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    From there, he led them through the vast ballroom with its banks of crystal teardrop chandeliers and rows of cheval mirrors extending the to ceiling, then into the duchess’s private salon, also known as the gold salon, since the walls were covered with pale green satin embossed with paper-thin gold leaf foil in a floral motif.
    Lady Sudsley plopped her ample frame onto the nearest Hepplewhite chair and announced that she was perfectly content to forego the balance of the tour and spend the next hour in this delightful room. The other ladies immediately decided to join her, and from the avaricious looks cast on the delicate objets d’art with which the room abounded, it was obvious to Emily that each was laying plans for the day when her daughter would be the next duchess to claim ownership of the salon and its priceless contents. For the first time, she found herself feeling a little sorry for the high and mighty Duke of Montford. With all his wealth and power, he would never know the kind of unquestioning devotion her sweet-natured mother had lavished on her impractical father.
    Their next stop was the duke’s library—an impressive collection of first editions that made Emily’s mouth water just gazing at them. From there, they moved on to the games room, where they lost several members of the party to the billiard table—all except the besotted young earl, who remained glued to Lucinda’s side while Mr. Rankin and the remaining members of his tour examined the manor’s many other salons, including the green salon, the blue salon, the Grecian salon and the pretentious Chinese salon, which the last duchess had furnished with a plethora of authentic Fourteenth Century red lacquer furniture and exquisite hand painted screens depicting the development of the arts during the Ming Dynasty.
    Lucinda pronounced this replica of the emperor’s throne room “very pretty and cozy,” and the earl fervently agreed, declaring it his favorite room at Brynhaven. Then, since Lucinda complained she was exhausted from the strenuous tour, he tucked her slender arm into his and led her through a convenient set of French windows to a bench in the Duchess’s rose garden. Emily watched them go with her blessing. With twenty-four guests and two hundred servants roaming about the house and grounds, she could see no impropriety in two starry-eyed young people sitting together in the spring sunshine.
    “You are obviously a patient woman, Miss Haliburton, as well as one with a forgiving disposition.” Mr. Rankin ‘s dark eyes twinkled behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. “It is all too apparent I have bored the rest of our little group to flinders.”
    “I cannot imagine why,” Emily declared. “I found both your discourse and your delivery quite fascinating.”
    “Why thank you, Miss Haliburton.” An appreciative smile brightened Mr. Rankin ‘s thin face. “Would I be assuming too much then to hope you might wish to see more of the house?”
    Emily stared at him, dumbfounded. “Surely, sir, you cannot mean you would conduct a tour just for me.”
    “I cannot think of anything I would rather do,” he said earnestly. “The perceptive questions you’ve asked have shown you to be a highly intelligent young woman—something I rarely meet in my line of work.” He studied her closely. “You would not by any chance be related to the noted scholar, Sir Farley Haliburton, would you?”
    “He was my papa,” Emily said, flushing with pleasure. “You know his work?”
    “The duke and I have followed his research with great interest. In fact, two of his publications are in the library of the duke’s London townhouse.” He frowned. “But you referred to your father in the past tense. Could it be that the academic world has lost one of its most devoted researchers of ancient myths and legends?”
    “Papa died three months ago,” Emily managed in a choked voice. She looked away, avoiding Mr. Rankin ‘s perceptive