Page 16 of The Best Husband Money Can Buy

She gestured. “Here, at the foot of the table.”

Anthony pulled out her chair, then took the right hand seat. The long table was set for at least fifty people, he guessed.

The dowager explained, “The rest of the year, Amelia takes her place at this end as a proper duchess should, but tonight, since we dine informally, she can actually sit by her husband.”

Sure enough, the duke was taking his seat at the far end of the table and his wife was next to him. They both had mischievous expressions from flouting convention. Breaking the rules was part of the holiday fun.

“I’m glad to see that you’re finally settling down, Verlaine,” the dowager said in a low voice meant only for his ears. “I had begun to despair of you.”

“I see you haven’t lost your taste for assault, Grandmére,” he said pleasantly.

“At my age, there isn’t enough time to waste it on social inanities.” She regarded him unblinkingly, her pale blue eyes like aquamarine. “I was particularly pleased to hear that you’d married Emma Stone. You need a wife like her, with a brain in her head and a steady disposition.”

“Happy though I am to be here, I’m beginning to remember the drawbacks of attending gatherings with people who have known one since the nursery,” he said dryly.

She laughed. “Everyone knows your business, and has opinions on how you should run your life. It’s part of belonging to a family, Verlaine.” Her expression sobered. “I’ve been worried that you might go the same way as your father. You’re very like him, you know. Charming, handsome, everything comes to you easily. Too easily. He never grew up, and the same could happen to you.”

“I can’t say that I appreciate the comparison,” he said coolly. “My father was an irresponsible care-for-nobody who very nearly lost the family patrimony.”

“It’s a man’s duty to care for his inheritance and pass it on to his children, and he failed badly in that,” she agreed. “But from the tales I’ve heard of your gambling and wenching, your behavior has been much the same. I trust that you now intend to start behaving like an adult.”

Having delivered that blow with the expertise of a prizefighter, she turned to the man on her left. Anthony clamped down on his irritation. As soon as his father had died and the state of the Verlaine finances was revealed, Anthony had retrenched and done everything he could to save the estate. But it was also true that until that appalling day, he’d lived extravagantly, as if his income was drawn from a bottomless well.

For the life of him, he couldn’t still couldn’t think of any method other than gambling that he might have used to earn the money to redeem the mortgages. One certainly could not borrow such a sum from a friend, the banks had refused him, and he had not wished to turn fortune hunter. So he’d gambled, saving his winnings, never allowing wagering fever to overcome good sense, never spending money needlessly.

Yet in the end, gambling hadn’t been enough. He would have lost Canfield if not for Emma. Most of the damage had been done by his father, but Anthony would have born the blame in the eyes of the world, just as he would have had to live with the consequences of his father’s selfishness and waste. For two years, that bitter knowledge had eaten at him like acid. When he had a son, he’d do better by the boy.

It was the first time he’d seriously thought about having children, and he was surprised at the complicated emotions that accompanied the idea. Children, and Emma would be their mother. Her blood would flow in their veins as would his.

It was one of the most obvious facts in the world, yet he had never really thought about it with respect to himself. Lord, what could a man do for his children that was more important than choosing a good mother for them? And Emma would be good—he knew that without question. Kind, patient, and intelligent, not to mention healthy and with a wry sense of humor that he was appreciating more and more.

Automatically he looked for her. She was sitting near the far end of the table, smiling at some comment made by her dinner partner. Anthony’s mouth tightened. Perhaps he shouldn’t have removed her neck scarf—the fellow was leering down her bodice as if she was the next dinner course.

Jealousy was also a new experience, one he didn’t like. He’d never felt jealous of his mistresses. If they fancied another man, he’d always let them go cheerfully. But Emma was hiswife.He found, rather uncomfortably, how much difference that made.

Luckily the woman on his right was exchanging a year’s worth of news with her other neighbor, which relieved Anthony of the obligation to talk. He toyed with his leek soup and thought about what the dowager had said.Charming, handsome, everything comes to you easily.Emma and her fortune had certainly come easily.

As he sipped his wine, he wondered about that stroke of luck. Would she have found him and suggested marriage if he’d been ugly? What a sobering thought. He’d always known that beauty gave a woman power, while taking for granted the advantages that his own face and athletic form gave him.

Yet he could no more take credit for his looks than for his title and station in life. His appearance was pure Vaughn, and the Verlaine title and fortune had been granted to the naval grandfather who’d been a famous admiral until his heroic death in battle.

By comparison, Anthony was forced to admit that he was basically a worthless fellow. He had spent his life pursuing pleasure. His father’s death had sobered him, and his desire to save Canfield had given him a worthy goal, but he had still essentially been living the life of a heedless young man about town.

I’ve been worried that you might go the same way as your father. You’re very like him, you know…He never grew up, and the same could happen to you…I trust that you mean to start behaving like an adult.

His gaze went to Emma again. Perhaps being an adult was a matter of outgrowing the youthful belief that the world was a place of infinite possibilities. Not everything was possible. Every choice eliminated a myriad of other paths.

By marrying Emma, he had forfeited the right to take to wife any of London’s dazzling beauties, just as she had given up the chance of marrying a man who might be more clever or worthy than Anthony. Since they had chosen each other, it was up to them to make their marriage closer to heaven than to hell.

With a wry smile, he realized that that was probably a very adult thought.

* * *

Determined to enjoy the evening, Emma managed to shut away the memory of that horrible moment between Anthony and Cecilia. She laughed her way through dinner with a cousin by marriage she’d never met. Afterward, as the men sat over their port, she made the rounds of her female relatives, exchanging hugs and news.

After the men joined the ladies, an impromptu concert began. Three young female cousins began singing carols while another played the pianoforte. Soon the instrument was surrounded by Vaughns who joined in. Emma did her share of singing, her heart aching a little as she watched some of the older couples. Lord Edward and his wife sat on a sofa, his arm around her waist. The duke and duchess were discreetly holding hands as they joined in the carols.

Would Emma and Anthony have that fondness for each other when twenty or thirty years had passed? Or would they be like Brand and Cecilia, who stood side by side with frozen faces, neither touching nor looking at one another?

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