The Suitable Bride (The Emberton Brothers Series Book 2) by Karen Aminadra Page A

the din of the chatter and the music at the far end of the room.
    Each time she heard them laugh, she felt as though a dagger had pierced her heart. As she fled the room unnoticed, made her way through the entrance hall and out the front doors, down the steps, and towards the carriage Edwina Emberton had lent them, Martha hoped never to see another Emberton for the rest of her life.
    When she finally finished crying, she realised the driver was waiting patiently outside the door and politely not looking in her direction. She sniffed and cleared her throat, “Would you be so kind as to fetch my father, Doctor Coleman? Tell him I am unwell and must return home.”
    The driver bowed, pulled at the front of his hat, and turned on his heel. Martha watched with a heavy heart as he spoke to the footmen at the doors to Sandon Place in order to summon her father. She knew he would have questions, he would want to examine her; and as she was not truly infirm, she knew she could not fake symptoms to fool a doctor. She decided to tell him she became overheated and faint with all the excitement. She felt too ashamed of herself to own the truth.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    When Proctor, Edward’s valet, entered the room the next day to open the curtains and to rouse him from sleep, Edward had a thumping thick head. He groaned.
    “Good morning, sir. Would you like me to arrange for your usual breakfast?” Proctor chirped cheerfully.
    Again Edward groaned.
    “I’m sorry, sir. I did not catch that.”
    “Proctor, could you speak a little quieter, please?” Edward winced at the sound of his own voice.
    “Yes, of course, sir,” Proctor whispered. “But sir did not answer my question.”
    Edward did his level best to prop himself up in the bed, open his eyes, and look at the man before him. “What did you say?” He grimaced as his own voice reverberated around his painful head.
    “I asked if sir was ready for breakfast.” Proctor’s voice returned to its original level.
    “I do not know if I could stomach anything to eat this morning, Proctor.” Edward slumped his head back against the headboard.
    “I do believe it is the preferred choice of a gentleman who is feeling a little out of sorts to have something to eat and what is commonly referred to as a hair of the dog.”
    Edward sat up again, his interest piqued. “Hair of the dog?”
    “Hmm… Yes, indeed, sir.” He stared at Edward expectantly. “Shall I?”
    Not entirely sure he understood what Proctor was talking about, Edward waved the man away. “Yes, yes, yes. Whatever you deem fit, Proctor.”
    Slowly, Edward put his feet to the ground and tested to see if standing would be more painful than lying down. He discovered it was equally painful but decided it was worth it and shuffled over to the washstand, where he poured some water into the bowl and began to wash his face. Having towelled off, he looked up, bleary-eyed, at his reflection in the looking glass and was astonished at what he saw. “Dear God! I look an absolute wreck this morning.” Edward winced once more at the sound of his own voice echoing in his head. “I have to get dressed and get some fresh air.”
    Taking his time and not making any sudden movements that would cause his pounding head to beat harder against his skull, Edward began to dress. The task was far more difficult than it usually was, but eventually he managed it. As he began to tie his cravat, his mind flitted back to the ball the previous night and, most importantly, to the entrancing and beautiful woman with whom he danced most of the night.
    Miss Frances Davenport was an absolute delight. Not only was she an astounding beauty, with the most breathtakingly beautiful green eyes he had ever seen, but she was intelligent and an excellent conversationalist. It seemed she, he believed, was quite as taken with him as he was with her. She laughed at all of his jokes and was not averse to making a few witty quips herself.
    When he