Page 59 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
When he met Emma and Mrs. Travers at the bottom of the grand staircase thirty minutes later, they were each carrying three baskets. Seeing that they were struggling, Vaughan took one from each of them and led them outside.
A faint breeze ruffled his hair.
“Oh, it’s lovely weather,” Emma said.
Vaughan wasn’t sure he’d go that far. It was mild but hardly warm.
He slid the baskets beneath the curricle seat and took the others from Emma and Mrs. Travers.
“Drive safely,” Mrs. Travers said as he helped Emma into the curricle and climbed up after her.
“We will.” He picked up the reins and urged the horses into motion along the gravel road.
Beside him, Emma leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs and drawing the fabric tight across them. Vaughan did his best not to look, reminding himself that unless they wanted to crash, he ought to focus on the journey.
“We’ll reach the Taylors’ home first,” he called over the rumble of wheels on gravel. “They’re our largest landholder. They have one grown son, one who’s away at school, and one who’s too young for school yet.”
Emma nodded but didn’t reply. Perhaps she didn’t want to shout above the noise. The country roads around here weren’t as smooth as the ones she was used to in London, although he supposed her family’s home in Surrey might have similar paths.
He slowed his pace when he noticed that her hair was whipping around her face, one section having come loose from its pins. She withdrew extra pins from somewhere within the folds of her dress and fixed it.
Apparently, his duchess wasn’t the type of woman to be bothered by a few hairs falling out of place. For some reason, he liked that about her.
Why the hell should it matter what kind of woman she was as long as she gave him an heir?
Yet, he couldn’t deny that he felt an odd sort of pride in having married her.
When they arrived at the Taylors’ farm, the youngest boy, George, came barreling outside.
“Your Grace.” He sketched a quick bow. “My mama will be just a minute. She’s making tea.”
“Thank you, George.” Vaughan jumped down and waited for Emma to stand, then he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to the ground. Her quick intake of breath drew his attention to the curve of her breasts within the modest green dress.
For a moment, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. There should be nothing alluring about a relatively simple garment, but she filled it beautifully.
“This is the Duchess of Ashford,” he said, squatting so he wouldn’t tower above George. “She has just come to live with me.”
“At the castle?” George asked.
“At Ashford Hall,” Vaughan confirmed. George had always been convinced it should be called a castle rather than a house because of its size.
Emma bent toward him and offered him her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, George.”
He smiled shyly. “You too, Your Grace.”
“Excuse my state, Your Graces. We weren’t expecting a call,” Mrs. Taylor said. She’d bustled out behind George and was fisting her hands in the plain gray skirt of her dress.
“I’m sorry, that was my doing,” Emma said. “I wanted to meet you, but I didn’t think about sending a message ahead.”
“It’s quite all right.” She hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. “Will you come in? Let me serve you tea. The men are still in the fields. George has been helping me in the kitchen.”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Emma said.
Vaughan agreed, content to let her take the lead as much as she felt comfortable doing so.
“We have something for you,” Emma said, selecting one of the baskets from beneath the curricle seat. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Taylor said.
