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Emily worried that Harriet would not be able to assume all of Emily’s responsibilities. All the siblings would have to grow up fast. And in a few years, Harriet would need to seek a position, too. Because marriage prospects were now closed to them all.

But at least, they wouldn’t starve. And Emily would be hidden away from scandal—the current scandal and the one that was about to come.

“Do you want me to—?” Harriet started but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

Emily and Harriet exchanged a curious glance. Who could it be? Another missive from Lord Sutton, perhaps?

Another rap. More forceful this time.

Her heart drumming in her chest, Emily hurried toward the door.

The rapping intensified.

Who was this impatient person? She threw the door open and gasped.

Whoever she imagined she would see behind the door, well, she was wrong.

There stood a tall—very tall, Emily had to crane her neck to look at him—and rather handsome young gentleman. He paused, his arm raised as if ready to strike the door again.

He was impeccably dressed in all black save for the crisp white shirt and cravat, his coat snuggly hugging his powerful, broad shoulders.

He had a straight aristocratic nose, sharp cheekbones, and a chiseled jawline. And his wavy jet-black hair curled at the bottom, softly caressing his shoulders.

There was something familiar about him, but also something very foreign and even exotic. He was like a prince from the fairy tales, the ones she used to read as a child with illustrations. And for a moment, Emily fancied herself the heroine of one of those tales, falling madly in love at first sight.

The Prince’s emerald green eyes glinted with some unfathomable emotion, and his full lips thinned into a single line.

He straightened and tugged on the lapels of his ironed-out coat. “Do you not have a butler?”

His voice immediately brought Emily out of her daze and into reality. He was not a prince from a fairy tale. Far from it. This was the Duke of Tyrone!

Emily took a step back from the shock of the realization.

He looked extremely different from the two times she’d seen him. His beard was gone, his hair was combed and styled in a way that didn’t make him look like a sixty-year-old vagabond who hadn’t cleaned himself in weeks. He looked… respectable. And young! She’d known he was young, but now he looked like it.

“Are you going to let me in or should I stand here all day?” he barked, and the remnants of shock faded away along with the dreams of love at first sight.

Her fingers curled into fists and she craved to throw him out on his arse, the way he had done when she came to his house.

But he was a duke. And if he’d lowered his pompous self to come to her little cottage, perhaps he had something important to say.

“Please, come in,” she said as politely as she could muster and opened the door wider.

He stepped inside and looked around, contempt evident on his face.

“Not the palatial grandeur you are used to,” Emily said scathingly and closed the door behind him. “Please, proceed into our drawing room.”

She curtsied mockingly all the while smiling sweetly at him.

He didn’t look amused. “After you.”

“Of course.” Emily walked toward the only room that was acceptable enough to entertain a guest.

“Harriet, be a dear and bring the duke some tea, please,” Emily said as they passed the stairs where her sister still stood, frozen, her mouth gaping open.

Harriet didn’t move a muscle.

The duke threw a glance toward her before turning to Emily. “Your butler doesn’t open the door, and your maid is not listening to your commands. What kind of household do you run?”