Page 50 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
His mother turned to him. “Vincent,” she said, her voice low, “you are hardly eating. Do try the soup. It is simply divine.” She looked over at Lydia, who had not even bothered picking up her spoon. “I believe you may have His Grace on edge this evening, my dear.” She gave her a conspiratorial smile. “I do believe your grandmother and I are not the only ones excited about the future and all it may hold.”
Lydia picked up her wine glass and took a tiny sip, peering at the Dowager Duchess over the rim. “I would hardly say your son looks excited, Your Grace,” she said tautly. “Rather like a man who is approaching the gallows.”
Vincent hid a smile. The Dowager Duchess raised her eyebrows. No doubt it was the most words she had ever heard come from Lydia’s mouth in one sitting.
The Dowager Viscountess shot Lydia a poisonous glare. “I apologize, Your Graces. It seems the Duke is not the only one who is a little out of sorts this evening.”
“Your Grace.” Lydia turned to him with a sweet smile. “I thought it might interest you to know what my sister has been up to these past few days. Did you know her as a fine speaker of Latin? She has decided to challenge herself by translatingGulliver’s Travels. Can you imagine that?”
Well, this is interesting…
When she had first learned of his feelings for Georgina, Lydia had practically poked his eyes out in anger. Now it seemed as though she was trying to nudge him in her direction.
“Of course, that is just Georgina,” Lydia continued airily. “She is ever so clever. Her French is excellent too, of course. But can you imagine where she would like to travel to the most? To Scotland, of all places! Can you believe it? Is that not right, Georgina?”
Georgina stirred her soup, eyes down. “I hardly think my travel aspirations are of interest to His Grace, Lydia.”
“Of course they are,” said Vincent. If Lydia was going to behave in such an overt manner, then he was too. He looked across the table, fixing his eyes on Georgina until she looked up to face him. “I think you would love Scotland, Miss Wyatt. I have had the good fortune of visiting the place twice. Once to Edinburgh, and once all the way up to the Highlands. My family has lands in the north, not far from the border.” He smiled. “Perhaps you will have the pleasure of visiting in the future.”
For a moment, he let himself get lost in the fantasy. Walking the streets of Edinburgh with Georgina on his arm. Showing her the family lands. Getting lost with her in the wild bleakness of the Highlands. He longed for it with an intensity that made him ache.
Her eyes met his for a moment. And he saw that longing there too. Knew at once that she was thinking of such things, just as he was. And at that moment, he knew with certainty what he had only so far suspected: that when Georgina had put an end to things between them, she had been doing so under duress.
Why? Because of Renshaw? Because of Lydia?
Vincent could not make sense of it. But that single, fleeting look in her eyes filled him with blind and foolish hope. Perhaps everything was not lost after all.
“You have been to Scotland, Your Grace?” she asked. “How fortunate. I have been fascinated by the place since I was a child. I always found it so incongruous that a place so beautiful might be marred with so much bloodshed and sadness.”
Vincent felt a smile on his lips. Here was the Georgina he knew. Witty and intelligent and thoughtful.
“Oh Georgina,” her grandmother put in, “I hardly think bloodshed a suitable dinnertime conversation topic.”
“My father always said he would take me one day.” Georgina continued on as though she and Vincent were the only two at the table. “I regret that he passed before he was able to.”
He held her gaze. “Well. I imagine you may find another gentleman to accompany you.”
“Yes, yes. What do you think, Lord Renshaw?” said the Dowager Duchess. “Perhaps you might see fit to take Miss Wyatt to Scotland one day?”
Vincent’s exhilaration plummeted to his toes.
“Scotland?” Lord Renshaw managed, as though he had drifted off—probably due to a desperate desire to escape this dinner—and only just caught hold of the conversation. “I… er… yes, yes, we can go to Scotland.” As though suddenly remembering himself, he reached over and patted Georgina’s wrist. “Whatever you wish, my dear.”
“And what of you, Miss Lydia?” the Dowager Duchess said, too loudly. She reached for another bread roll. “Where in the world would you like to visit?”
“Oh, nowhere really,” Lydia said with a shrug. “I am afraid I am rather dull in that respect. In fact, I am rather dull in many respects. Little more than a pretty face, I am afraid.”
Vincent chuckled to himself. Whatever Lydia was playing at tonight, he was enjoying it. He watched the sisters exchange glances across the table.
“And a beautiful face it is at that,” sang his mother. “We shall be ever so lucky to have such a beauty in our family.” She thumped Vincent on the arm, completely forgoing any attempt at subtlety. “Shan’t we, my dear?”
“And we shall be honored to have you both as part of ours,” said the Dowager Viscountess, sickly sweet. She turned to Lord Renshaw, who seemed to cower under her flinty eyes. “And you too, My Lord.”
“Oh yes,” said the Dowager Duchess, with more than a little reluctance. “Have the two of you made any further arrangements regarding your wed—”
“Pardon me,” Georgina blustered suddenly. Her voice was loud and brassy. “I am really not feeling well. I am afraid I need to be excused.”
The Dowager Duchess raised her eyebrows, but Georgina was on her feet and darting out of the dining room before anyone could stop her. Lord Renshaw leaped to his feet.
