Page 88 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
While Mrs. Smith prepared their tea and Emma’s scone, the three women sat at a table near the window. Miss Snowe’s maid hovered nearby, the poor girl.
Some light filtered inside, but the tea room was dim, and the maroon ceiling and maroon-and-white wallpaper didn’t lighten it at all.
Violet looked amused. “You know, I could have been the one getting fawned over.”
“I had heard that,” Miss Snowe said.
Emma thought she might follow it up with a sly remark, considering she’d used that fact in an attempt to embarrass Emma during their previous encounter.
“Really?” Violet sounded surprised. “Does gossip from London travel this far?”
“It’s not so far, really,” Miss Snowe replied. “It’s not as if we’re in Northumbria.”
Violet inclined her head. “True.”
“But I know something I doubt you do.” Miss Snowe sent a sidelong look at Emma before refocusing on Violet.
“Oh?” Violet leaned toward her. “What’s that?”
“I, too, almost married the duke.”
She looked so smug that Emma wished she could strip the expression from her face. Emma seriously doubted that Vaughan had ever considered marrying Miss Snowe, but evenif he had, it was most impolite of her to bring it up in Emma’s presence.
Although that seemed rather the point.
For some reason—perhaps because Emma had what she wanted—Miss Snowe was determined to upset her.
“Were you really?” Violet demanded, her mouth forming an “o” of surprise.
Miss Snowe nodded and glanced at Emma with a cattish smile.
Violet, apparently not realizing what she was up to, said, “Tell me more.”
Vaughan was relieved when,after dinner, he was able to retire to his office. He’d offered to share a drink with Mr. Mayhew, but the other man had been more interested in working on a poem he was writing. That suited Vaughan just fine.
Dinner had been an uncomfortable affair, the Mayhews altogether too cheery, Emma unusually quiet, and Vaughan not in the mood to talk.
He opened his desk drawer and withdrew a stack of letters from within—primarily correspondence from his solicitor and estate manager. He unsealed the one on top and was halfway through reading it when there was a knock on his door.
“Come in,” he called, expecting it to be Emma.
However, it was Violet who stepped into his office.
His fingers tightened around the pen he’d been using to keep his place as he skimmed along the text. His jaw clenched, and he felt the sudden need to leave.
He had no feelings for Violet—he never had—but given their previous betrothal, it was improper for her to be alone with him, especially when he knew his wife had mixed emotions about her already. Nothing good could come of this encounter.
Violet wasn’t particularly intuitive, though, so she padded to the guest chair on stockinged feet and sat.
“I would like to apologize properly for jilting you,” she said, her expression uncharacteristically solemn. “I should have done so before now, and I want you to know that I really am sorry.”
Oh, God.
Vaughan glanced up at the ceiling and wished he could snap his fingers and avoid this conversation.
“It’s already forgotten,” he said, hoping she would drop the subject.
“No, it’s not.” Her chin took on a stubborn slant, reminding him of Emma when she was being obstinate. “I never meant to hurt you. Please believe that. I thought Emma’s notion of a love match was fanciful, and I didn’t intend to pursue one of my own.”
