Page 4 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
She shoved her half-empty wine glass into Marcus’s hands. “Excuse me,” she blurted. “I need a little air.”
* * *
An inexplicable tug of dread seized Vincent as he followed his mother across the ballroom.
You are just agreeing the meet the young lady. No one is dragging you to the altar tonight.
Although he knew his mother was going to give it a good old try.
“Are you at least going to tell me who this young lady is?”
The Dowager Duchess beamed up at him, both her arms wrapped around one of his. “Oh Vincent, you are simply going toloveher. Her name is Lydia Wyatt, sister of the Viscount of Thomson.”
Vincent said nothing. Felt nothing.
Should a man not feel at leastsomethingwhen he hears the name of the lady he is to wed?
He smiled wryly to himself. Perhaps he felt nothing because, deep down, he knew he had no intention of going through with this marriage. To Lydia Wyatt, or to anyone else for that matter. Somehow, he would find a way to talk his mother around. Five more years of bachelorhood, at least. After all, it was hardly as though he were knocking on death’s door. He was strong and healthy; had hardly been ill a day in his life.
Then again, his father had been strong and healthy at his age too. A year later, they were gathered around his coffin, lamenting the fact that consumption might steal a man with so little warning.
Perhaps it really is time to settle down…
He felt the weight of it pressing down on his chest. The weight of his own mortality. And an almost unplaceable grief; grief that his life of parties and bachelorhood might be coming to an end.
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, his mother’s smile widened suddenly. “There she is.” She gestured to a young lady, standing on the far side of the ballroom, with an older lady he guessed to be her grandmother. His potential bride-to-be was dressed in a delicate yellow gown, golden curls piled dramatically atop her head. Even with her face half-hidden behind her mask, Vincent could tell she was a great beauty.
But the sight of her just deepened that pull of dread. Because the sight of this beautiful, angelic young lady made him feel utterly empty. How could he take a wife who made him feel this way? The gravity of the situation squeezed his chest, making it hard to breathe. Heat prickled the back of his neck. He was suddenly desperate to escape the ballroom.
“Mother,” he began, trying to level his voice. “Do you think I might make my introduction to Miss Wyatt without you? I would really prefer it that way.”
The Dowager Duchess hesitated. “Well, I…”
“I believe I just saw a fresh tray of cakes being brought out.” Vincent gave her a wink, satisfied when his mother’s gaze shifted ever so slightly to the refreshments table. “I promise I shall tell you everything.” He nodded toward the desserts. “You ought to hurry. You know how quickly the meringues disappeared last time.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed at him playfully. “Do not think I cannot see what you are doing, boy. You know me too well.” She glanced again between the cakes and Lydia Wyatt. “Very well. But I had best hear a glowing report from the Dowager Viscountess when I return.”
“I promise you shall.” Vincent stood for a moment, watching his mother head toward the refreshments table. Then he turned and dashed out of the ballroom without looking back.
ChapterThree
Georgina paced back and forth across the empty sitting room. She could hear the sounds of the string orchestra floating up from the ground floor, mingled with the sound of laughter and chattering. Running away was not usually something she did; it was far too easy an option, and she prided herself on being better than that. But tonight… Tonight, things had just felt too hard.
I cannot believe I almostcriedin public. Ugh!
If there was one thing in the world Georgina despised, it was pity. And self-pity was the worst kind of all.
She sank onto the chaise longue in one corner of the sitting room. She knew she should not be up here—at the very least, she ought to be downstairs helping Lydia make a good impression on her future husband. But she could not bring herself to care.
Lydia’s impending marriage had reminded Georgina of everything she would never have. She would never be a mother, or know the love of a child. Would never feel her husband’s arms around her at night. And perhaps most devastatingly, she would never know what it felt like to lie with a man. Would never know what it felt like to have her bodily urges answered by another. What would it feel like to have a man’s hands roam her body? To feel another’s lips against her own? Georgina ached to find out—and yet she knew she would never be so lucky.
She dared a glance in the mirror that hung on the wall on the far side of the room. Usually, Georgina kept as far away from mirrors as possible, but tonight, in the pale lamplight of the sitting room, and with her scars largely hidden, she found herself taking in her own reflection. In her delicate lilac gown, with ringlets framing her face, she almost looked like an eligible lady.
If only I could spend my life disguised like this. Then perhaps I might have a chance at love.
The door clicked open suddenly and Georgina leaped to her feet, all too aware she ought not to be in here.
“Pardon me,” she gushed. “I will leave at once. I—” Her words died in her throat as she took in the figure in front of her.
