Page 52 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
“I like exploring new places,” she said, pouring herself more tea. “But I haven’t traveled far. Only between my parents’ homes in Surrey and London and on a trip to Bath we took a few years ago.”
He winced internally. If she hadn’t traveled much previously, then no doubt yesterday and today would be difficult for her. He was a cad not to have thought of asking about this ahead of time or at least making certain she knew what the plan was.
“I hope you will like Norfolk,” he said. “I think it’s beautiful, but I might be biased.”
“Surely not,” she teased, draining her cup and then returning it to its saucer.
“Only a little.” He rubbed his face, using his hand to mask his smile. It wouldn’t do for her to know that he was affected by her. “Is there anything you need before we leave?”
“Only to freshen up in the bedroom,” she said. “I can be ready in a few minutes.”
“Excellent.”
Together, they went back up the stairs. Vaughan’s bag had already been collected—presumably by one of the staff—so he checked to make sure nothing had been left behind and then waited outside Emma’s room until she emerged.
She had a book in her hands, and he glanced at the title but couldn’t make it out. Something by Jane Austen, by the look of it.
They farewelled Mrs. Lemmings with a promise to stay again and got into the carriage. Emma immediately went to the window and picked up the book he’d given her yesterday. She placed the other novel on her lap and opened the adventure book.
The early morning sun streamed through the window and caressed the elegant length of her neck. Her golden hair seemed to glow, and he forced himself to look away. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself enthralled by his wife, and that simply would not do.
“You like to read?” he asked even though it was self-evident.
“I do.” She barely glanced away from the page. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
“Mine too,” he admitted.
This time, she did look up and flashed her pearly teeth at him. “Then we shall get along famously, provided you don’t feel the need to disparage Jane Austen as some men do.”
“I would never.” Vaughan believed that everyone should read what they most enjoyed, and Miss Austen had succeeded in creating readers out of many young ladies who might otherwise not partake in literature.
Emma didn’t reply. She was engrossed in her book.
They didn’t speak much during the journey to Ashford Hall, and Vaughan couldn’t help but wonder if that was partly because of how he’d asked her to be quiet yesterday. He watched the scenery pass by for a while, and when that grew tiresome, he selected a French poetry book from the seat box and began to read.
By the time they passed through Beecham, the nearest town to Ashford Hall, he was itching to stretch his legs. He crossedhis ankles and gave himself as much space as the carriage could afford.
Emma closed her book and looked through the window. “Is it much farther?”
“Only another couple of miles,” he said. “Before we arrive, I’ll summarize who you can expect to meet after we arrive.”
“Thank you.” Her obvious relief made him feel like an ass for waiting this long. In his defense, he’d assumed that if he left it until the last minute, she’d find the names and positions easier to remember.
“The housekeeper, Mrs. Travers, has been at Ashford Hall since I was young. She runs a tight ship, and I’m sure she’ll be pleased to meet you.”
She nodded, her face an image of concentration.
“The butler, Mr. Yeats, has been there for almost as long.” He preferred the former duke’s laissez faire style of management to Vaughan’s, but considering the improved financial state of the dukedom—and his corresponding pay increase—he rarely made comments about that anymore.
“Mr. Travers does most of the cooking, and Donald tends to the gardens,” he said.
“Is Donald his first or last name?” Emma asked.
Vaughan shrugged. “I can tell you that if you call him Mr. Donald, he’ll ignore you. It’s Donald or nothing. There are several maids and footmen, who have a variety of duties, a stablemaster, Mr. Jensen, and my valet, Hugo.”
She nodded. “So the key players are Mr. and Mrs. Travers, Mr. Yeats, Donald, and Mr. Jensen.”
The carriage crested a small rise and Ashford Hall came into view in the distance.
