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Nevertheless, Lilly could not judge or be angry with her.

In a cruel, unforgiving world where appearances counted for everything, Matilda Davenport had done her best to provide for Lilly and Charles. Besides, Lilly did not know, nor was she likely to ever know, the circumstances that drove Miss Davenport to such extreme measures.

Lilly would always be grateful to the kind, lovely-smelling woman.

Merrivale, the arrogant rotter, had not even cared to stay and meet Charles—his only brother, and he had treated Lilly, his only cousin as if she were vermin. A filthy rug to wipe his muddy boots upon.

Not that he’d had much choice in the matter.

A reluctant smile bent her mouth upward.

Likely guessing Lilly was on the cusp of boxing Lord Merrivale’s ears, Layton had agreed to join the viscount for a tankard or two in the village and bustled his lordship out the door before she could hurl an inkpot at the viscount’s head.

Layton still had not returned when Lilly finally went to bed at half midnight.

Sighing, she rolled her stiff shoulders, attempting to dispel what felt like a heavy oxen yoke weighing her down. Her burden was hefty because she cared so much for the children and staff, and what would happen to them if—God forbid—Merrivale succeeded in his vile mission?

Lilly might as well head to the kitchen and make a pot of tea. She would need several cups to stay alert after her sleepless night. And she needed her wits about her when she encountered Layton today.

What would she say to him?

Everything had changed between them.

She pressed her chilly hands to her suddenly flaming cheeks.

Lord, she had kissed him like an immoral wanton.

Dunderhead.

Dolt.

Simpleton.

Castigating herself as she made her way to the kitchen, Lilly faltered just outside the doorway. A light glowed from within.

Who was up before her?

Adjusting her shawl, she entered.

The distinct, pleasant aroma of rising bread teased her nostrils.

Mrs. B sat at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of tea, steam spiraling upward in front of her. Narrow shoulders slumped, she sniffled and dabbed at her lowered face.

Alarm washed through Lilly as she rushed across the cold stones.

“Mrs. B? Whatever is wrong.

“Why are you here so early?

“Didn’t you spend the night in Prudhoe with your ailing sister-in-law?”

Mrs. B lifted her startled, tear-dampened face.

“Mercy, Lilly. You gave me a fright.” She pressed a hand to her thin chest. “Why are you up so early?”

“I could not sleep.” Lilly slid into the chair next to Mrs. B and took the housekeeper’s gnarled hand in hers. “Did your sister-in-law pass away?”

“Lord, no. Trudy has a severe case of gout.” Shaking her silvery head, Mrs. B gave her a watery smile. “She is too stubborn to change her diet and suffers for her obstinance, but she is a long way from turning up her toes. She is not called moody Trudy for no reason.”