Page 12 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
He knew he had to put such thoughts out of his mind as soon as possible. Especially given he was supposed to be courting her sister. The thought of Lydia Wyatt just made him feel empty. Utterly hollow.
The morning tea they had ground through had been excruciating; Lydia had made it clear through a series of terse one-word answers and pinched facial expressions that she did not wish to be there. All the while, her grandmother had gushed over the potential match, doing her best to ignore the poisonous air that filled the room.
Vincent knew Georgina had been telling the truth when she had claimed her sister did not wish to marry him. In spite of everything, he could not deny that was something of a blow to the ego. Given his lofty title, he had assumed the ladies of thetonwould be lining up to be his wife.
Perhaps my rakish reputation has done more damage than I thought.
The coach rolled smoothly through the gates of Levinton Manor. Before they had even reached the house, the Dowager Duchess came bounding down the front steps. No doubt she had been waiting and watching out the window. She bounced on her toes like a child as she waited for Vincent to climb down from the carriage.
“Well?” she pressed. “How was your morning? Did you just adore Miss Lydia? Is she not the most beautiful creature you have ever seen?”
Vincent forced a smile. “My morning was pleasant. Thank you, Mother.” Now was not the time for him to lay out all the reasons why marriage to Lydia Wyatt would be a terrible idea. Not least the fact that the bride would no doubt be walking into church looking like she had just sucked a lemon.
The Dowager Duchess beamed, clasping her hands together and holding them to her heart. “Wonderful. Oh, Vincent. I knew you would love her. I trust you will be calling on her again soon?”
“Yes, Mother.” To his surprise, it was not dread he was feeling at the thought of calling on Lydia Wyatt again.
As interminable as another morning tea with her was likely to be, it would at least give him a chance to unravel the mystery that was her sister.
ChapterSeven
Lydia was still petulant and morose when dinner time came around. She sat opposite her grandmother, shooting poisonous glares across the table like a child who had been told she was to have no pudding. Georgina would almost have found it amusing if it were not for this unfathomably awful situation.
Soon, Vincent—the Duke—will be sitting at this table with us. How am I to sit opposite him at dinner, knowing the way he made me feel? How am I to watch him marry my sister when all I can think of is how much I want his hands on me?
After her night with Vincent in the sitting room at the ball, the thought of living life as a spinster had seemed unbearable. But this… this made it so much worse. Lydia’s upcoming marriage was challenging enough for Georgina. But the fact that she was to marry the one man who had ever made her feel this way?
What a cruel joke life was playing.
At least—she hoped—she had convinced the Duke she was not the mysterious masked lady from the ball. He had clearly had his suspicions. She could only pray she had quelled them.
“Grandmother, please,” Lydia spoke up, putting her fork back on her plate. She had not touched her roast beef. “Just give him a chance. I am begging you.”
The Dowager Viscountess sighed. No doubt this was far from the first time today that Lydia had attempted such a conversation. “Enough, child. I do not wish to hear it.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Perhaps we ought to hear what Lydia has to say.”
The Dowager Viscountess snorted. “I think we all know what Lydia has to say, Marcus.”
He took a mouthful of wine, as though to steel himself. “I should like to hear for myself, Grandmother.” His voice wavered slightly, as it often did when he tried to sound assertive.
The Dowager sighed, waving a dismissive hand in the general direction of her grandchildren. “Very well.” She made a show of setting down her cutlery. “Say your piece and be done with it, Lydia.”
Lydia shot grateful eyes to her brother. “Well. It is as I said to you before, Grandmother.” Her words were clearly rehearsed, and there was a thin control to her voice. “I know you only want the best for me, and for this family. But marrying the Duke of Levinton will only bring me unhappiness. Is that truly what you want for me?” The Dowager Viscountess remained unmoved.
Lydia swallowed visibly, pressing on. “And I know you think badly of Lord Renshaw, on account of his status. But I can assure you, he is as hardworking as any man you will ever meet. He has sizeable lands north of London, and a fine house in South Kensington. He is more than capable of providing me with a stable and loving home.” She looked imploringly at her grandmother. “Please. I beg you just to meet with him. Hear what he has to say. I know you will love him as much as I do.”
The Dowager Viscountess set her wine glass down and looked squarely at Lydia. “You will not be marrying a baron. Not when you have a well-respected duke looking to make you his wife. My decision is final. And I do not wish to hear another word about it.”
* * *
The house was dark and quiet when Georgina made her way down the passage toward her sister’s bedchamber. Though it was close to midnight, she was certain that Lydia’s heartbreak would be keeping her from sleep. Indeed, when she tapped lightly on the door, she could hear soft sobbing coming from inside.
“Lydia?” she whispered. “May I come in?” Georgina saw the orange glow of lamplight appear under the door, then Lydia’s soft footsteps sounded across the room. She pulled open the door, ushering her sister inside.
Lydia was in a state. Her blonde hair was tangled over her shoulders, her eyes red and swollen from seemingly endless tears. Georgina pulled her into a tight embrace. “Oh, Lydia. Things are not so bad.”
“Yes they are,” she sobbed, her words muffled against Georgina’s shoulder. “I cannot bear the thought of marrying the Duke. I love Peter so much. How can I become another man’s wife?”
