Page 25 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
Still, Amelia wanted her son to be happy, and if that meant letting him get his rakish ways out of his system during his twenties, then so be it. She only wished he were a little more excited about the prospect.
Amelia just could not figure her son out. When she had told him she had invited the Wyatts to afternoon tea, he had seemed positively thrilled. And yet, he had barely given Miss Lydia more than a passing glance. She had no idea why he had insisted on conversing with Lydia’s ill-mannered sister. Perhaps she was a far less daunting prospect for a gentleman than the golden-haired beauty he was destined to marry.
“I do apologize for my granddaughter’s behavior today,” Lady Thomson said suddenly, as they approached the long shelf at the back of the cellar. “I have never known her to behave so inappropriately. I admit, I am rather mortified. Rest assured I will be having strong words with her when we return home.”
Amelia waved her discomfort away. She had been rather taken aback by Georgina Wyatt’s comments and behavior at the table. But they had not been much of a surprise. No doubt someone like Georgina had little cause to attend many social occasions. Amelia assumed it was only right to make allowances for her.
“It is of no consequence,” she told Lady Thomson airily. “I expect she is rather inexperienced when it comes to such events. And no doubt she is rather overwhelmed by Lord Renshaw’s apparent interest in her.” She slid a fine Bordeaux from the rack and held it out for the Dowager Viscountess to inspect.
“Yes,” said Lady Thomson. “Indeed. I admit the Baron’s interest in her came as something of a shock.” To Amelia’s irritation, she was watching her feet as she walked, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the wine.
“This is a wonderful claret,” she announced, removing a second bottle from a shelf with a flourish. “The makers have been producing wine since the twelfth century. Can you believe it?”
Lady Thomson gave the bottle a fleeting glance. “Perhaps you are right,” she said. “Georgina could never have expected to marry. No doubt the prospect of becoming Lord Renshaw’s wife has rattled her somewhat. Still, I am ever so sorry for the way she acted.”
Amelia gave up. She slid the wine bottles back onto the shelf and turned to face Lady Thomson. “Vincent seemed very excited to see Miss Lydia this morning,” she told her brightly. She had no desire to speak any further on Georgina Wyatt, or her soft-spoken Baron. The two of them were of little consequence.
The frown on Lady Thomson’s wrinkled face eased at the mention of Vincent. She attempted something close to a smile. Amelia knew the two of them had little in common, but they could certainly bond over their shared desire to see Vincent and Lydia married.
“Is that so?” said Lady Thomson. “I am very glad to hear that.”
“And Miss Lydia?” Amelia pressed. “Did she seem excited to see my son?” She had to admit, Vincent’s wife-to-be had not seemed overly thrilled with the situation during their afternoon tea. Amelia had expected her to show a little more enthusiasm. After all, she was about to become a duchess! What more could a young lady like her wish for?
“Oh yes,” Lady Thomson said quickly. “Miss Lydia is not one to show her emotions openly. But I could tell she was looking forward to seeing your son. And looking forward to becoming his wife.” She gave Amelia a pointed look. “Perhaps a proposal will be forthcoming sooner rather than later?”
Amelia sighed dramatically. “I do hope so. I feel as though I have been waiting a lifetime for that boy to settle down! If he does not ask for her hand soon, I fear I may just wither away to nothing.” She laughed. After a moment, Lady Thomson decided to join in.
* * *
Vincent sank into an armchair in the grand parlor on the ground floor of Levinton Manor. Lydia perched on the edge of the chair beside him, sighing faintly and putting on her best expression of boredom. On the settee opposite, Georgina and Lord Renshaw were all syrupy smiles and whispered words.
Something is definitely going on here.
When his mother had suggested inviting the Wyatt sisters, along with Lord Renshaw, for afternoon tea, Vincent had jumped at the chance. A chance to see Georgina, yes; but on top of that, a chance to deduce what exactly was going on in this odd little tryst between her and the Baron.
Of course, his mother had taken his enthusiasm as a desire to see Miss Lydia, and Vincent had played along. He was glad for the respite from his mother while she dragged the Dowager Viscountess of Thomson on a detailed tour of their wine cellar.
Vincent nodded along as Lord Renshaw tiptoed through a story about a friend’s horse—or was it his summer home? He was not really listening. The four of them were seated in front of yet another steaming teapot and yet another tray of biscuits. His mother had really outdone herself this time.
Perhaps she thinks she can lure Miss Lydia into the family with pudding…
But Vincent knew, sweets or no sweets, there was nothing that could tempt Lydia into becoming his bride. If they were to marry, she would do so under duress. Not that he would feel any different, of course.
“That sounds absolutely lovely,” Georgina sang, pressing a hand into Lord Renshaw’s arm. “You simply must convince your friend to let us use the house once we are married.”
He smiled at her broadly. “I shall do my best.”
Vincent picked up his teacup and took a sip. His eyes darted between the two of them. What was going on in this strange courtship between Georgina and the Baron? At the park last week Lord Renshaw had seemed quite distant and seemed to hold little interest in his potential bride-to-be. And yet Georgina had claimed the two of them were very much looking forward to being married.
Right before she kissed me…Vincent had left their encounter certain that Georgina was merely pretending to have feelings for Lord Renshaw—although for what reason, he could not determine. But today…
Today the pair were sitting side by side on the settee, the Baron’s hand folded neatly over Georgina’s. Today, they were shooting each other warm and loving glances and chuckling at privately whispered jokes. Today, they were planning trips to summer houses together. Vincent found it difficult to watch.
Was I wrong about Georgina and Lord Renshaw? Are they truly to be married?
The thought left an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. Anger—no, jealousy.
Then there was Georgina’s strange behavior at the table earlier. Such discourteous comments and clumsy behavior, it was not who she was. Yes, she was a sharp-tongued spitfire, but she had too much wit about her to stoop to attacking his mother’s macarons. And knocking over the cream jug? He was fairly certain that had not been an accident.
