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“O h! I can see their carriage!” Mrs. Corning exclaimed from the window, bouncing on her toes like a child anticipating a Christmas gift. Dropping the curtain from her hand, she twirled around. “They’ll be here any moment!”

Emily Corning sat on the settee in Sandspring House, hands clutched together. She tried to force her tight muscles to slacken, but she couldn’t. After eight months of writing letters to one another, she was finally about to be reunited with dear, darling Allister.

And she had never been more nervous in her entire life.

“Late, of course,” the Dowager Duchess of Stockwell said as she began to pace the waxed, parquet floors of the family parlor. She clucked her teeth. “My sons never cease in trying to vex me.”

Emily watched as the tall, slender beauty paused to fix her hair in the mirror that hung on the wall.

Although she had grown up with this woman, as the duchess and her mama were the closest of friends, Emily was still in awe of her.

The dowager duchess had raised her two sons alone after the late duke passed away unexpectedly fifteen years ago, not long after Emily’s own father had passed.

The duchess and Mrs. Corning had bonded over their mutual losses, and over the years had demonstrated to one another an unwavering kindness and friendship that was enough to secure Emily’s loyalty for two lifetimes.

And now that she was in love with one of her sons, Emily hoped to become more.

“I wonder what took them so long…”

“Gregory mentioned in his letter that he would have to stop by the printing press in London to discuss an issue with his paper,” Emily said. “Something about the cost having risen while they were away.”

“Goodness, I do not know what I will do with that man,” the duchess said. “First, he insists on printing a paper about beetles, of all things. Then the duke convinces him to take this trip to broaden his horizons, and then he discusses finances with a lady.”

“Oh, well, it wasn’t anything detailed, I promise.”

“Stand up, Emily,” her mama commanded. “Lest you look all wrinkled when the duke arrives.”

Emily stood as her mother began to brush out several invisible wrinkles on Emily’s periwinkle day dress.

“Mama, please.”

“There’s no need to fuss, Kathrine,” the duchess said. “My boys don’t pay attention to the finer detail like their counterparts. I’m sure they’ll be pleased enough to see Emily after all this time.”

A small tremor coursed through Emily as she laced her hands together.

It had been eight months since she last saw Allister and Gregory, and she was sure she had never been so anxious in her life.

The Cornings and the Ashleys had been friends for years and in a naive attempt to entertain two wealthy, attractive men as they gallivanted across the European continent, Emily had offered to write them both while they were away.

It was a silly thing to offer, but they had both accepted and that was the beginning of everything. Now here she was, about to see the man who had read all her deepest thoughts and most private hopes, and it was unsettling, to say the least. But she knew there was nothing to worry about.

Allister had stated as much in his final letter, which Emily had read at least two dozen times.

Yet he hoped that she would forgive him if their first meeting wasn’t jovial as she expected.

It was shorter than his other letters, and not nearly as scandalous, but just as endearing.

Those other letters were kept locked away in a rosewood box beneath her bed at home, a half a day’s walk toward the village of Lyme Regis.

But his last letter was different, and instead of being hidden away with the rest, it was right where it had been ever since she received it.

In her pocket.

Slipping her hand into the folds of her gown, she clutched the creased paper, dragging her index finger along the edge.

The already well-worn letter would undoubtedly disintegrate if she continued to read it twice a day, every day, as she had for the past month, but it was certainly her favorite words ever put to paper.

She could recite them by heart at this point.

My Dearest Friend,

I have become more grateful for this correspondence than I fear you would ever believe.

Sweet Emily, if I were with you now at this very moment, I think I would frighten you with how intensely I feel for you.

But I fear ours will not be the reunion either of us dreamt of when we meet again.

If I behave standoffish, know that it is only your reputation that concerns me, above all.

Be confident in my everlasting love for you and know every word I’ve written to you these past months has been true.

I only hope you will find it in your precious heart to forgive me.

Devotedly yours,

A

The last line had struck Emily as odd, but it reverberated within her mind. Forgive him? It was she who hoped that he would forgive her.

Mrs. Corning had learned about Emily’s relationship a few months ago and had become nearly insufferable about the idea of her daughter marrying a duke.

She had spoken about it with the dowager, who had happily exclaimed that it had been her wish for years that one of her sons and Emily would come together in this way, but Emily worried Allister wouldn’t be pleased learning that his mother was aware of the situation.

“Allister! Gregory!” the duchess exclaimed suddenly, startling Emily from her thoughts. “My boys and oh! Gregory, what’s happened to your face?”

Taking a deep breath, Emily exhaled as she turned around.

Beneath the archway of the parlor stood the Ashley brothers, and while her heart practically leaped from her chest to see Allister’s flaxen hair, cheerful brown eyes, and welcoming smile, it was Gregory’s dark trimmed beard and stoic expression that captured all of Emily’s attention.

She swallowed beneath his unwavering stare.

“They’re called whiskers, Mother,” Gregory’s deep, familiar voice sounded, though he did not look away from Emily.

“Yes, and all the rage in Italy,” Allister said, humor in his voice as he came forward and kissed his mother on the cheek. “How are you, Mother?”

“Very well, although I wished my son would have attended to his morning ablutions before arriving.” Gregory finally released Emily from his gaze as he came forward and kissed the duchess’s other cheek. “Oh! What an awful sensation.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mother.”

“Don’t try and change the subject, Gregory. Beards are considered eccentric here. I insist you be rid of it before the party.”

“Come, Mother,” Allister said, eyes twinkly as he sought to tease his brother. “You don’t think it’s dashing?”

“Allister,” the dowager warned.

“Many ladies in the Italian court thought Gregory was the epitome of refined fashion. I believe one lady even swooned.”

“Allister,” Gregory murmured under his breath, not pleased with his brother’s teasing.

“Well, we are not in Italy,” his mother stated.

Allister chuckled and while Emily smiled to join in his good humor at Gregory’s expense, she couldn’t take her eyes off the younger Ashley.

Both men were tall with broad shoulders, strong noses, and muscularly built, but that was where the similarities ended.

Allister had always been the more pleasing of the two to look at, with his light hair, charming air, and debonair grin.

Though he had inherited the title of duke years ago, the weight of responsibilities hadn’t dimmed his happy-go-lucky nature.

There seemed to be a glow about Allister wherever he went, and it was a miracle in and of itself that he hadn’t married yet, for every woman within eyesight of him found themselves taken by him.

But if Allister were the sun, then Gregory was most certainly the moon.

Black-haired and blue-eyed, Gregory had always been the reserved sort.

Really, the brothers were unconventional in their personalities.

Where first-born sons were often hampered by the weight of their responsibilities and the seriousness with which they often carried themselves through life, second-born sons were more likely to be carefree and relieved by their position of spare.

Yet, the Ashley brothers were the opposite.

Gregory had been serious since the day he was born, and studious as well. Often, when he was home from Eton, he would keep himself locked away in his room with his studies, or if he did leave his room, he would venture out into the wilderness of the countryside.

Many times Emily had accompanied him out when they were younger, most assuredly annoying Gregory as he talked about his fascination with beetles and his desire to print a magazine. To see him now, so different than he was eight months prior, was jolting.

“Ah, Emily,” Allister said with a polite bow as if just realizing she was there. “How good to see you.”

Emily’s throat tightened unexpectedly, and she merely dropped her head in a half-curtsy, half-bow situation.

“Come, Emily, do not be shy,” the dowager instructed as Emily’s mama pushed her knuckles into her back, propelling her forward.

“It’s… It’s wonderful to see you home, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace?” Allister repeated, humored. “Come, Emily, we’re practically family. Tell me, what do you think of Gregory’s new appearance?”

Emily glanced once again in Gregory’s direction and felt her cheeks warm beneath the younger brother’s focus.

“Well, I, uhh…”

“Speak the truth,” the duchess interjected. “What do you think of my son’s beard? Surely you disagree with these supposed ladies of Italy.”

Tentatively, Emily came forward, her eyes bouncing between Allister’s friendly countenance and Gregory’s smoldering one. Her skin began to prickle and warm beneath his stare, and she had to force herself to answer the dowager’s question.

“I…” Her voice was unclear and she swallowed before attempting to answer again. “I think…”