Page 54 of His Auctioned Duchess
Caroline laughed softly, though her chest ached. “And you’ve always been good at oversimplifying.”
“Someone must.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Now come inside before Father sends the whole household to look for us. You know how he worries about appearances.”
As she rose, she cast one last glance toward the house. Somewhere within, she knew Richard would be preparing for the evening’s dinner—composed, unreadable.
Dinner that night was a masterpiece of civility, the kind that masks every undercurrent beneath crystal and candlelight. The dining hall of Ashwood Hall glittered like a cathedral to refinement: silver candelabra casting soft halos across polished mahogany, crystal decanters catching the light like trapped fire, servants moving with a silent, choreographed precision.
Caroline sat between Richard and her father, feeling the tension of two worlds colliding—duty on one side, desire on the other.
Nicholas, clearly in excellent humor, filled the room with his booming voice. “I must say, Your Grace, it has been many years since I’ve dined in such magnificence. Ashwood puts even Fernsby Manor to shame.”
Richard inclined his head. “It has taken years of restoration. I cannot take full credit. My mother managed the estate during my absence.”
“Ah yes, Lady Ophelia,” Nicholas said, glancing toward the other end of the table where Richard’s mother smiled graciously. “She is as elegant as the house itself.”
“Too kind,” Ophelia replied. “And I must say, Lord Fernsby, your daughter has brought life back into these halls. We were beginning to forget what laughter sounded like.”
Caroline managed a polite smile as the table murmured its approval, though she felt the heat of Richard’s gaze beside her. It was not unkind—merely unreadable.
Evan joined in the conversation, speaking of trade and estate management, while John amused Sophia with exaggerated stories from London’s more scandalous balls. The laughter rose, glasses clinked, and yet Caroline found herself detached from it all, watching as if from afar.
Her father was in his element. Every remark was measured, every smile perfectly placed. He treated her engagement as a triumph—not only for her but for the family name.
“Of course,” Nicholas was saying, “a union such as this elevates both our houses. It pleases me to know that my daughter’s stubbornness has found its match in so capable a man.”
Laughter rippled around the table, but Caroline felt it like a sting.
Richard’s response came in that calm, level tone of his that always seemed to hide more than it revealed. “Stubbornness, my lord, is not without its uses. It makes for an engaging conversation.”
“And a difficult marriage,” Nicholas said.
Richard’s eyes flicked toward Caroline. “I welcome the challenge.”
That earned a round of appreciative chuckles, but beneath the surface, the words crackled like a current. Caroline’s heart gave an unsteady beat. She met his gaze briefly—then looked away, unwilling to let him see that his composure only deepened her confusion.
As the courses passed, conversation drifted from politics to family news.
“Bridget sends her regrets,” Nicholas said, reaching for his wine. “She is with child again. A daughter this time, she hopes. The doctor insists on rest, so she could not travel.”
Caroline smiled faintly. “That sounds like Bridget. Always doing as she’s told—by her physician, if not her husband.”
John snorted into his glass, earning a stern look from their father. “And Valeria?” Caroline asked carefully.
Nicholas’s expression shuttered. “We’ve had no word. Her husband keeps her in the country. But it is a fine estate, and she is provided for.”
“Provided for,” Caroline repeated quietly. “How fortunate.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. The table fell momentarily still.
Her father’s gaze sharpened. “Caroline.”
She smiled quickly, feigning lightness. “I only meant that Valeria always did enjoy the quiet. I’m sure she is content.”
The tension broke with another ripple of conversation, but Richard’s glance lingered on her. He recognized the brittleness in her tone because he had worn it himself.
When the final course had been cleared and the servants withdrawn, Nicholas raised his glass. “To the future Duke and Duchess of Belford. May their union be long, fruitful, and a blessing to both our families.”
The toast was echoed all around, glasses raised, voices warm. Caroline lifted her own glass with a smile that trembled at the edges.
