Page 9 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
“Emma, leave those scones alone,” she said.
Emma eyed the scones longingly. They were smothered with jam and topped off with clotted cream. Her mouth watered, and her stomach gurgled again.
“But Mother—”
“But nothing,” Lady Carlisle interrupted. “You cannot greet suitors with a mouth full of scone. God forbid you scatter crumbs all over your dress.”
Emma pouted and turned to face her mother. “I haven’t eaten yet.”
Lady Carlisle shrugged unapologetically. “You should have risen earlier, then.”
“Fine.” Emma huffed and lowered herself onto the chaise opposite Violet and Lady Carlisle. The silvery-blue seats were stunning to look at but decidedly less comfortable. “Will Sophie be joining us?”
The door burst open, and the youngest Carlisle sister hurried in, her cheeks flushed and her ginger hair bouncing around her face.
“Did someone mention my name?” she asked.
“I was just asking whether you’d be sitting with us,” Emma said.
“I would be delighted.” Sophie headed straight for the scones, and when she took one, their mother did not scold her.Of course, Sophie wasn’t out in society yet, so Lady Carlisle was not trying to find a husband for her. Sophie was only fifteen. Much too young for that.
“Is it true that you danced with a duke last night?” Sophie asked Violet breathlessly.
“It is,” Violet said. “He was most adept, although not as skilled as Mr. Bently.”
“However, Ashford is a duke, and Bently is a mere mister,” Lady Carlisle said. “His talent for dancing is far less relevant than his title, wouldn’t you say?”
Violet lowered her head. “Of course, Mother.”
A knock at the door announced the butler’s arrival. He cleared his throat. “Viscount Tredwell and Mr. Bently are here to call on Lady Violet.”
Lady Carlisle waved her hand imperiously. “Show them in.” She turned to Sophie. “Make yourself useful, dear.”
Sophie glanced at Emma, and her expression clearly said she wanted to stay with them and eavesdrop on the conversations, but she knew her role, so she crossed the room to the pianoforte and flipped through the pages of music. A moment later, she began playing a gentle melody.
“Lady Carlisle,” the butler intoned, having returned with their guests. “May I present Viscount Tredwell and Mr. Bently.”
“Thank you, Samuels.”
The butler excused himself and closed the door.
Viscount Tredwell parted his lips in a slightly frightening display of teeth. He had a lot of them—and large gums as well.
“Lady Violet, these are for you.” He offered her a bouquet. As he drew near, the scent of lilies hit Emma, overpoweringly sweet. Her nose twitched.
Do not sneeze.
“Thank you, Lord Tredwell,” Violet said, rising to accept the flowers. “They’re lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you,” he said.
Emma and Sophie exchanged unimpressed glances, but their mother cooed, and Violet seemed pleased.
“I bought you violets.” Mr. Bently sounded entirely too smug as he passed them to her. “Violets for the most beautiful Violet of them all.”
It was a good thing Mr. Bently was so handsome, because he wasn’t terribly original. Emma had lost count of how many gentlemen had brought the tiny purple flowers for her sister. She wouldn’t be surprised if Violet was single-handedly responsible for a resurgence in their popularity.
While Mr. Bently was making cow eyes at Violet, Viscount Tredwell claimed the seat beside Emma, filling the chaise so that his competitor had no choice but to drag over a seat from the refreshments table.
