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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 await ing the arrival of the post. The household was finally astir, but thus far, few of the guests had ventured downstairs. When misses Gatten, plump and placid, walked into the room with the papers in her work-worn hands, Emma practically pounced on her. Thank you, misses Gatten." She scooped the newspapers out of the housekeeper's grasp and rushed to the window seat.
     
Yer welcome." misses 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 everything she had got from the sale of the house in Devon. The vessel was now more than two months over due. 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. Mister 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 had returned 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 charming 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 was about to excuse herself when a large, hulking figure garbed in Lady Ames's distinctive blue and silver livery appeared in the door way. Swan, Miranda's personal footman, bore no resemblance to his graceful namesake. His neck was so thick that it was almost nonexistent. The planes of his face were flat and broad. The fabric of his expensive livery was stretched very snugly across the bulging muscles of his chest and thighs. His hands and feet made Emma think of a bear she had once