Page 24 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
“Pardon me,” said Georgina.
The Dowager Duchess darted a poisonous glance her way, but her smile returned quickly as the footmen began filling plates with slices of cake and biscuits. She turned to Lydia. “Tell me, my dear. What do you think of Levinton Manor? I do hope it is to your liking.” She gave her a conspiratorial smile. “After all, you will be the lady of the manor in not too long.”
“It is a lovely house, Your Grace.” The Dowager Viscountess dived in before Lydia could answer. “I am sure Miss Lydia will be very happy here. Will you not, my dear?”
“Indeed.” Lydia had become adept at the emotionless, one-word answer. The Dowager Duchess smiled thinly, clearly taken aback by her brusqueness.
“I see.” She dabbed her pink lips with a napkin. “Well,” she said tautly, “if you see fit to make any changes to the place, please know you will have my blessing. We want you to feel at home here.”
Georgina smiled to herself at the Dowager Duchess’s chilly tone. Was it possible she was becoming somewhat disenchanted with Lydia? She had to seize the momentum.
“Oh, do pardon me,” Georgina blustered, as she reached across the table and knocked the cream jug on its side. White liquid oozed toward the plate of macarons. A footman waiting in a corner of the room leaped into action, scooping up the jug and attempting to mop up the ocean of cream with a napkin. A fat blob of liquid dripped onto the floor. Georgina’s grandmother and the Dowager Duchess watched on in horror.
Georgina felt the Dowager Viscountess trying to catch her eye, but she refused to look her way. In spite of herself, she felt her glance pulled in the Duke’s direction. Far from looking disgusted at her behavior, there was a tiny smile on his lips. He brought his napkin to his face in an attempt to hide it.
Georgina turned back to her plate, slicing her cake into unnecessarily small pieces. Against every inch of sense in her body, her heart was thumping wildly at the Duke’s closeness and at the almost private smile that had passed between them. She felt horribly conflicted. Disgusting the Duke and Dowager Duchess enough to turn them away from the family felt like the only chance Georgina had of securing Lydia’s happiness. And yet a part of her craved the Duke’s presence because she could not bear the thought of him no longer being in her life.
“Miss Wyatt,” he spoke up suddenly, “have you thought further about my suggestions regarding your portrait?”
“Oh, I…” Georgina had not expected him to speak to her directly. Surely, whatever thisthingwas between them was private and not to be encouraged in the presence of people. After all, the two older ladies watching him like hawks expected him to have eyes only for Lydia. And she certainly had not expected him to bring up the delicate topic of her portrait.
“Exactly what suggestions were they, Your Grace?” the Dowager Viscountess spoke up.
“Well.” The Duke looked at her squarely. “When I saw the ladies’ portraits earlier in the week, I could not help but notice that Miss Wyatt’s was not particularly accurate.” The Dowager Viscountess’s jaw tightened, but the Duke pressed on determinedly. “I merely suggested to her that she might find a more talented artist to do the job.”
The Dowager Viscountess made a noise in the back of her throat. “Our portrait artist has been working for our family for many years, Your Grace.” Georgina could tell she was doing her best to rein in her anger. “I was very pleased with his work. As I am sure Miss Wyatt was too.” She looked pointedly at Georgina. “Isn’t that right, my dear?” There was no warmth in her tone.
Georgina looked squarely at her grandmother. “Well, Grandmother, I am afraid I have to agree with His Grace. I did not think it a particularly accurate representation of me.”
The Dowager Viscountess’s eyes blazed. Georgina could hardly believe she had spoken so boldly on the matter. Usually, she stumbled past any mention of her appearance with as much haste as possible. There was something exhilarating about speaking in such a way.
“Why don’t you ask Miss Lydia about her week?” the Duke’s mother cut in hurriedly. Her smile was too broad; Georgina could practically see her cheekbones aching.
“I am interested in Miss Wyatt’s thoughts on the portrait, Mother,” the Duke said firmly. “There will be plenty of time to hear all about Miss Lydia’s week in due course.”
The Dowager Duchess pressed her lips into a thin white line. “Tell me, what do you all think of the macarons? Are they not the most divine thing you have ever tasted?”
“Actually, Your Grace, I find them a little too sweet for my liking,” said Georgina. She held back a smile at the daggers behind the Dowager Duchess’s eyes.
“Too sweet?” she demanded. “That is—”
“So do I,” the Duke put in, tossing down his napkin and shooting Georgina a smile. “Rather gives one a toothache.”
ChapterFourteen
Amelia Mads, the Dowager Duchess of Levinton, swung open the door to her wine cellar with gusto. She had planned this afternoon out meticulously. Now the afternoon tea was finished, she would take Lady Thomson to see her fabulous collection of wine, leaving Vincent with time to get to know Miss Lydia better. Never mind that things were not quite going as planned. There was plenty of time to get matters back to where they ought to be.
She inhaled deeply, enjoying the earthy aroma of the cellar. Some of the bottles down here were worth a small fortune. She could not wait to show them off.
“You will simply love all the treasures in here, Lady Thomson,” she gushed, hooking her arm through the Dowager Viscountess’s. “I have been working on this collection for years.” She laughed her booming laugh. “Of course, it takes some willpower not to drink it all, believe me.”
Lady Thomson smiled thinly. “It sounds like a wonderful…hobby.”
She did not sound as though she meant it. Amelia glided right past her disinterest. This was just who Lady Thomson was, she had learned. An uptight and rigid lady who seemed to take little pleasure in the finer things in life—or indeed, in very much at all. But surely not even a lady like her could turn up her nose at a fine Burgundy. Not that Amelia was particularly bothered by Lady Thomson’s sourness. She was far too excited about Vincent’s impending marriage.
For years, she had been counting down the days until her son’s thirtieth birthday. If she were honest with herself, she had been doing so with no small amount of dread. For generations, the males in her late husband’s family had been doomed to live such brief lives. Ever since Vincent was a child, Amelia had been terrified that the same fate would befall him.
Losing her son would be utterly heartbreaking. Losing him without an heir would be inconceivable.If I had my way, Vincent would have been married at twenty.
