Letters to her Darling Duke (Preview)

Chapter One

Beaulieu, Hampshire, 1814

“Emma, where are you going?”

“To see Sophia, Mama.” Emma fastened her spencer jacket and pulled on her bonnet, hurrying to the task. With no lady’s maid to help her, she had quite grown accustomed to doing such tasks alone, and even wondered why some ladies needed assistance at moments like this. 

Perhaps some ladies are incapable of tying a bow!

She smiled to herself in the mirror, keeping the comment to herself. That was often the way. Only with her dearest friends would she utter such witticisms aloud.

“Goodness, you two are in and out of each other’s pockets nearly every day, I swear it,” her mother declared, coming to stand behind her so both of their reflections were visible in the mirror. In this position, Emma could see how much she looked like her mother. The same cinnamon-coloured hair was there, though perhaps Emma’s was a little wilder, with the curls not wanting to stay in their updo with any great rigidity. The green eyes too were just as visible in both faces, yet Emma’s were larger. She often thought they were disproportionate on her face, compared to her cheek bones and small chin.

Well, we cannot choose what we look like, can we?

She turned away from the mirror, not wishing to dwell on her appearance for too long. Behind her, Chastity stood, her eyes searching Emma’s face.

“What is it, Mama?”

“Sweetheart, sometimes I worry about your friendship with Sophia.”

“Worry? Whatever for?” Emma said with a small laugh as she made her way toward the door. “We have been friends for years. Ever since we were old enough to walk! You were the one who took me round to see her family and encouraged us to play in the garden.”

“Yes, I remember. You both came back carrying half the garden’s worth of flowers. The poor late Duke’s gardener was not best pleased.” Chastity’s smaller green eyes narrowed playfully, before she sighed and leaned on the doorframe, hindering Emma’s escape. “I just wish to issue caution, Emma. You and Sophia… these days, you are quite far apart in situation.”

“I know, Mama.” Emma sighed and forced a smile. Most days, she was unaffected by the difference in station between her and her dearest friend, but the constant reminder by her mother was not helpful.

Sophia was the daughter of the late Duke of Hampshire, and now sister to the new Duke. She had a healthy dowry attached to her name, was tremendously accomplished and was invited to every ball and assembly that happened in the county. There was a time when Emma might have been asked to such events too, but that time had passed.

Her father, Mr. Colin Radforde, had tumbled significantly from his high place in society. Where he had once been a fine shipping merchant, with trade links and vast investments overseas, he had fallen to working as a small merchant in the local town. A fire at the docks and the Radforde office had destroyed the business. 

I still remember that day. All too vividly!

She had been visiting Sophia at her home when she had returned home to find her father sat on the doorstep of their house. Never had she seen her father cry before, but that day, he had, with great tears running down his cheeks.

“We’ve lost everything, Emma, everything…” Those words seemed to revisit her occasionally, the mark of the time when everything had changed for them.

“Mama…” Emma sought to make her smile wider, determined not to be sad today. “Sophia is unconcerned about what position we now occupy. She has declared more than once that we will always be friends, even if one of us was to fall so far as to be a vagrant in the street. I think you will agree, we are not quite there yet,” she jested, watching as her mother smiled a little.

“I know.” Chastity sighed and stepped toward Emma, trying to train one of the wild curls of her hair. “I would just hate for you to place your hopes on having the sort of life that Sophia has. Forgive me for being blunt, but…”

“You do not need to say it.” Emma placed a hand to her mother’s. Above all, she was practically minded. She had to be, considering their house was not what it had once been. They had few staff members, attended few parties and events, and despite the fact that they were fortunate to keep their house, the tenants of the land had been sold off to other landowners. It meant economising, and Emma had grown used to her new life long ago. “I have no such great hopes, Mama, to be like Sophia. I am simply going to see my friend. Now, I must go, the sun is out, and it promises to be a beautiful day.”

“Yes, enjoy your walk, dear.” Chastity looked ready to issue further caution, but Emma hurried out before her mother had the chance. Finishing tying the bow of her bonnet under her chin, she strode out of the red and white brick house and turned her feet toward the long driveway.

It was hardly a long walk from her house to the Duke of Hampshire’s manor, for the grey stone building of Beaulieu house was visible from the windows of her own home. Leaving the driveway, she cut through a pebbled path that led through a copse of trees. The pine trees leaned together, each one with their branches raised, as if they were holding arms with their neighbour. Between those branches, the sunlight shone down in beams of light, lifting Emma’s spirits as she walked.

I could not tell Mama that I have placed my heart on one hope, one foolish hope, that I should never have given way to.

She swallowed nervously as she left the path and stepped out onto the driveway of Beaulieu house. The grey stone shimmered like silver in the sunlight, the vast windows gleaming like eyes. Around the doors and windows of the vast manor, ivy crept up the walls and Virginia creeper too, dappling the grey stone with green and dark red flecks.

One foolish hope.

Placing her hand on her chest, Emma quelled the beating of her heart. The same thing always happened. Whenever she came to see Sophia, her mind would wander to who else was in the house, like the Duke of Hampshire, Jasper Trowbridge. As Sophia’s older brother, he had been constantly in Emma’s life for as long as she could remember. The liking she had developed for him had started so long ago that she could scarcely recall the first day it had developed. She supposed that by the time she was fifteen those feeling were there, lodged deep in her chest. They must have been, for whenever she saw him her heartbeat quickened, and she felt a flush to her cheeks.

Calm yourself, you fool. As Mama said, the duke’s family and our own are quite different in situation now. The duke cannot look at me as I do him.

Trying to brush her foolish hopes of the man away, she approached the door. Before she even raised her hand to knock, the butler opened it, welcoming her as he would an old friend, before showing her into the garden room at the back of the house.

“You will find Lady Sophia in something of an excitement this morning,” he confessed to Emma in a whisper. “I think she rather enjoyed the ball last night.”

“Oh, thank you for the warning,” Emma said with a giggle and opened the door to the garden room, stepping inside. She was not disappointed, for the butler was quite right—Sophia had practically turned the garden room upside down in her excitement. 

Through the vast windows that looked out onto the garden room, such sunlight streamed in to make the room bright and airy, casting the sun’s beams over the myriad of gowns that Sophia had strewn across two rococo settees and three armchairs. A footstool was full of shawls, so many that a few had already fallen on the marble floor.

“Goodness, has this become your new armoire?” Emma declared, stepping into the room.

“Emma!” Sophia popped her head out from behind a potted palm tree, where she had been bending down, examining the shoes on her feet. Not dissimilar in appearance to her brother, she bore dark blonde hair, that was so sleek it was held quite perfectly in its updo, with not a wisp out of place. The pale blue eyes in her face shone too, as if they glittered with excitement like the jewels upon her neck. “Oh, am I glad to see you,” she proclaimed loudly and stepped out from behind the pots. In her haste to cross the room toward Emma, she tripped over the footstool, sending the shawls flying.

“God’s wounds,” Emma murmured as she jumped forward and caught her friend, before she could fall flat to her face. “Are you so excited to see me you have forgotten to move your feet?” she teased her friend. “I know what is needed. A good cup of tea.” She turned to face the butler who smiled warmly in her direction.

“I will ensure a tray is prepared at once, Miss Radforde,” he said to Emma. 

“Thank you, Hartley.” She took Sophia’s hands and drew her to the nearest settee, before realising the conundrum she faced. “Sophia, where are we to sit now?”

“Ha! Oh, I do not know.” Sophia laughed and lifted her hands, covering her face as she turned in a circle. “I have made quite a mess, have I not? Yet I could not help it. Emma, you should have been there last night at the ball. What excitement there was to be had.” She grabbed Emma’s hands, and in her usual way of being unable to stand still for long, she began to dance, making Emma her dance partner.

“I feel as if I am there, for we are dancing so much,” Emma teased as they twirled around the room, colliding with one of the armchairs as they went. “Goodness, were your dance partners last night lost for direction too? It is a wonder you did not end up falling then, too.”

“Oh, my stomach. Stop making me laugh so much.” Sophia stopped dancing and pressed her hands to her belly, trying to quell her laughter. 

“I take it you had a good evening then,” Emma concluded as she gathered some of the gowns off one of the rococo settees and pushed them to the side. “You must have done if you are going to such lengths to pick out what you shall wear for you next event.”

“I did enjoy it, more than I can say.” Sophia flung herself down on the settee beside Emma. She was in such a hurry that Emma barely had chance to snap up an ornate shawl before Sophia fell upon it. “The only thing that would have improved the night was if you had been there.” Her smile faltered a little and she looked to Emma, her brow creasing. The pretty, petite features of her face became quite contorted with it.

“Have we not discussed this before?” Emma reminded her. “You and I are of different positions now. You can be invited to such grand balls, I cannot.”

“Yes, but…” Sophia sat forward, looking ready to argue the case. “It seems all quite absurd to me. Why because one family has more money than another should a young lady miss out on the amusement that I had last night? The world seems quite unfair if you ask me.”

“I daresay it is, but it will not be changed by us. Maybe someday, it will look quite different.” It was a fancy Emma sometimes had, that the world could be different to the one she lived in.

Maybe then the duke would look at me as I am, as if we were equals, rather than what we are. Almost poles apart.

“Besides, last night I was not home,” Emma said, moving on and trying to tear her thoughts away from the duke. If she thought of him for much longer, she would find her eyes distracted, looking to the door in expectation of where he was at this moment. “I attended a small dinner party in town, with the Stewarts.”

“That is nice, the Stewarts are kind people.” Sophia nodded slowly, before her smile vanished. “Yet they are quite thirty years your senior. Was there anyone your age at all there? Anyone with whom you could have open conversations?”

“Well…” Emma paused, thinking hard about the night before. “There was a gentleman of a similar age to us.” His name was Mr Graham Meyrick, a kind and gentlemanly man, though that was all he had been. “You know me and conversation, Sophia. I am only truly myself with those I know well.”

“Oh, I know! Believe it or not, you were quite the topic of conversation last night at one point. Jasper and I were speaking of you to a friend of his.” She turned in her seat and fixed her attention upon Emma.

“I was?” Emma felt a little heat in her cheeks, quite unnerved to be the centre of attention at such a party. “I apologise if the topic bored you.”

“Ha! Hardly.” Sophia laughed hard once more. “You should not put yourself down so. I was saying to Jasper how witty and funny you can be with us, for we know you so well. He observed with others that you are quite the picture of timidity.”

“Is that how he sees me?” Emma felt herself swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, unsure if the duke would be fond of such an attribute or a little dismissive of it. “I may not be the most confident with strangers…” She trailed off and fussed with the skirt of her gown. “Yet I am comfortable with who I am.”

“And if you are not comfortable with strangers, how are you to wed and meet a good husband, Emma?” Sophia asked, a playful smirk upon her lips. “And do not look at me with exhaustion, for we have had this conversation many times before.”

“Yes, I know it.” Emma sighed as Sophia got to her feet and picked up one of the gowns, holding it to her shoulders and twirling about. She watched the skirt as it billowed about Sophia’s feet in admiration. 

“You and I shall both have to marry soon enough. I will have to marry, as my mother tells me, to strengthen the dukedom alliances with other families of status.” Sophia mimicked her mother’s voice before rolling her eyes, quite scorning her mother’s opinion on the matter.

“And I shall have to marry before I become an old spinster,” Emma said slowly. “Yes, my father has quite impressed the matter upon me, many times, as of late.”

“Even more so?” Sophia paused, looking up from her dress for her eyes to meet Emma’s.

“Yes.” Emma nodded, thinking on the conversation she had had the night before in the carriage with her father, on the way to the dinner party. With the family fallen so far in fortune, they could do little in terms of providing for Emma for the future. He had told her once more that the only option was for her to marry, and marry well, then at least she would be comfortable and taken care of in life. “Curious that fathers speak nought of love when they ask their daughters to marry.”

“Mothers too.” Sophia sighed and picked up a second gown. “What do you think of this one?” she asked, twirling excitably. “It might move well when I dance.”

Emma tilted her head to the side, watching her friend as a smile spread across her lips. There was a pleasant rouge to Sophia’s cheeks that had not been there before, and the excitement with which she talked about the ball and now danced about the room had Emma suspecting what had truly happened at the event.

“By chance, has a gentleman turned your head at the event last night?” Emma’s question prompted Sophia to drop the gown. She fumbled to catch it from the air and turned to face Emma with her cheeks blushing a bright red.

“No,” she said rather insistently, to which Emma raised an eyebrow.

“You have the same guilty look you did when we were young and denied picking all the flowers from the garden.”

“I… erm…” Sophia was clearly searching for an excuse as she hastened to place the gown down with the others. “It is nothing,” she insisted, but Emma continued to smile, sensing the truth of the matter.

Perhaps there is a gentleman that has interested Sophia after all.

“Confess now, my friend.” Emma leaned on the arm of the rococo settee, bending more toward her friend. “For your blush has quite announced it for you. There was a gentleman that you liked, was there not?”

“Perhaps,” Sophia whispered, “but for now I shall say no more.” She picked up one of the shawls and wrapped it around her shoulders, admiring the silk as she turned back and forth. “Let us talk of your marriage opportunities instead.”

“There are none, as I have said—”

“I wish your parents would allow you to come to the balls and parties, with Jasper and I.” Sophia huffed and lowered the shawl. “There are so many eligible gentlemen there of our age, and you are so beautiful, you are bound to catch more than one suitor’s eye.”

“Sophia!” Emma protested. “I think a lady needs to be more beautiful than I.” Her shoulders slumped a little, feeling self-conscious as she raised a palm to her cheek. “Unless plainness is all the rage?”

“Do not put yourself down so.” Sophia waved a hand at Emma. “You should come to the balls, especially if your father is so keen for you to find a husband. Your dance card would be full for the night, I am quite convinced of it.”

“I am not.” Emma shook her head.

“Then if you do not believe me, let us ask another for an opinion.” Sophia stood straight as the door opened. “Ah, here is another, let us ask his thoughts.”

Emma’s gaze shot to the door where her lips parted in surprise. The butler had returned with a tea tray, and behind him was Jasper, the Duke of Hampshire.

 

Chapter Two

“Jasper! Jasper? Let me get your opinion on something.” Sophia crossed the room and took her brother’s arm, drawing him deeper into the room.

Emma was quite lost, uncertain which way to look. The moment her eyes had landed on the duke, she felt jittery, as she always did, and her heart thudded so loudly she could hear it echoing in her ears.

What is wrong with me? Goodness, you would think I was quite ill!

She stood and thanked the butler for bringing tea instead. She was such a regular visitor to the house that he happy to hand over the duties of pouring the tea to her, rather than Sophia. Emma prepared the teapots with the tea leaves as Hartley left the room.

“What is all this excitement?” Jasper said, covering one of his ears with his hand. “Sophia, you will make me deaf with all this good cheer.”

“Then we will all be in the same boat,” Emma teased from across the room, watching as Jasper laughed at her words.

“Dear, Emma, how are you?” he asked, disentangling his arm from Sophia and crossing toward her. He stopped on the other side of the tea table and leaned upon it. This close, Emma’s eyes could not help dancing over his form, admiring him, as she always did. 

His hair was a touch darker than his sisters, a mixture of dark blond and brown. His eyes though were always the thing that drew Emma in the most. Such a dark blue colour, they were the shade of a stormy ocean, set within a face of strong lines, and an angular jaw, he was striking. When he was a boy, the angular features had sat unnaturally upon him. Since then, he had matured into a very handsome man indeed. Emma’s affection for him had grown long before his maturation, not that anyone knew of her secret, not even Sophia.

“I am well,” Emma said, pouring a cup of tea for him first. “Your sister has been talking of the ball last night.”

“That is not quite true,” Sophia insisted and walked over to join them at the dumbwaiter table. “I was saying that Emma should join us at such events. I am certain her dance card would not be empty. Do you not agree, Jasper?”

Emma passed the teacup to the duke. He was much taller than her, so she had to lift her chin to look up at him, to note the smile on his face.

“I have no wish to talk of the ball last night,” he said tiredly and shook his head. “You may have enjoyed it, Sophia, but I did not.” His eyes flicked back to meet Emma’s own. “You should have seen it, Miss Radforde. It was quite a mess, with ladies and gentlemen strutting forward like peacocks.”

“I am sure the illusion was complete with so many ladies wearing feathers thrust in their hair,” Emma teased, watching once more as the duke laughed at her words. This was a knack she seemed to have with him. The duke and Sophia were the two people she was closest to in this world. It was all too easy to make jests and laugh in their company, even if she struggled with other people.

“Oh dear,” Sophia said, chewing her lip. “I wore a feather in my hair.”

“I am sure you looked radiant.” Emma offered her a cup of tea. “Yet I am sure even you noted some ladies decorate themselves with so many feathers, they would suit an aviary more than they would a ballroom.”

“That is my thought entirely,” the duke hastily agreed and picked up the teapot before Emma could pour a third cup for herself. He poured it for her, startling her. “You are always looking after us,” he pointed out, catching her eye. “It is high time one of us served you.”

“She is a second host in this house,” Sophia reminded him with a roll of her eyes. “She pours more teas than our mother does.”

“I had noticed.” The duke nodded. “She is also here as much as our mother is.” 

Emma thanked him for the tea as he passed it to her, trying not to think of how it felt when his fingers brushed her own, the excitement in the air palpable. Hoping he did not notice the blush developing on her cheeks, she decided to return to the previous subject.

“You did not enjoy the ball as much as your sister then?” she asked. 

“I did not.” He grimaced as he shook his head. 

“Whyever not?” Sophia asked, turning to face him. “There was practically a queue of ladies waiting to dance with you.” 

Emma swallowed a sip of tea rather worriedly at hearing this news, so eager in the task that she managed to burn her tongue.

“Not as many as bunches of flowers have arrived for you this morning.” The duke returned his eyes to Emma. “You should see them in the drawing room. There is scarcely a surface not covered in flowers.”

“That explains why we are in the garden room at least. Sophia needed somewhere to spread out her gowns.” Emma longed to ask Sophia once more which gentleman had caught her attention the night before, but Sophia moved on quickly, turning her focus to her brother.

“Do you mean to say, Jasper, that not a single lady last night caught your interest?”

“None.” The duke was rather quick with the word. Emma felt a little relieved for it, yet Sophia just laughed.

“You do hold too high expectations.” Sophia led the way back to the settee, urging Emma to follow. 

“I do not have too high expectations,” the duke insisted, following at a slower pace. “It is simply that I know what is expected of me.”

“How do you mean?” Emma asked, sitting down opposite the duke. He struggled to sit for a minute, having to brush one of Sophia’s gowns out of the way from an armchair before he relaxed back. 

“I mean that as a duke, mother and father always told me how important it was to marry well.” His eyes fell on Emma with the words, and she suddenly felt small, very small indeed. “Not only must the lady be of position, and have a healthy dowry, but she must be accomplished too, in order to be a fine duchess.”

“That is a very high expectation,” Emma said quietly. “Anything else she needs?”

“I rather hoped I would like her too,” the duke said teasingly, until Emma shook her head.

“Surely, that should be the first expectation, Your Grace, not the last.” Her words made him pause with the tea. “You seem to be searching for a wife the way some men look for a house. Yes, it must have fine gardens, a fair look, and a good estate. Oh, and I must like it too.”

“Ha! Yes, I see your point.” He laughed. “Yet, it is the way of things. A duke has to be selective in who he chooses for a bride.”

Emma’s heart began to sink, and she lowered her eyes to the teacup in her hand. She had never had any true hope of the duke considering her for a bride. After all, she knew the differences of their situations, but to hear him declare quite openly that he expected so much in a wife, it was quite gutting.

I am not any of the things he wishes for. I am too low in position, I have no good dowry, and my accomplishments are but few. 

“I wonder if you even remembered to try Emma’s advice last night when you were dancing at the ball,” Sophia said with sudden interest. “Did she not advise you to talk with the young ladies, rather than just to admire their looks?”

Emma laughed a little and nearly choked on her tea.

“I remember giving such advice,” she said, sitting tall and trying to hide her sadness. “I feared he was looking at ladies as if they were fine porcelain ornaments, rather than human beings.”

“I took your advice, believe me,” the duke assured her, his eyes finding hers with such surprising intensity that the hand holding her teacup froze in the air. “I talked with each lady I danced with, and I made a point of discovering more about them. I am afraid to say I was quite bored.”

“You do not pull your punches,” Emma teased him.

“I was not so open with them as I am with you two,” he said, his deep voice softening. “The truth is that each conversation seemed to have a purpose. A lady was either out to impress me with her accomplishments, or they were intent on flattering me. I am not certain I had a real conversation, or talked of anything that was interesting, at all.”

“How sad,” Emma observed. Before she could say anymore, Sophia sat forward.

“This is why I think Emma should join us for the balls.”

“Join us?” the duke spluttered, choking on his tea.

“Goodness, that was a shock to you,” Emma observed. “I do not think I could have shocked you more if I had stood up and burst into song.”

“I am sure you could.” The duke wheezed a little and coughed. “You would come to the balls?”

“I am not invited, as I keep reminding your sister,” Emma said, looking down at her teacup. “I live in a different world now, and that is the practicality of the matter.”

“If Emma came to our balls, we would enjoy them more, would we not?” Sophia asked, leaning forward to get her brother’s opinion. “I would have a true friend in the room, and you, Jasper, would have a conversation with a lady you would actually enjoy.”

“I do agree with you.” Jasper nodded and sat back in his chair. “Yet as Miss Radforde has pointed out, we are of different social circles now.”

“It is absurd,” Sophia insisted. Emma’s eyes landed on the duke for a minute, watching him closely. He made no such objection to the idea of the different worlds, and she realized with a heavy heart it was because it did bother him so much. For him, as a duke, he was constantly reminded of hierarchy.

I wonder how he sees me, truly. Do I occupy the same level as his maids? Surely not if he can sit here and drink tea with me.

She found such sadness swimming within her, until her stomach knotted, she felt keen to change the subject. She was here to enjoy herself, not to stare at a man that could never be hers, with hopeless longing.

“Well, as we are talking so much about the ball and ladies, I think it is high time we saw these flowers.” Emma got to her feet. “Sophia, shall we see who has sent you all these flowers?”

“Oh, no.” Sophia shook her head. “There are far too many in that room. They make me sneeze.”

“Then I shall show them to you.” The duke moved to his feet. “Believe me, the room will quite shock you.” He beckoned Emma to follow him from the room, and they both carried their teacups with them.

“Wait, no!” Sophia called, chasing them as Emma followed the duke. “You do not need to go and look at them all.”

“I think we do,” the duke called back to her. “Believe me, Miss Radforde,” he paused long enough for her to catch up with him in the corridor, whispering to her playfully. His lips came so near to her ear, she could have sworn her heart fluttered in her chest. “I have never seen so many flowers. It is quite like the greenhouse in the garden.”

“You have me intrigued.” Emma followed him, feeling her heart settle as he moved further away from her. She followed him into the sitting room where he held the door open wide and gestured to the displays.

“What do you think of this?”

“My goodness…” Emma struggled for words, stumbling on the rug in the sitting room. Everywhere she looked there were great bunches of flowers, on sideboards, the mantelpiece over the fire, on coffee tables, windowsills, and even one bunch on a footstool. “Did you dance with every gentleman at the ball?” Emma asked.

Sophia appeared in the doorway a second later, her cheeks flushed bright red.

“Not quite.”

“Ha! Yet nearly.” Emma placed down her teacup. “Well, who has gifted the finest bunch then?”

“Now, this is a fun game.” The duke followed her in placing down the teacup and moving to the nearest bouquet. “Shall we judge your beaus, sister, on who has given you the finer flowers?”

“Why must you judge them at all?” Sophia asked tiredly and slumped down into the nearest chair.

“I am your guardian,” the duke reminded her. “Any man who wishes to marry you must ask my permission first.”

“I rather hoped they would ask my permission,” Sophia reminded him wryly.

“Then do not accept this one.” Emma gestured to the bunch of flowers in front of her. “There are dried flowers here amongst the live.”

“Does that make for a poor show?” the duke asked, moving so close to Emma that they bumped arms.

“Quite poor,” she whispered. “He is gifting her dead flowers.”

“Ergh.” He grimaced. “Yes, Miss Radforde and I agree that you cannot marry Lord Percy. He’s gifting you death.” 

“The man is twice my age as it is,” Sophia called from across the room.

“How about this one, Miss Radforde?” The duke took Emma’s hand, as if it was second nature to him. She tried not to let the excitement get to her. He would often touch her in such a manner. It was a casual thing, natural between old friends, and her heart was foolish for thinking too much of it. 

“The roses.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Oh dear.” The duke chuckled. “And here I thought roses were the flower of love.”

“They are the flower of seduction, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “A rose is gifted to impress, yes, but if this beau knew your sister at all, then they would know that she cannot stand the smell of roses.” In emphasis, from across the room, Sophia sneezed.

“Hmm, it seems you are right. What of these then?” With Emma’s hand in his own, the duke drew her toward another bunch, before releasing her hand. Emma tried not to feel cold without that touch, with her eyes looking at the vase of flowers on the mantelpiece. 

“Now, this is a fine gift,” she whispered. “Orchids. What an exotic flower it is! I had never seen them before this last year.”

“The finest gift is it?” the duke said, clearly hoping for an answer. “What makes orchids so fine?”

“For one thing, they are your sister’s favourite,” she reminded him. “For another, they are a flower of love, and not seduction. Anyone who gifts an orchid has more constant feeling. Who are these from?”

“That is the mystery,” the duke whispered playfully. “These are the only flowers who came without a name card. Mysterious indeed.” The two of them looked toward Sophia at the same time, who busied herself with sipping her tea, her face turning a bright red.

“Perhaps it is not so mysterious after all,” Emma whispered. “Your sister’s blush suggests she knows exactly who the sender is.”

“How interesting. Why would he not declare himself, do you think?” the duke asked, moving so close to Emma that she felt warmed by his presence.

“I do not know.” She wrinkled her nose in thought. “Perhaps he is nervous of making his feelings known, or feels he is not good enough for your sister.”

“Whatever you two are talking about over there, you look quite like co-conspirators,” Sophia declared loudly, turning her gaze on them. “You will both be marrying me off to the man who spent the most on his flowers within days.”

“No, indeed.” Emma shook her head. “Money spent is not a sign of affection.”

“It is not?” the duke asked in surprise, his head jerking toward her.

“Of course not, Your Grace, it is the decision over the flower made. Any man can spend more money than another, but one who takes the time to make the finer choice? Now, he is the one who cares more.”

“How astute.” The way the duke kept smiling at her wrongfooted her a little. She searched for something to say, but before any words escaped, there was a tap to the door. “Enter.”

Hartley entered, with a card in his hand.

“The Earl of Ringwood has called to visit Lady Sophia, Your Grace.”

There was a collective look of surprise in the room.

“Which flowers did he send?” Emma asked quickly.

“The roses,” Sophia murmured.

“A shame, I had hoped it would be the giver of the orchids.”

“Hartley, please show him in,” the duke said, taking control of the situation. “And ask my mother to come and chaperone the pair, if you would.”

“No.” Sophia stood to her feet, hurriedly. “In case it has passed you by, brother, I have Emma here. I wish to see her.”

“I will not interfere with a gentleman’s visit,” Emma said softly, recognising that despite their difference in situation, she and Sophia shared the same plight at times.

We must both marry.

“Have no fear on Miss Radforde’s part,” the duke said with ease. “You shall accept your visit from the Earl of Ringwood, Sophia, and I shall escort Miss Radforde home. If, of course, she does not object?” The duke offered his hand out to Emma, surprising her so much that she took a beat to take his arm, her heart thudding harder in her chest.

“I would be glad of the company, Your Grace.”

---

“Letters to her Darling Duke” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Miss Emma Radforde has a secret – a secret that could threaten her happiness. Emma’s heart has always belonged to the Duke of Hampshire, and as she attends a masquerade ball in full disguise, her dream of getting closer to him finally comes true… When the two begin to exchange intimate letters, Emma realizes that if she reveals her true identity, she risks losing the one person who makes her feel alive and loved…

Could she muster the courage to confess the bitter truth?

Jasper Trowbridge, Duke of Hampshire, has a deep longing for something deeper than the empty promises of society’s standards. Little does he know that his wish is about to be granted when he meets a mysterious masked lady at the masquerade ball. Sparks fly and Jasper can’t help but feel a connection he’s never felt before. But when their letters start to exchange, Jasper wonders if his masked lady is an eligible woman of status, or something far more special.

Maybe his heart already knows the answer…

Emma and Jasper find themselves both drawn together, and yet skirting around one another. She feels the pressure to marry in order to secure her future, while he is expected to obey the orders of the dukedom instead of heeding the call of love. Will their devotion be strong enough to conquer any obstacles they face or will it be crushed under society’s expectations?

“Letters to her Darling Duke” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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