Page 5 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
They rode the rest of the way to Ashford House in silence. Vaughan gazed out of the window, allowing himself to decompress, grateful that Longley knew to give him space to gather his thoughts.
When they arrived, they were greeted by servants, who helped them disembark and guided them into the warmth of the house. Many large city homes could be cold, but Ashford House had been well-constructed and retained heat from the sun long after it had gone down.
By unspoken agreement, they headed down a hallway lit by a half dozen candles to Vaughan’s office. He removed his coat as they entered and hung it from a hook near the door, then struck a match and lit the candles in a holder to his left.
They illuminated the space well enough for him to cross the room to the oak desk positioned in the center and light the candles in the brass stand along one side. In another month or so, the ornate marble fireplace behind the desk would remain in use most of the time, but for now, it was unnecessary.
“Brandy?” he asked Longley, who’d sat on the brown leather chair on the opposite side of the desk and crossed his legs.
“Please.”
Vaughan went to the side table and poured brandy from the decanter into two crystal glasses, then passed one to Longley andtook the other around the back of the desk. He sank into the cushioned seat with a sigh of relief.
“You look like you need that.” Longley gestured toward the brandy.
Vaughan tipped the glass back and sipped, enjoying the burn down his throat. “Badly.”
“Are you sure you wish to take a bride this season?” Longley asked. “There will be many more evenings like this one, and no one would blame you if you wanted to put it off.”
Vaughan tossed back the remainder of the brandy in his glass, then closed his eyes and briefly allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of doing exactly that. He opened his eyes, got up, and refilled his glass.
“There’s no sense in delaying.” Doing so wouldn’t magically make him more amenable to social outings or quell his lack of desire to actually have a wife.
Longley held out his glass, and Vaughan filled it, then returned the decanter to the side table. “In that case, did any of tonight’s candidates interest you?”
An image of the second Carlisle chit’s dark eyes and full lips flashed through his mind, but he banished the vision as quickly as it arrived.
“I imagine any one of them would make a fine duchess,” he said honestly. All of the girls he’d danced with had been well-spoken, attractive, and from good families. “Am I correct in assuming that Lady Violet Carlisle is likely to be the most sought-after bride on the market this year?”
Longley nodded. “I really do think she would be perfect for you, Ashford. I don’t believe she would expect much of you, other than for you to keep her in the manner to which she is accustomed. She is an excellent foil for you. Quite the social butterfly. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders, andI’m sure her mother has trained her in what it takes to manage a large household.”
Vaughan swirled his brandy. “Are you sure I should marry her? It sounds as if you’d quite like to.”
Longley scoffed. “I don’t intend to shackle myself to any female in the near future.”
Vaughan raised the drink to his lips and drank again, a sense of calmness already stealing over him. “Is there a reason why you introduced me to Lady Violet rather than her sister?” he asked. “I assume they are equally eligible.”
“Lady Emma?” Longley gazed into his amber-colored drink. “On the surface, she and Violet may appear similar—although Violet is obviously more beautiful.”
Vaughan pursed his lips. He could see why Longley would say that, but he didn’t necessarily agree.
“Emma is quieter. More reserved. If not for Violet, she would be considered a wallflower. She is not someone who would cover for you so well in social settings.” He hesitated, then added, “I have also heard a rumor.”
Vaughan leaned forward, intrigued. “What kind of rumor?”
“That she”—Longley lowered his voice—“intends to marry for love.”
“Oh.” Vaughan sat back, a shudder running through him at the thought. His father had married for love, and it had turned out abominably. “Then she’s obviously out of the question. I will call on Lady Violet tomorrow.”
“Good.” Longley raised his glass. “Let’s toast to your future bride.”
Vaughan grinned. “And to Cousin Reggie never setting foot on Ashford land.”
Longley stayed a while longer. After he left, Vaughan rested his elbows on his desk, his chin on his palms, and closed his eyes.
A memory overtook him.
“Mother?” Vaughan crept into the duchess’s bedchamber, drawn by the sound of her giggles.
