Page 103 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
Emma cleared her throat. Perhaps she hadn’t thought through the implications of returning home with newlyweds.
“Mrs. McPhee, if you show me to my chamber, I will retire for the night. I’m exhausted.”
Violet pulled away from her husband. “Oh, Emma, you must accompany us on the tour.”
“Tomorrow,” Emma said firmly.
Violet pouted but didn’t press the matter.
“This way, Your Grace.” Mrs. McPhee guided her inside and led her up a staircase. The bedrooms were on the second floor, and Mrs. McPhee took her to one that overlooked the garden at the rear of the house.
Once the housekeeper had explained everything necessary, Emma closed the door behind her. She collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She’d been so sure this morning that she was making the best possible decision, but now she had to wonder.
Had she ruined any chance she might have had at convincing Vaughan to open his heart to her? And why did she already miss him?
She shook her head. She shouldn’t get caught up in maudlin thoughts. She was sure that Vaughan wasn’t missing her, and at least nothing here reminded her of him.
Somehow, that only worsened the hollow ache in her chest.
Vaughan tossed backa mouthful of brandy and plunked the glass onto the table.
“Another, please,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the cacophony of voices typical of a busy evening in the Regent.
A server appeared at his elbow and reached over to pour more brandy into the empty glass. Vaughan thanked him, grabbed it, and sipped this time. He was already well on his way to being soused, so there was no reason to rush anything.
His head spun as he inhaled cigar smoke, and he sputtered.
Longley eyed him disapprovingly. “This isn’t like you.”
“What isn’t?” Vaughan asked, although he knew exactly what his friend meant.
Longley folded his arms over his chest. “Why are you here instead of in Norfolk with your lovely new wife?”
An image of Emma’s face as she’d driven away flashed through Vaughan’s mind. Her eyes had been downcast, but her shoulders were straight. She was so strong, his duchess.
And now, she no longer shared a home with him—a thought that made him oddly morose.
“What’s wrong?” Longley asked, apparently seeing something in his expression to cause concern.
Vaughan sipped his drink again, barely even noticing the burn.
“Emma is visiting with Lady Violet at the Mayhews’ Essex estate,” he said. “Meanwhile, I am to remain in London for the rest of the season.”
Longley cocked his head. “Why?”
Vaughan grimaced. “You know I never intended to reside in the same house as my wife.”
“I did,” Longley acknowledged. “But anyone could see that you and Emma are well suited. I thought you would change your mind.”
Vaughan grunted. “So did she.”
“Ah.” Longley took Vaughan’s glass from him and drained it.
“Hey,” Vaughan protested.
“You don’t need this,” Longley told him. “What you need is a clear head so you can tell me everything that happened.”
Vaughan tugged uncomfortably at his cravat. He didn’t feel like spilling his guts.
