Page 4 of The Wallflower and the Duke
“I might have a pair for you. To lend you, I mean…” Marjorie was careful never to imply Georgie needed anything. As kind and sweet as she was, she was also prideful and saw it as her position within the household to care for her older brother and her father, the Marquess of Quintrell, after her mother passed away five years earlier.
Her heart fluttered in her chest like it always had when he was near. Annoying as it was now.
Once he had chased her, begging for a kiss. Once, she had given in to temptation and shared her bed with him. It was such an intimate knowing to suddenly find yourself strangers.
He quickly cut her with a sweeping glance before continuing his conversation. Barely even a pause. Nothing.
The man she had foolishly loved for nearly three years. Even when he had disappeared after their night together, she hadn’t relinquished hope.
Then she spotted her sitting in the front row. Miss Ellen Somerset, preening and gossiping with the other debutantes.
Hope died the moment Marjorie read the gossip rags to discover the newly celebrated viscount was courting the diamond of the Season. There was no way she could compete with the likes of Ellen.
“Miss Merryweather, are your parents accompanying you this evening?” an elderly gentleman asked. She shook her head, too upset to speak just then. Instead, she waved behind her, motioning to her lady’s maid following close behind. “And Lady Georg?—”
“Very well. Have a seat. The viscount is about to begin.”
In the countryside, she might run wild, but in London she still strived to be perceived as palatable. Wallflower or not, she still had a desire to be married one day.
“Thank you. Lady Georgiana was kind enough to attend with me,” she said, softer than she would have liked. She didn’t care to be talked over or barked at. And she couldn’t in good conscience allow him to dismiss her friend so easily.
“It’s fine,” Georgie whispered, her cheeks now matching the strawberry-blonde locks pulled harshly beneath a short silk bonnet of faded ink blue.
Georgie grabbed a program and sat, tugging on Marjorie’s hand until she was seated. She promptly removed her fan from her reticule to hide behind as Percy made his way to the podium.
“Good evening,” the older gentleman said with a smile. “What an honor. What an honor, indeed. Please have a seat.”
Another man, shorter and nearly bald, stood next and introduced the viscount. Marjorie only rolled her eyes three times before he returned and opened his novel.
He cleared his throat, flashing a quick glance in her direction. She felt a blush burn her cheeks and pulled her attention away.
“I’ll be reading tonight from my novel, The Cursed Bride of Hollow Hill. In this chapter, the dastardly villain has kidnapped the heroine, but they are set upon by some highwaymen, and… Well, I don’t wish to ruin it for anyone. I will only say… nothing is as it seems.”
Percy stood before everyone, calm and confident, and his voice was perfectly steady, as though he had practiced for months.
But that didn’t account for the way Marjorie’s stomach twisted, or the sour taste in her mouth, or the way she could finish his sentences before he finished.
No, she wasn’t a minder reader, though that might be more believable.
Marjorie had set the manuscript aside two years prior, frustrated with a needling plot point, and fell in love with her current novel.
Set aside, on her desk.
She dropped her fan, certain she might either scream or faint. But her body remained frozen, sitting as she should as she listened to the viscount read her book to a large, hungry crowd.
Her words claimed as his in front of all of London.
Percy had stolen her manuscript. All her work, now his.
And while she sat there, struck, and the world whirled around her, he couldn’t find it within himself to even acknowledge her.
No, no, no.
“Marjorie?”
Georgie’s concern rang in her ears, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t…
“Marjorie, dear, are you quite sure you are well?”
