Page 34 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
She urged Heather forward, desperate to outrun the fear of what her future might hold. If her parents got their way—on the slim chance that the duke agreed with their outrageous plan—then she would never know how it felt for a suitor to give her flowers or for love to slowly blossom.
The Duke of Ashford wouldn’t nurture her finer feelings. She doubted he’d want anything to do with them. He wanted a beautiful wife. A diamond of the ton. Not just plain Lady Emma, the other Carlisle sister.
Emma breathed heavily and realized she was going too fast. She eased off and rubbed the back of Heather’s neck, giving Daisy a few seconds to catch up.
“My apologies,” she said. “I was distracted.”
“It’s fine,” Daisy panted, her face flushed red.
Behind the maid, Emma spotted a familiar tall, lean figure standing with an older woman on the bridge over the stream. She straightened in her saddle. Was that Mr. Adair?
She urged Heather to saunter closer slowly enough so as not to startle them. The pair turned as one. Emma’s heart lifted. It was Mr. Adair. That could not be a coincidence. She smiled and nodded to him in greeting. He caught her gaze, and for a brief moment, she thought he’d smile back.
But then Lady Marwick raised her chin and turned away, cutting them. After a couple of seconds, Mr. Adair followed suit.
Emma’s hope shattered.
Her smile froze in place, and she brought the horse to a halt.
“Forget them,” Daisy said. “Whoever they are, they aren’t worth it.”
Tears swam in Emma’s eyes, but she allowed Daisy to guide her and Heather away from Lady Marwick and Mr. Adair.
Despair rolled through her, threatening to swallow her in its blackness. She’d hardly known Mr. Adair, but she’d felt as if he had the potential to become important to her, and now that potential was gone.
Her parents were right. If he—a man who’d shown that he liked her on another occasion—wouldn’t have her now, then who would?
Surely no one decent. And if she wasn’t able to choose an acceptable match of her own, her parents might force one, and she could end up wed to someone elderly or ill-suited to her.
And what about Sophie?
Sweet, lively Sophie might never get a chance to sparkle in society.
She shifted on the saddle, adjusting her bottom into a more comfortable position.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
Daisy glanced over her shoulder. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She’d come out here to get her mind off her problems, but they’d followed her. Staying for longer would accomplish nothing.
As they rode, she summoned an image of the duke to her mind. He was, if nothing else, an exceedingly good-looking man. Those pale gray eyes of his reminded her of rain clouds, and his hair was thick and well-kept. The few times she’d been near him, he’d smelled faintly of oranges, which was a step up from many of the men she’d met.
At the sound of voices, Emma realized they were nearly back at the road. Daisy waited for her to take the lead and fell into step behind her.
Emma thought hard while they ambled along. When she’d met the duke, she’d believed him cold, and she’d been hurt when he’d danced with Violet and rejected her. But despite that, he’d come looking for her at Marwick House, and she’d gotten the impression that he genuinely cared whether or not she was all right.
Perhaps behind that austere exterior lurked the heart of a kind man.
They arrived at Carlisle House, and with assistance from a footman, Emma dismounted. She slipped Heather a treat from her pocket and petted her before allowing the stable hand to take her away.
Emma entered through the front entrance with Daisy trailing behind. Loud voices rang out from down the corridor—perhapsfrom the direction of her father’s office—and Emma stilled. Then, without looking around, she hurried toward the noise.
“Is he certain?” Lady Carlisle’s high-pitched tone was as clear as if she was standing right in front of Emma.
“Yes, Mary,” Lord Carlisle replied. “He is quite certain. Violet is now Mrs. Mayhew.”
Emma raised her hand to her chest just as Daisy gasped behind her.
