Page 51 of A Duke to Steal Her
Juliana approached next, taking Emily’s hands in hers. “Remember what I told you,” She murmured quietly. “Marriage is… an adjustment. Be patient with yourself. And with him.” She glanced meaningfully at Ambrose. “Communication is essential.”
Emily nodded, squeezing her sister’s fingers.
Vincent stepped beside his wife, his expression carefully neutral. “Nightfell.” His nod to Ambrose was polite but cool.
Ambrose inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
“Oh, Emily!” Ava rushed forward, enveloping her sister in a fierce embrace. “Look at you—all grown up and married. I can hardly believe it.” She pulled back, eyes bright with unshed tears.
Oliver appeared at his wife’s shoulder, his manner considerably warmer than Vincent’s. “Take care of yourself, Emily. And remember—” he winked “—duchesses are allowed to be demanding. Don’t let him forget it.”
“Thank you, Oliver,” Emily laughed, the first genuine smile Ambrose had seen from her all day.
Georgina, who lingered longest, threw her arms around Emily’s waist and held tight. Too tight.
“Georgie,” Emily whispered, stroking her youngest sister’s curls. “I’ll visit constantly. I promise.”
“You’d better,” Georgina mumbled into Emily’s shoulder. “Mama’s going to put all her matchmaking energy into me now. I’ll need rescuing.”
Emily laughed. “I’ll send word the moment I’m settled.”
Georgina finally pulled back, then turned to Ambrose with an expression far too serious for her fifteen years. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Georgina.”
“Take care of her,” she said quietly, but her voice carried clearly to everyone present. “She’s the best, and if you hurt her… I will find you. I may be young, but I have access to a fencing foil, several blunt instruments, and very few social inhibitions. And I once threw a chamber pot at a boy for teasing our dog. Imagine what I’d do for Emily.”
Ambrose studied the young lady’s face. “I can see the family resemblance,” he murmured to Emily, earning a small smile.
“The chamber pot story is true, you know,” Emily whispered back.
“You have my word, Lady Georgina,” he said aloud. “Your sister’s welfare is my primary concern.”
“Good.” Georgina nodded once, apparently satisfied.
“Well then,” Lord Fulton drawled, stepping forward with his characteristic grin, “I suppose this is where I offer my congratulations on yourextendedhoneymoon at Nightfell.”
Emily went very still beside Ambrose.
“I do hope you’ll find the countryside invigorating,” Lord Fulton continued with deliberate emphasis. “All that fresh air. Privacy. Uninterrupted time to… explore every area of your new estate together.”
Ambrose’s glare could have melted steel. “William.”
“What? I’m merely wishing you well in your agricultural pursuits.” The marquess’s eyes danced with mischief. “Nightfell does have such fertile grounds, after all.”
Emily’s cheeks flamed crimson. Even Lady Ridgewell had stopped crying to stare at Lord Fulton in shock.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Ambrose said through gritted teeth, taking Emily’s elbow and guiding her toward the carriage. “We have a journey ahead of us.”
Ambrose handed Emily into the carriage, then followed, settling across from her as the door clicked shut. Through the window, the assembled family waved—except for Lord Fulton, who was grinning like the devil himself.
The carriage lurched into motion, carrying them away from London and toward Nightfell.
Toward whatever came next.
Chapter Seventeen
When the carriage finally rolled through Nightfell’s gates, Emily straightened, smoothing her skirts and adjusting her gloves. The perfect duchess mask slipped back into place, but there was nothing she could do about the tension in her shoulders.
