Page 27 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
The truth is, when I met Mr. Mayhew, I felt all of those things you talked about when discussing love. My heart fluttered, and energy seemed to crackle between us each time we touched.
I could think of no one but him. He consumed me.
I considered marrying the duke anyway. I hoped a connection would grow between us, but he is so cold compared to my beloved.
Perhaps if I had not met Mr. Mayhew, I would be content to share a life of comfort and convenience with the duke, but now that I have, I cannot settle for that.
I’m sure you, of everyone, will understand.
Wish me luck with my nuptials.
Yours,
Violet.
CHAPTER 7
Vaughan was reviewingthe account ledger for one of his estates when a knock at the office door heralded the arrival of his butler, Gladwell.
“Your Grace, the Earl of Carlisle is here to see you,” Gladwell said, standing stiffly in the doorway.
Vaughan stretched the kinks out of his back and glanced at the clock. He hadn’t expected to hear from the earl today. Perhaps Carlisle wanted to review the settlements prior to the banns being read.
“Thank you, Gladwell. Show him in.”
As Gladwell left, Vaughan closed the ledger and set it aside. He made it a practice not to allow anyone to see inside his books other than the estate managers and his solicitor.
When Lord Carlisle entered, warning alarms sounded in Vaughan’s head. The earl’s shoulders were slumped, and his clothing was rumpled. For a man who was usually immaculately turned out, this was all it took for Vaughan to know something was wrong.
“Good afternoon, Ashford,” he said, lowering himself slowly onto the chair opposite, as if his bones were weary. He turned his sunken eyes on Vaughan, who blanched.
“Good God, man. You look terrible.” He shouldn’t speak to an earl like that—and especially not his future father-in-law—but the situation called for it.
Lord Carlisle’s expression was bleak. “I’m afraid I bear bad news.”
“What is it? Has something happened to Violet?” That was the only thing Vaughan could think of that may cause the earl to appear so uncharacteristically disheveled.
“Yes, but not in the way you think.”
A chill of premonition washed over Vaughan. His gut rolled, and he rested his hands on his lap, out of sight of the earl.
“Tell me,” he said.
Lord Carlisle cleared his throat. “You have no idea how sorry I am to tell you that Violet has eloped.”
A buzzing sound filled Vaughan’s ears, muffling the words.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you repeat that?”
Carlisle looked sick. “Violet has eloped with Mr. Thomas Mayhew.”
Dear God. No wonder the earl was an unbecoming shade of green.
Silently, Vaughan stood and went to the decanter of brandy stationed on the side table. He poured the amber liquid into two crystal glasses, then picked up one of them and downed it. The drink burned his throat and heated his gullet but couldn’t dispel the churning nausea.
He refilled his glass and offered the other to Carlisle, who gulped the brandy as rapidly as Vaughan had.
“Another?” Vaughan asked.
