The Duke's Reluctant Bride

“We are exactly as brothers, Alexander, except that we do not argue as much as brothers might.”

Alexander turned a little in his saddle to look at Henry and smiled.

“I like to think so,” Henry went on. “So, tell me, what is it that you wish to discuss?”

“You are right, of course, I do have something that I would wish to discuss with you.”

“Then tell me,” Henry said.

“I have been thinking that I ought really to marry at the earliest opportunity,” Alexander said

“Marry? Has somebody already caught your eye?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Then why on earth would you marry? I am afraid that I do not understand.”

“I need an heir, Henry,” Alexander said seriously. “Otherwise, it all ends with me. As you know, there is no other male heir to Langley Manor and the title.”

“So, we are to search for a wife for you, my dear fellow. Actually, it may be quite an amusing thing. A diversion, at any rate.”

“I am not sure that we shall need to look, as such.”

“Then you have found somebody already?”

"Emma Buckland," Alexander said.

“Are you acquainted with Miss Buckland?”

“Only a little. She is only the vaguest of acquaintances and nothing more.”

“Really, I am not greatly acquainted with her either, but I knew a little something of her circumstances.” Henry slowed his horse to a stop and turned to look at his friend.

“I have decided to ask Emma Buckland to marry me,” Alexander said.

“Good heavens.”

“I thought that might surprise you. But really, if you think the whole thing through, it makes perfect sense.

“So, you would seek a marriage of convenience?”

“Yes.” Alexander nodded. “Yes, I would. And, in truth, I think Miss Buckland might even prefer something similar herself.”

“Alexander, I can see all sorts wrong with this plan. Would you do me the honour of staying to dinner so that I might tell you all of the pitfalls?”

“Of course,” Alexander said and smiled, determined that nothing Henry could say would deter him from his plan.

***

The clock on the mantle was the only thing to be heard for a few minutes as Emma waited, and sure enough, there was a soft tap on the door, which opened to reveal her aunt, a worried look upon her face.

“Is everything alright, Emma?” her aunt asked softly, coming to sit beside her niece on the couch, taking one of Emma’s hands in her own.

A tear rolled down Emma’s cheek.

“No,” she sniffed, thinking upon the disastrous last week; from Christopher’s gambling shame, to the Duke of Daventry’s lewd insinuations. Her family was on the brink of ruin and there was very little she could do to save it.

“Oh, aunt," she sighed. “What will I do? I will never be able to show my face again. I will be the most pitied creature of the season.”