Page 12 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Doesn’t it? Did or didn’t the Earl of Carlisle turn up in your office and propose a marriage between you and Emma? It sounds to me like that opportunity landed in your lap.”
He scoffed. “Only because I put in the effort with Violet first, and I made up for not trying with Emma at the beginning—or at least, I did as much as I could. You know I’ll never take her for granted.”
Andrew softened. “I know. The entire ton knows how much you dote on that woman.”
He’d once feared that Emma and Ashford would be a terrible match, given that they wanted such different things, but the sweet, reserved Emma had proven to be exactly what the surly duke needed.
“Perhaps marriage will surprise you,” Ashford said.
“It’s certainly turned you into a romantic.”
A little smile twisted Ashford’s lips, and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the assessment. “Maybe so. But I think we’vereached our limit of deep conversation for today. Would you like to join a card game?”
“I’d better not. I have no money to lose.” He wasn’t about to compound his poor luck by gambling away what little he had left.
Ashford shrugged. “Play with my money.”
Andrew’s heart squeezed. “No, but thank you, my friend. I appreciate the offer. Why don’t you tell me more about your daughter?”
“Lilian is such a sweet baby. Good-natured. She looks so much like her mother.” Ashford gazed somewhere over Andrew’s shoulder, his smile turning dopey. “She’s so small. The first time I heard her, I was afraid I might accidentally hurt her.”
“But you didn’t,” Andrew reminded him.
“No, I didn’t.”
Ashford continued to wax poetic about his daughter for several minutes. Listening to him was easy. Andrew was glad to see his friend so happy. He was also pleased that Ashford hadn’t been upset when Emma had given birth to a daughter. Considering he’d married her purely to obtain an heir, it had been a possibility he’d be displeased.
But no, he adored his little girl, and he and Emma would simply try again for an heir when she was well enough.
As Ashford trailed off, a thought struck Andrew.
“I say.” He straightened in his seat. “You have a successful estate. I need a new man of business. Do you have any recommendations?”
Ashford hummed in thought. “My estate is managed differently than yours. I have an estate manager for Ashford Hall—you remember Cal, from school—and another who manages our smaller holdings. My estate managers do not involve themselves in my investments or business dealings unrelated to the properties.”
“Hmm.” Perhaps Andrew ought to consider arrangingsomething similar, although he now only had two property holdings, thanks to Mr. Smith: Longley Estate in Suffolk and Longley House in London. But he could hire an estate manager to be based in Suffolk and another person to oversee his finances.
“You want my opinion?” Ashford asked.
Andrew rolled his eyes. “I did ask, didn’t I?”
Ashford looked irritated. “You ought not to rush into making any decisions while the loss and betrayal are still fresh. You’re emotional, and any decisions you make now will be influenced by that. You’d be better off to wait for a week or two and then choose a plan of action based on what’s rational.”
Andrew tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Good point. I’ll keep that in mind.”
They talked for a while longer; then Andrew summoned a carriage to take him home, and Ashford headed to a business meeting.
As Andrew watched buildings pass through his window, it occurred to him that this was the time of day at which he’d usually be going to visit Florence. His gut twisted. Now, there was no willing woman waiting for him. He’d lost her, and all because he’d been foolish enough to put his trust in the wrong person.
The carriage turned off the street and passed through the stone gateway of Longley House. They stopped in front of the main door, and Andrew waited for the carriage to open, then stepped down. After a quick thank-you to his driver, he trudged up the stairs. His footman knocked, and Boden opened the door, welcoming Andrew inside and locking it behind him.
The downstairs area was dimly lit. He grabbed a candle and used it to light his path as he climbed the stairs and turned left toward his bedchamber. As he entered, he cameto an abrupt stop at the sight of his sister, Kate, sitting on his bed.
He set the candle on the cabinet. “To what do I owe the honor of this ambush?”
She sat forward, her pale auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “Is it true that we are broke?”
Oh dear.
