Page 3 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
How she wanted that.
Emma sipped her lemonade, wishing it were laced with something stronger. Something that would make the evening more tolerable. It wasn’t that she didn’t like balls. She rather thought she’d enjoy them if she weren’t such a wallflower.
“Emma!”
Emma flinched and spun around. Her mother, Lady Carlisle, was making a beeline toward her around the edge of the ballroom, past the row of chairs where the spinsters and chaperones sat, drawing even with the refreshments table. Her eyebrows had climbed impressively high and her eyes were narrow as she appraised her erstwhile daughter.
“What on earth are you doing all the way over here?” her mother demanded. “Nobody will ask you to dance if you do not remain near the dancing.”
Emma pursed her lips. She thought there were likely other, more pressing reasons she was not asked to dance, but far be it for her to say so.
“Sorry, Mother. I shall return with you momentarily.”
She tried to finish her lemonade, but Lady Carlisle plucked the glass from her hand and put it on the table.
Emma sighed. “Very well.”
Lady Carlisle took Emma by the arm and guided her back into the fray. Emma nodded at an acquaintance of hers who was, likewise, not particularly popular with the males of the aristocracy.
“Doesn’t Violet look brilliant tonight?” Lady Carlisle asked, watching her other daughter with such pride stamped across her face that Emma had to look away. It was difficult to bear theknowledge that she never brought her mother the same level of joy.
“She does,” Emma agreed because it was true. Violet sparkled tonight, as she did every night. The song ended, and there was a brief pause before the next one began. Violet was making her way toward them across the dance floor on the arm of a handsome gentleman Emma did not recognize.
The music started again, and Emma tapped her foot, wishing somebody would ask her to dance. Even an elderly bachelor or a homely one would do. She did so love to dance.
“Mother,” Violet said as they drew near. “This is Mr. Bently.”
“Cousin to the Earl of Longley,” Mr. Bently added—presumably to make himself look like a better catch to the Carlisle matriarch.
“He’s quite a dashing dancer,” Violet exclaimed.
Emma felt a pang of envy. She tried not to be jealous of Violet, but sometimes it was difficult.
“Lady Carlisle.” The voice came from behind Emma and startled them all. Emma’s hand flew to her chest as she turned toward it.
Lord Longley smiled broadly. He tipped his head. “Lady Emma. Lady Violet. Bently.”
“Lord Longley.” Violet’s smile was beatific. Lord Longley was on her shortlist of prospective husbands. While Emma wanted to find a connection before she married, Violet was much more pragmatic. A title and a fortune would do nicely for her.
Lord Longley waited for the greetings to finish and then gestured to the man beside him, an austere-looking fellow with an immaculately tailored waistcoat, dark hair, and eyes the color of the sky on a cloudy morning.
“Please allow me to introduce you to my good friend, the Duke of Ashford.”
Emma heard her mother’s quick intake of breath. Violet was more subtle, but her eyes still widened. Emma didn’t know why they were surprised. She wasn’t. If the rumors were to be believed, the duke was looking for a bride, and Violet would make a remarkable duchess.
There was a chorus of “Your Graces” followed by curtseying, during which Emma surreptitiously watched the duke. His eyes were unusual and quite stunning, but he didn’t have the same amiable air about him that Lord Longley did. In fact, while his mouth twitched slightly during the introduction, he didn’t even smile.
When Emma found a husband, she’d want one who smiled regularly and laughed easily.
“A pleasure.” The Duke of Ashford’s voice was cool and cultured. He reminded Emma of what she imagined the character of Mr. Darcy from the novel she was reading would sound like. He turned to Violet. “Lady Violet, may I have this dance?”
Violet fluttered her eyelashes—dark, unlike Emma’s overly pale ones—and smiled. “It would be an honor.”
She took his hand and allowed him to lead her away. As soon as Violet left, Mr. Bently made his excuses, and the earl melted away into the crowd.
“Would you believe it?” Lady Carlisle asked, hushed but excited. “A duke.”
“They look lovely together,” Emma said. The duke had an intriguing dark handsomeness about him that did not appeal to her, but she knew many young ladies would go crazy for it. In conjunction with Violet’s pale blond hair, strawberries-and-cream complexion, and dark eyebrows and eyelashes, they were a striking pair.
