Page 44 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
To her relief, the footsteps continued past the smoking room and deeper into the passage. Lydia stood, smoothing her skirts.Maybe I ought to actually look for the clue. The sooner this game is over, the sooner we can leave.
She took the crumpled page from her fist and opened it.
“Go to the south, where hidden things are found.”
She wrinkled her nose. What on earth did that mean? She shook her head, deciding on a far less brain-straining method: simply searching through everything in the faint hope of finding the treasure. Whatever that was.
She drifted over to a side table topped with paper and pencils. Several of the pages contained sketches of flower bouquets and horses. Lydia glanced at them curiously. They were of fine quality; exceptionally detailed. Had the Duke done these, she wondered? Was he an artist? She realized she did not know a single thing about the man she was expected to marry—at least beyond the fact that he was known to be an incurable rake. And infatuated with her sister.
And then a thought came to her. She had been given license to roam Levinton Manor as she saw fit. Could there be something hidden among the Duke’s things that might hint at his promiscuity, his gross impropriety? Her grandmother had clearly paid no heed to talk of the Duke’s rakish reputation, his unsuitability as a husband.But what if she could find something among his belongings that might show the Dowager Viscountess once and for all just how unacceptable it would be for her granddaughter to marry such a man? Something like a… a… Well, Lydia did not really know, but she was sure there had to be something. Would there be any chance it would change her grandmother’s mind?
It was a faint and desperate hope, she knew. But she had to try.
And Lydia slipped back out into the passage, with a new sense of determination.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Vincent waited in the parlor until three sets of footsteps disappeared into the house. Best he let Lydia and Lord Renshaw lose themselves in the house before he went hunting down Georgina. He needed very desperately to speak to her, and he did not wish for any stray ears to overhear their conversation.
When he stepped from the parlor, he found his mother waiting outside the door. She planted her hands on her hips. Gave him a stern look Vincent had not seen since he was a child.
“What is all this nonsense?” she demanded. “A treasure hunt? Do you not have better things to do than playing foolish games?”
Yes. Like finding Georgina. Asking her if she truly intends to marry Renshaw.
“Excuse me, Mother,” he said tautly. “I’m in the middle of entertaining my guests.”
His mother snatched his arm as he tried to sidle past her. “You promised me,” she hissed. “You are to ask for Miss Lydia’s hand by the end of the week.”
“Yes, Mother. And the week is nowhere near done yet.” Vincent hurried away before she could speak again. He strode up the staircase, following the faint sound of footsteps.
His heart was thumping hard and he felt a hollow, falling sensation in his stomach. Nerves, he realized. He had been feeling them all day. Had barely been able to force down two mouthfuls at breakfast this morning. His mother had fussed ceaselessly, certain he was about to be struck down by some ghastly illness that would end his life. When he had assured her he was well, she had put it down to anxiousness over asking for Lydia’s hand.
What would he do if Georgina truly was to marry Renshaw? He knew it was a distinct possibility. Would he marry Lydia, as was expected of him? Did he have any choice in the matter? Vincent scrubbed a hand over his face. Life had been so much simpler when it had been full of parties and liquor. When he had not cared a scrap over the parade of young women he took to his bed.
Now, all those young women were nameless, faceless. Memories he cared little to dwell on. Now, the only lady he cared about was Georgina Wyatt.
He threw open door after door.Where in hell is she?
* * *
Lydia tugged at the drawers of the desk in the Duke’s study. Locked. She supposed she could not be surprised. Could there possibly be something incriminating inside? Or were they just filled with boring ledgers and correspondence?
The door clicked open suddenly, and she jumped away from the desk like a thief caught sneaking into a bank vault.
“Lydia,” Georgina hissed. “What are you doing?”
Lydia chewed her lip. “Looking for the treasure?”
“In His Grace’s desk?”
She shrugged. “He did say it could be hidden anywhere in Levinton Manor.”
Georgina gave her her best stern-older-sister expression. “I really think you ought to come away from there.”
Lydia gave up. The drawers were all firmly locked anyway, and breaking in felt like a step too far. Georgina looped her arm through hers as she approached the doorway.
“Come on. Let us go and search in the garden. Stay with me, so His Grace does not have a chance to get you alone. What does your clue say?”
