Page 34 of The Wallflower and the Duke
Shame filled Marjorie’s chest because of how foolish she had been to think, even for a few days now, that she could be Alfie’s duchess. Most days, she never left her room. She preferred it that way, lost in her stories.
She glanced around once more, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all. The duchess had made it a point for years to make sure Marjorie knew her place, and it was not at Hollyvale.
“Why are you back, Mother?” Alfie set his tea down on the table, not touching it, and then refused a scone. Marjorie grabbed one but was afraid to eat it, certain she would be ill. Her stomach was far too unsettled by the unpleasant surprise.
“Well, I received an invitation from Lord Chadwick,” she said. “Surely you remember Percy. He visited here often while you were at school together.”
Marjorie dropped her scone. It fell against the spoon resting on the saucer and clinked against the fine porcelain, before flipping off and falling into her lap. She felt the heat of embarrassment burn her cheeks as she quickly picked it up and pretended to stare into her teacup. Even as that strange whooshing sound washed over her, Alfie’s voice seemed miles away.
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, he has a literary event and has invited me. Such a kind gesture, and you know I always wish to support the arts. He wrote that he hasn’t heard from you, and he wishes for you to attend as well.”
“Have you considered I don’t want to speak to him?” Alfie shot back.
She never let her displeasure slip, instead turning her disgust toward Marjorie.
“Why are you here, Miss Merryweather?”
Marjorie’s eyes widened. “I was taking a walk this morning, and I happened upon Alfie in the park. It has been years since I’ve seen him.”
His mother glanced between them. There was no hiding the fact that she knew. Marjorie wished she could fall through the floor at that moment. She had never felt so small in her life, so insignificant. She glanced once more over to Alfie, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she knew she must leave.
“Thank you kindly for inviting me in for tea. But I shall return home. It was lovely seeing you both, truly.” She stood up, trying not to fall when her skirt got stuck in the chair. She pulled the fabric free, jumping as Alfie reached to help her, wishing to give his mother no need for further gossip.
“Have a lovely time in London, Your Grace,” she said as she turned around, leaving the room, only hearing the duchess’s soft, chittering laugh.
“Her rude manners—it’s no wonder why London won’t embrace her,” the older woman remarked. “What a strange creature. I’m surprised she’s not married, though I’m not sure who would want to marry?—”
“Mother,” Alfie warned.
Running out into the drive, placing her hands on her knees, and bending in half, she felt as if she would cast up her accounts at any moment. She glanced up at the sky, then back at Hollyvale. She had no business being there. No business sitting across from the duchess taking tea. She could pretend all she wished, but what had happened between her and Alfie could be nothing more than a fever dream. Now she was certain she needed to head to London.
“Jo,” he said, and she winced at the nickname, furious he would even say so with his mother within earshot. She whirled upon him, balling her hands in front of her.
“Do not tell me what to do,” she hissed. She wished to yell and scream and make a fuss. Her voice was all cold ice. “I was just humiliated in there. And I don’t wish to pretend.”
“Pretend what?” he insisted, reaching out for her. When she shook off his touch, he cursed under his breath and looked up at the sky before storming over to the carriage.
“At least take the carriage home,” he said. “It would be faster. Let me ride with you.” She noticed his white knuckles as he held the door for her. All hope sank in her stomach.
“No, Alfie.”
Still, he insisted. She climbed into the carriage, settling over the bench, watching as his face paled. He stalled in the doorway.
“Damn it,” he said finally after a few minutes, looking over at her. “Damn it all, I can’t get in this carriage.”
She reached her hand out for him, but it was his turn to withdraw.
“No, no pity,” he snapped.
“Then let me go to London,” she said.
“And what? What next?”
“I will return.”
“Will you?” It was clear from his voice that he didn’t believe her. She didn’t believe herself. If she left, she wasn’t certain she could return.
