I thought he’d left Anya House but a glance out the window exposed him.
The way my heart fluttered exposed me.
His tortured piano playing had gone on long into the night. Part of me wanted to go to him then and try to make him understand why my marrying someone else was best.
A man would not understand. They could marry late. They’d never be looked down upon for being childless. They’d be slightly chided for having children out of wedlock.
London called single women like me a tall Meg, a spinster. Mark was young and his bachelorhood was celebrated. In twenty years, he too could marry Lydia and no one would think anything was wrong. Men had time to dither.
Not fair.
Yet when had it been for women—women like me?
Mark waved, curling his fingers as if to ask me to join him.
That would be scandalous to go and meet him where our troubles began.
Then I snapped to attention.
The duke began asking questions of the candidates.
Scarlett noted scores on the paper.
And I listened intently to each answer. One of these men could be the one I’d been waiting for, someone available now, ready to support the Wilcox family and my desires. My future husband deserved my undivided attention, not the lover I let walk away.
Chapter 34
MARK—HILARIOUSLYHAUGHTYHAUTETONMINUSHIM
Scooping up the last chocolaty kartoshka, I listened to Scarlett Wilcox’s line of questions. They were pretty good. She’d eliminated a lot of candidates.
“So you’re saying that if your wife wanted you to not go to the races and bet on ponies, you will do that, Mr. Armstrong?” Scarlett asked the gentleman at the far end. He bred prize mares for the Prince Regent that he’d run at the Bibury races. I believed he had an interest at several racing tracks.
The man puffed his cheeks like a chipmunk and said, “Well, there are many considerations. But if my wife were so inclined, and this would lead to her happiness, it would definitely be something to think about.”
Georgina turned to her sister. “I think that’s a no.”
The Earl of Livingston, who was also sitting near, tried to hold in a snorted laugh and failed miserably.
The duke crossed his arms and leaned back like he’d fallen asleep.
Would Torrance admit this was an abject failure?
I cleared my throat. “Perhaps we should take a break. The gardens are lovely.”
“Excellent suggestion, Sebastian. Gentlemen, please go to the dining room. There are more treats, but the ginger Cornish Fairings made by Miss Wilcox are gone.”
Blast it. Was I ever going to have this woman’s biscuits?
His Grace probably offered the enticements as a way to remind the gentlemen of Georgie’s domestic skills.
It wasn’t aherproblem.
It was athemissue.
This was a room filled with lackluster performers who’d openly lie to try to gain her dowry.
Before the meeting, Mr. Steele and the housekeeper came and cleared the sideboard of Torrance’s strange liqueurs and elixirs and filled the space with pastries and scones and choice meats. They were all but gone. The men feasted and missed the obvious dessert, Georgie Wilcox.
