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“But we never have before.”

“I realize that.” He had a sinking feeling that making this course correction was going to be harder than he’d first envisioned. “But perhaps it is time that we take a step toward socializing with our neighbors again.”

She stared at him. Adam couldn’t say exactly what kind of reaction he had expected to his suggestion, but he was quite sure it had not been silence. She closed her book and sat up.

“Adam, I do not know the first thing about how to conduct myself at such gatherings.”

“Of course you do. Miss Glover has been giving you comportment lessons in preparation for your come-out for years.”

“I am quite sure I stopped listening at age thirteen.” Her hands were clasped so tightly about her book, her knuckles were white. “I . . . I . . . would surely embarrass myself and you.”

Silently cursing himself for allowing his absorption in the affairs of the manor and Freddie Payne to blind him to his duty to Emily for so long, he rose to his feet and moved to sit on the armchair opposite hers. “You would never embarrass me, Emily. Never. You are goodness personified, and anyone would be privileged to spend time in your company. I have been selfish with you for far too long. It is past time that I share you with others.”

“But . . . I cannot . . .” She glanced at her dress, and her expression when she raised her head again was even more stricken. “I have nothing suitable to wear.”

Blast it all. He’d almost forgotten the practical reason he had not accepted invitations to parties or dances for the last few years. His drastic economies in the household budget had included discharging his valet and Emily’s maid and cutting the acquisition of new clothing to a minimum. In truth, the only wardrobe items he’d purchased in the last five years had been the few day gowns Emily had needed because she’d grown out of her old ones. He could make do with fraying cuffs and a limp cravat beneath his old jacket. Emily, however, had nothing to choose from.

“We shall have a gown made for you,” he said. He would find the money somewhere. “Mrs. Foster must know of a seamstress in the village.”

“Miss Selfridge, yes. She has made gowns for me in the past. But did you not say that the Colonel’s birthday is on Saturday? I doubt she can make something that quickly. She usually takes at least a fortnight, and I would need to be measured and choose a fabric and a pattern and . . .” Her shoulders sagged as her list petered out. “I would scarcely know where to begin on choosing an evening gown.”

“But Mrs. Foster will,” Adam said, fervently hoping he was right.

He rose to his feet and walked to the door. Stepping into the passageway, he caught sight of the housekeeper near the stairs. “Mrs. Foster, would you join Miss Norton and me in the study for a moment?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Adam returned to stand beside Emily’s chair, and moments later, Mrs. Foster entered the room, slightly out of breath.

“How may I help you, my lord?”

“We are in need of your advice, Mrs. Foster.”

“My advice?” A look of relief swept across her face. “I daresay I can do that without much difficulty.”

“Miss Norton requires an evening gown for an event on Saturday. How would you recommend that we procure one?”

“Miss Norton? An evening gown?” If it were possible, Mrs. Foster’s eyes grew even rounder than Emily’s.

“Yes. For this coming Saturday.”

“I fear Miss Selfridge would not be up for so exacting a task at such short notice,” Emily said.

Mrs. Foster shook her head. “Creating an evening gown fit for the sister of a baron is no small undertaking, especially as you’ve not had a dress fitting in over a year.”

No dress fitting in over a year? It was a wonder Emily didn’t hate him for his parsimonious ways. He knew of no other female who would have gone half so long without demanding something new to wear.

“I’ve had no need of another gown,” Emily said. She frowned slightly. “It has been some time since I have grown any taller.”

“Yes. Yes, it has.” Mrs. Foster eyed Emily thoughtfully. “Would you be so good as to stand, miss?”

With a puzzled look directed at Adam, Emily rose to her feet.

“Mrs. Foster?” Adam had seen that look on his housekeeper’s face before. It was a mixture of contemplation and determination, and it usually appeared immediately before she took on a rather challenging chore. “If Miss Selfridge cannot be prevailed upon to make a gown within a few days, do you have another suggestion?”

“There might be a way,” the housekeeper said. “Miss Selfridge may be unable to create a new gown in that amount of time, but she could likely alter an existing one.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?” Adam said. “My sister does not own any evening gowns at all.”