Page 8 of A Duke to Undo her (The Husband Hunt #1)

Finally, the duke broke from Josephine’s gaze and turned to Nerissa Emerton.

While pleased that he had been the one who looked away first, Josephine felt peculiarly hot and breathless after their subtle battle of wills.

Benedict was still engaged in conversation with Lady Hellington and had thankfully noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yes, Mother?” said the Duke of Ashbourne to the fair-haired lady in lavender silk who was addressing him from a little further along the table.

“Have you met Miss Peckford yet, Cassius? Margaret is coming to stay with our neighbors for a week after the Season. I’ve said that she must call on us at Ashbourne Castle while she is in the county.”

“By all means, Miss Peckford would be most welcome,” Cassius Emerton told his mother with a polite but distracted nod towards Margaret Peckford who was sitting across the table from the dowager duchess. “You must arrange matters as you see fit, Mother.”

Josephine glanced sideways at Miss Peckford, a thin, too-pale creature with large brown eyes and a silver crucifix at her throat.

Her shy remark to the duke was inaudible, her voice being even quieter than that of Lady Rose.

It seemed that Cassius Emerton didn’t hear her either as he turned away without paying any further attention to the young lady.

Instead, his deep-blue eyes met Josephine’s once more, and again she experienced the strong urge to tell the Duke of Ashbourne exactly what she thought of him, the result of which would undoubtedly infuriate him.

“Miss Peckford’s father is Sir Richard Miller and her maternal grandfather is the Earl of Pelchester,” Duchess Nerissa added, making another attempt to capture her elder son’s attention. “I believe you know Lord Pelchester, don’t you Cassius?”

“Of course,” he returned rather mechanically. “There has been a great deal of talk in the Lords about Lord Pelchester’s various investments in steam power, boats, trains, factories and more. He is quite the visionary, I believe.”

“Yes, I knew there was some connection. You ought to talk to Miss Peckford after dinner and…”

Josephine now fought back an urge to laugh as she realized Duchess Nerissa’s agenda in bringing Miss Peckford to the duke’s attention.

Margaret Peckford was exactly the kind of wife Josephine had imagined for Cassius Emerton: quiet, submissive and softly-spoken, never likely to contradict or criticize.

How dull their lives would be together and how it would serve him right.

“Are you really going to eat your soup with that implement, Lady Josephine?” the Duke of Ashbourne inquired of her rather than attending to his mother or Miss Peckford.

With embarrassment, Josephine realized that in helping herself to the soup proffered by the footman beside her, she had inadvertently taken the ladle from the tureen and placed it in her own bowl. So much for being the perfect lady tonight, in front of Mr. Emerton’s mother.

Red-faced and mortified, she immediately returned the implement to the patiently-waiting footman but Cassius Emerton’s remark had already made sure that half the party had witnessed her error.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she instead replied through gritted teeth, all too conscious of the titters from around the table. “You really are too kind.”

Josephine kicked herself for being quite so distracted in her gloating over the idea of Cassius Emerton being landed with a pious, whey-faced bride.

It was hard to behave like demure and proper Madeline when she couldn’t think like her.

Frankly, right now, she only wished to hit the Duke of Ashbourne over the head with that soup-covered ladle.

“Don’t worry,” said Benedict Emerton beside her, sensing her distress, his voice and eyes both kindly.

“Do you know, at the very first adult dinner party Cassius allowed me to join, I disgraced myself by trying to wipe my hands on a lace napkin which turned out to be the trailing sleeve of the very elderly Dowager Duchess of Cambermore?”

Despite her discomfiture, Josephine had to smile at this silly story. Benedict Emerton was a man she could relate to on so many levels and was so easy in his manner.

“Is that why he still insists on accompanying you around the ton Mr. Emerton?” she asked. “He believes that you still cannot tell table linen from the clothing of your fellow guests?”

“Oh, that and a thousand other misdemeanors, I expect. Or maybe it’s only because he wrongly believes he can run my life for me, although that is a far less entertaining topic of conversation with which I won’t bore you.

Let me tell you instead of what once happened with the ice-swan at the Countess of Garforth’s winter ball… ”

With his repertoire of scrapes and adventures, all of which he had escaped through charm or good fortune, Benedict Emerton disarmed and soothed Josephine’s nerves and kept her entertained throughout the rest of the dinner.

Neither of them talked more to the guests on their other side than politeness decreed.

Nor did Josephine again look across the table to the Duke of Ashbourne although she imagined she could still feel his eyes burning into her.