Page 28 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
After several moments of silence, the Duke asked, “You help your brother with his ledgers?”
Georgina blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject. “The ledgers?” She smiled slightly. “Yes. I am afraid Marcus does not have much of a head for numbers. He is not the most business-minded of gentlemen.”
The Duke chuckled. “And you? You are good with figures, I take it?”
“They have always made sense to me,” Georgina admitted. “There is a logic to arithmetic. A simplicity. And that is something that much of life just does not have. Besides, I like to feel useful. And I like to know what is happening in the family business. I find it reassuring.”
“You like to be in control,” said the Duke. It did not sound like an accusation, but rather, an observation.
“Yes,” Georgina agreed. “I suppose I do. There is so much of life we have no control over, I suppose it is important to me to take it where we can.” She looked down, feeling slightly unmoored by how well the Duke had read her. “When did you learn to draw?” she asked, keen to move away from the uncomfortable subject.
He kept his eyes on the page. “I have been drawing as long as I can remember. When I was very young, my mother decided I had something of a talent, and found me a tutor.” He smiled to himself; a private smile. “Whatever other hassles she has caused me, I am very grateful to her for that.”
Georgina gave a short laugh. “So you really do know how to sketch portraits then. I have to admit, I wondered if perhaps it were not all just bluster on your part. Talking yourself up as you usually do. Luring me in here under false pretenses.”
Not that I protested much…
The Duke chuckled. “Well. You shall have to be the judge of that, once I show you the drawing.” He smiled crookedly, and Georgina could see a shine in his eyes.
For several moments, there was wordlessness, as the Duke’s pencil scratched across the page. “Your scars,” he said after a moment. “How did you get them?”
Georgina looked up in surprise. No one had ever asked her such a thing before. “I received them during my birth,” she told him, surprised at how willing she was to speak of it. On the rare occasions when people had spoken of her scars in the past, she had clammed up and tried to avoid the conversation. “It was a very difficult delivery for both my mother and me. My father used to tell me it was a miracle I survived. My mother was not so lucky.”
“I am sorry.” Vincent looked up from the page to meet her eyes. “I barely knew my father either.”
“No?”
“He passed when I was very young. I wish I remembered more of him. I think most of my memories are based on things my mother has told me about him.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “My mother is so determined for me to marry because she believes I am going to die young, as my father did.”
Georgina let out her breath. “Truly? Why would she think such a thing?”
The Duke shrugged. “It is an affliction that seems to befall all the men in my family. We die young. That is just the way things are.” His voice thinned suddenly, and Georgina could tell this was a topic that affected him deeply. Could tell that he too had begun to believe as his mother did. “Mother is adamant that I produce an heir before it is too late.”
“Just because your father passed away young does not mean you will,” she said firmly. Inexplicably, the thought of the Duke’s passing left an ache in her chest. As did the idea that he might be making his way through life, believing that the end was just around the corner.Perhaps that explains a little of his reckless behavior.
“Well,” he said. “I suppose fate will decide that for me, will it not?” Before Georgina could respond, he tossed his pencil down on the side table. “There. Finished.” He moved over to the chaise and perched beside Georgina. “Would you like to see?”
“Of course.”
He handed her the page. Georgina stared down at it, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. Her own face stared back at her, perfectly detailed and accurate, every line of her scars on display. The Duke had even captured the fine blemishes on her arms. There was no denying he had an immense talent—one she had not expected. And yet, there was something wrong with this image. Something just as incorrect and out of place as the portrait her grandmother had commissioned.
“This is not me,” she said.
The Duke raised his eyebrows, and she could tell she had offended him. “Of course, it is you.”
“No.” Georgina looked away. Her throat tightened. “This lady… she is beautiful. Even with her scars.”
The Duke let out a gentle laugh. “Georgina. Thisisyou.” He shuffled closer to her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “You are beautiful.”
She shook her head stiffly, and though a part of her wanted to sink into the feeling of the Duke’s palm against her skin, she pulled away. She was not going to fall any further into whatever he was playing at here.
No doubt he has realized the game Lydia, Lord Renshaw and I are playing, and he is seeking to get back at me.But even as she tried to convince herself of such a thing, the thought did not feel right. The Duke’s words felt far too sincere.
“You do not believe me,” said the Duke. “You think I am lying. Trying to pander to you so I might take advantage of you.” She could hear the same thickness in his voice that she had heard moments earlier when she had criticized his drawing. “You ought to learn to take a compliment.”
She let out her breath. “How can you think me beautiful? I am horribly damaged. Look at Lydia. She is perfect.”
“Perfection is boring,” said the Duke.
