all.

No one had prepared her for such an event. She’d been smothered in attention for years. What would she even do alone?

Her mother had been attempting to
match Emily with some suitable lord for the last year and a half. Emily had tried her utmost to avoid the matches, not having found any of the men of particular interest.

They’d been much older, or dull, or
not particularly handsome. Her mother had regularly thrown up her hands. “Lord Tinderwell owns more land than any duke in England. What’s the matter with you?”

“The matter?” she’d ask. Lord
Tinderwell was twice her age and not a particularly good conversationalist. Was it wrong for a girl to wish for a bit of adventure? Excitement? Romance even?

She winced as she blotted more
tears from her eyes. If she’d listened to her mother, she wouldn’t be in this predicament now.

She’d have her husband’s arm about
her, facing her parents’ death, yes. But not the soul-crushing loneliness that filled her.

She lay down on the settee, tucking
her hands under the side of her face. She’d written to her best friend, now the Duchess of Wingate. Surely Aubrey would be able to help her. Or at least keep her
company while she waited for her mourning period to end and her brother to return.

And after that? Would her brother
help her find a match? He’d have his own new duties to fulfill, being the heir.

Perhaps Tinderwell was still
available. She sat up. His Grace could write to the man on her behalf, ask for
a meeting…

Distantly, she knew these were the
acts of a woman who was desperately afraid, but suddenly, she needed some anchor to hold her in place. She was adrift, alone, and adventure sounded like
the silly girl’s notion who didn’t understand just how delightfully secure she’d been.

“Miss Cranston,” the butler spoke
softly from the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt but you have visitors.”

“Visitors?”

“Your father’s solicitor.” The butler
cleared his throat. “And a second man who claims to be a friend of your brother’s, Lord Robinson.”

She stood, blinking several times,
her gut giving a strange twist.

The solicitor she’d expected,
though to be fair, she thought he’d not come calling until her brother had arrived.

But Lord Robinson…

She’d met him at Aubrey and
Wingate’s wedding six months prior, which felt like a lifetime ago. Her father had allowed her to attend without her mother, trusting Aubrey and the Duke to be her chaperones.

Robinson was tall, dark, and
exceptionally handsome, his piercing green eyes the color of grass and mystery. Not that she’d spoken a word to him, despite him being her brother’s childhood
friend and a friend of the Duke. He was also a fair bit older than her—and a rake at that. Emily was well aware he’d never be interested in the likes of her.

Still, the trip had been a
tantalizing taste of freedom that had elated Emily, though in this moment, her excitement seemed foolish. She ought to have stayed home. Found a suitor.

“Send them in,” she said.