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speculatively. “Is it that you no longer have your chief asset to barter or is it that you don’t care for the notion of selling it in the marketplace?”
    Emma gave her a brilliant smile. “If it transpired that I no longer possessed my virtue, I would certainly not admit it and risk losing my post as your companion, now, would I?”
    Letty gave a crack of laughter. “Very well done, my dear. So you don’t care for the notion of bartering your assets for a wedding ring, eh?”
    “My fortunes may have fallen quite low of late,” Emma said. “But not so low that I am tempted to go into trade.”
    The London newspapers arrived shortly before noon. As was the case with most gentlemen in the country, Basil Ware subscribed to a wide variety, including
The Times
.
    Emma had spent the past hour alone in the library feverishly awaiting the arrival of the post. The household was finally astir, but thus far, few of the guests had ventured downstairs. When Mrs. Gatten, plump and placid, walked into the room with the papers in her work-worn hands, Emma practically pounced on her.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Gatten.” She scooped the newspapers out of the housekeeper’s grasp and rushed to the window seat.
    “Yer welcome.” Mrs. Gatten shook her head. “Never seen anyone so eager to read the papers. Not like there’s ever any good news in ’em.”
    Emma waited impatiently until the housekeeper had left. Then she jerked off the useless spectacles and set them aside. She tore through the newspapers, anxiously searching for the shipping news.
    There was no new word of the fate of
The Golden Orchid
, the ship in which she had invested nearly everythingshe had got from the sale of the house in Devon. The vessel was now more than two months overdue.
    Presumed lost at sea
.
    Emma had first read the dreadful words in the shipping columns six weeks ago, but she still could not bring herself to give up hope. She had been so certain that the single share she had purchased in
The Golden Orchid
would prove to be a shrewd investment. Her intuition had never been stronger than it was on the day she had risked everything on the vessel.
    “Bloody ship.” She tossed aside the last of the papers. “That is the very last time I shall follow a hunch.”
    But she knew, even as she took the oath, that she was lying to herself. Sometimes her hunches were simply too strong to be ignored.
    “Good day to you, Miss Greyson. The name was Miss Greyson, was it not? I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of you since you arrived.”
    Emma jumped at the sound of Basil Ware’s voice. She seized her spectacles and shoved them back on her nose. Then she turned to the gentleman who stood in the doorway.
    “Mr. Ware. Good day, sir. I did not hear you come in.”
    Basil Ware was an attractive man in a ruddy, open, outdoorsy sort of way. He looked especially good in the riding jacket and breeches that he wore this morning. He was seldom without his riding crop, which he carried the way other men carried walking sticks. In spite of his years in America, he was, she thought, the quintessential English gentleman, genial and fond of sports, very much at home with his hounds and his horses and his shooting companions.
    According to Letty, Basil Ware had followed the path of many a younger son. Alone and impoverished, he had gone off to America to make his fortune. He hadreturned to England early last year when he had learned that his aunt was dying and that he was her sole surviving heir.
    Upon taking up his inheritance, Basil had moved into the glittering circles of the ton with ease and a changing grace that had made him extremely popular.
    “Is there anything of interest in the papers?” Basil asked as he sauntered into the room. “I confess I haven’t kept up with events in London during the past few days. Been a trifle busy what with entertaining my guests.”
    “I saw no news of any great import.” Emma got to her feet and smoothed her dull brown skirts.
    She