Page 43 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
Georgina would have laughed at her bluntness were the situation not so damn painful. The Dowager Duchess had clearly given up any pretense of being pleased to see the two of them. She knew at once that the invitation for her and Lord Renshaw to attend the manor today had come from Vincent alone. She wished the knowledge of that did not bring such a deep ache to her chest.
Vincent stepped out of the parlor, a stiff smile on his face that did not reach his eyes. He stood close to Georgina—too close. She could smell his rosewater scent, and it triggered a vivid memory of his hands roaming her body. Unbidden, heat began to bloom between her thighs. She clenched her hands, forcing the sensation away.
“Welcome,” he said. “I am very glad you could all make it.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lydia did not even attempt a smile, earning herself a barbed look from the Dowager Duchess.
Vincent looked squarely at Georgina, making something flutter in her chest. “I do hope you are feeling better, Miss Wyatt.”
She swallowed heavily, turning her gaze away. His nearness was almost unbearable. “Much better. Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Very good.” He looked between her and Lord Renshaw. “And I believe congratulations are in order.” His expression was level. Unreadable. Georgina kept her eyes focused intently on the floor.
“Yes, Your Grace,” gushed the Baron, with just a little too much enthusiasm. “Thank you. We are very happy. Are we not, Miss Wyatt?”
Georgina managed a faint smile. “Indeed.”
“Mother.” Vincent pinned the Dowager Duchess with hard eyes. “I trust you have passed on your good wishes to Miss Wyatt and Lord Renshaw.”
The Dowager Duchess pressed her lips into a thin white line. Turned to Georgina with no small amount of reluctance. “Of course. Congratulations, my dears. It is wonderful news. Most… unexpected, shall we say?”
Vincent gave her a look that Georgina was surprised did not turn her to ash. “If you will excuse us, Mother,” he said brusquely, “I have some entertainment planned for my guests.”
The Dowager Duchess returned his pointed stare, and Georgina could see the wordless conversation pass between them. No doubt a conversation centered around Vincent’s proposing to Lydia. A proposal Georgina knew was supposed to happen today. She tried to tamp down the ache of it. Before the Dowager Duchess could speak again, Vincent closed the parlor door, trapping the four of them inside.
Georgina perched on the settle beside Lord Renshaw. He placed a hand over hers, clearly set on continuing the ruse. Georgina knew he was right to do so. After all, Vincent believed them to be engaged now. But she could not bring herself to play her part. She was so exhausted, so emotionally drained she could do little but stare at the floor.
For several moments, the four of them sat in silence. Georgina could practically feel the air crackling with tension.
“Well.” Vincent clapped his hands together. “As I mentioned in my letter, I have a treasure hunt planned.” His voice was strained and brassy. Unlike his mother, who had been painfully deliberate in avoiding her, his eyes were fixed on Georgina. He was clearly aware that, in this circle at least, his interest in her was no longer a secret, even in the face of her apparent engagement. Such a thing would have been a thrill if it weren’t for the impossibility of the situation. And the almost unbearable pain that brought. “I have instructed my valet to hide a treasure somewhere within Levinton Manor.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “What kind of treasure?”
“I am afraid I cannot say. That is all part of the game.” He reached into his pocket and produced four folded pieces of paper. “Each of these contains a clue, also written by my valet. It will lead you to the next clue, which will lead you to the next, and so forth, before finally leading you to the prize. The first of the four of us to find it shall be the winner.”
The first of the four of us. Georgina’s heart quickened slightly. She had expected they would be divided into teams of two—expected that she could wait out the afternoon in Lord Renshaw’s company, to avoid speaking to Vincent. He clearly had other things in mind.Of course, I ought to have anticipated that from his letter…
She glanced at Lydia. At least now she could band together with her sister and prevent her and Vincent from being alone together. Prevent a situation in which he might manage to ask for her hand.
“And the treasures are hiddenanywherein Levinton Manor?” Lydia asked.
Vincent hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “I imagine so. But you must follow the first clue to find the second, then—”
“Yes, yes, very good, Your Grace.” Lydia stood up suddenly, clearly desperate for escape. She held out her hand for her first clue. “Shall we begin?”
* * *
Lydia raced out of the parlor ahead of the others. She was determined to put as much space between her and the Duke as possible. In times past, she would have used an occasion such as this to steal a little time alone with Peter. But things were far too desperate for that now. If she did not put an end to this madness of her marrying the Duke, she would never have time alone with Peter again. The very thought of it made tears spring to her eyes. A life without the man she loved was an impossibility. She would rather die than be apart from him.
Lydia had never imagined she would be lucky enough to fall in love. She knew that what Georgina had said yesterday was right: young ladies such as themselves rarely had a say in who they married. Especially after their father’s death, when the Dowager Viscountess had swooped in and taken the reins of the family, she had known she was destined to be married off to the highest-ranking gentleman who would have her. And for a time, she had been comfortable with such a thing. Had not dared envisage anything different.
That had all changed when she met Peter three months ago. They had met after a church service one Sunday. Had ended up chatting and giggling together for much of the morning, as her grandmother did the rounds of all the lords and ladies she felt it important to ingratiate herself to. A softspoken man with a lowly title had not even caught the Dowager Viscountess’s eye. She had asked not a single question about him that day, or the Sunday after, or the one after that.
Lydia screwed the page containing the clue into a tiny ball and rushed up the grand staircase leading out of the foyer. She hurried down the passage, past a complication of doors and alcoves. Choosing a random door, she pushed it open. The room behind was small, with dark wood paneling and a large unlit fireplace. A liquor cabinet and armchair sat in one corner, an embroidered chaise longue in another. She guessed it to be the Duke’s smoking room.
She could hear footsteps sounding down the hallway. Heavy; the Duke’s perhaps. Impulsively, she darted behind the chaise and crouched down, hiding herself. If he came looking for the next clue within this room, she did not want him to find her alone. ashe did not want to give him even a fraction of a chance to utter anything that could be taken as a proposal.
I know the Duke would be marrying me under duress. I know it is Georgina he wants. He has been coerced into this marriage just as I have.But none of that knowledge eased the pain of it.
