Page 3 of The Wallflower and the Duke
“You should return before anyone notices you are gone,” she said diplomatically, pointing toward the door. “Do not tell a soul about my secret, so help me?—”
“I want you to be my wife, pet.” He reached for her, but she remained still, assessing him. “Are you working on another manuscript right now?” he asked, leaning around her to the stack of paper on her desk.
She shuffled her feet, foolish as it may be to attempt to block his view. “Good evening, Percy.”
“Will you let me read it?”
“Will you ask me to be your wife, or must we continue parading around London with this secret of ours?”
“You seem to be very good at keeping them.”
“I hope you can be as well.”
“One kiss?”
A kiss? A kiss after calling her strange and laughing at her while she revealed the biggest part of herself to him?
“Not tonight, Percy.”
With a large sigh, he shrugged his shoulders and slipped out of her room. She remained behind, ready to have her maid help her undress for the evening, when she spotted his mask on the floor. She picked it up, standing there with its weight in her palm, before folding it up and tucking it into the drawer of her desk.
CHAPTER 1
Two Years Later
Marjorie waited in the carriage as the crowd filed into the auditorium. Like any true wallflower, she didn’t love crowds. But it was more than that.
Percy was reading this evening.
The viscount was suddenly a sensation. All of London was abuzz about his gothic novel. Marjorie couldn’t bring herself to read it. Thinking of all the time they spent discussing ideas and themes, when ultimately, he vanished on her. She had allowed him into her room one more time. This time, losing her virtue in the process, then her betrothed.
At first, the excuses seemed logical enough. He was busy with the estate. He wanted to focus so they could be married. But then his letters stopped, and her attention toward securing his began to reek of desperation, and she hated it.
Very well. She was now a bitter, ruined woman. And perhaps it was a bit self-serving, but she couldn’t fight her curiosity any longer. It had been eight long months since they had last seen one another. And it was awkward at that. She had been forced to go shopping with her mother on Bond Street, and Percy had caught her bonnet, which had accidentally blown off her head. He hadn’t even looked her in the eyes when he returned it.
Marjorie clenched her fists, spotting her dear friend Lady Georgiana waiting outside of the auditorium, nervously searching the crowd for her with dark chestnut eyes.
Gray clouds hung low in the September sky, threatening a shower at any moment. With a deep sigh, she finally slipped out of the carriage and crossed the busy street, happy to see at least one friendly face.
“Georgie, it’s so nice to see you. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Marjorie.”
Lady Georgiana, much like Marjorie, enjoyed the written word and hated crowds. Her friend was painfully soft-spoken and just as meek. And where Marjorie often sought refuge from her parents and their ridiculous parties, Georgie sought to escape her father and older brother. Both men had a terrible reputation in London as of late, and it was well-known their estate was in shambles. Georgie quietly mused to Marjorie that she would be pleased to be made a spinster at their hands if it didn’t mean remaining with them until she landed in a workhouse.
Marjorie slipped her hand through her friend’s arm, sensing her unease, and steered her into the crowded building. The space fell into an excited hush, as if filled with busy worker bees, waiting for the queen.
Suddenly, the viscount was the prodigal son of London. Everyone adored him, and the idea that they were ever to be married was nothing more than sweet-whispered nothings.
She was firmly a wallflower with no chance of ever catching the eye of another. And while it hurt to admit it, she longed for love. It was ironic, considering a woman in her circumstance didn’t need a man. She made a living by her pen.
Or had.
Her last novel, released three months prior, was the first to fail to reach any sort of acclaim. She knew she could do better. And now she must if she were ever to compete with the viscount. Unlike him, she wasn’t able to do public appearances. She relied on reviews and readers recommending her work to others. She was forced to hide behind a male name.
She swallowed and averted her eyes as she made her way inside, quickly nodding her hellos to anyone who addressed her. The tips of her fingers were strikingly cold as she entered, setting eyes on the viscount laughing with a group of his friends.
“What a turn out,” Georgie whispered beside her. “I knew Percy wrote, but I had no idea his talent would warrant this.” She waved her hand around, then snapped it to her side to hide the large rip by her thumb. “I’ve been meaning to mend that.”
