Chapter 30 - MARK—EARLY WORMS OF MAYFAIR

As soon as the morning turned to a decent hour, I was on the steps of the Duke of Torrance’s Anya House. For the past three days, the man refused to talk of anything but some process to find Georgina a perfect match.

Perhaps today, a cooler head would prevail.

Mr. Steele greeted me in the hall. “Lord Mark. I didn’t think you’d come today. You were already excluded from the competition. Pity. I thought you and Miss Wilcox were a good match.”

If only my future bride thought the same. “Where is Torrance?”

After a footman took my hat and gloves, Steele led me to the dining room.

“His Grace is enjoying his breakfast. He has a good hearty appetite. Please don’t upset him.”

“What? Everything about this insane wager is upsetting.”

Steele offered me a patient smile. “Do you expect him to back down, to be a better man? Why? Why shouldn’t he do what he wishes and get what he wants? Any other man would act the same, why not the Duke of Torrance?”

Two wrongs, a thousand wrongs, made nothing right. “It’s a ridiculous wager. Miss Wilcox deserves better.”

“Are you saying better for her or better for you?”

“Steele, I’m talking principle.”

“Principles almost denied Torrance everything. If he wishes to act like the rest of the ton, doing what he thinks is best for pleasure or amusement or self-interest, so be it. Let him break eggs instead of walking on their shells.”

The butler knocked, announced me, and then let me in. Then he whispered, “Privilege looks different in darker hands.”

I stopped mid-step and wondered if my confusion was in fact that. Torrance had always been good-natured, extravagant, never cruel. It was unnerving to think of him acting like my father, uncaring about anyone but himself.

Regardless, I barged inside. “Torrance, we have to—”

Another surprise sat across the duke’s grand table. Livingston.

Goodness, no. This couldn’t be the duke’s pick. “Torrance, we need to speak. I assume you’ve calmed from earlier this week and can discuss things rationally.”

I pushed into the dining room the size of Mother Russia, where the duke sat at the head of a mahogany Chippendale table. He wore a long, fluid robe that had seed pearls lining the opening. It was artsy and bold, different from the immaculate waistcoats and trousers Torrance typically wore. He studied me as he forked at potatoes.

“Sebastian, I’m surprised you’ve come. Determined to join us? Sit.”

“You didn’t say medieval dress for breakfast.”

“Didn’t invite you, Sebastian. But sit.”

The duke waved me to the table set with immaculate china and glass goblets.

“Sebastian, are you here to provide intelligence on Miss Wilcox? Share her likes and dislikes? That information would be useful.”

Useful to pick a man who wasn’t me. The duke had to be otherworldly if he thought I’d offer any nugget for another to woo the most beautiful girl in the world.

“I don’t believe I know Miss Wilcox well enough to offer that opinion. I will help where I can.” There, that sounded good and vague.

“Have some breakfast, Sebastian. There’s a wide selection.”

The table was filled with every imaginable type of roll and croissant and muffin. The egg dish looked savory and delectable, but so did the plate of potatoes. Potatoes that smelled like chocolate. “What is that?”

“Kartoshka, my favorite dessert. Miss Wilcox intends to make them for me. It is sponge cake crumbled and molded with cream and dipped in chocolate. Her biscuits are fine. I suppose her kartoshka will be amazing.”

Although having never had Georgie’s biscuits—I was sure that’s what he spoke of—I didn’t have an appetite. “Not hungry, Your Grace. I came to talk about this bet and the conditions and see if there’s a way to convince you not to go through with this.”

“You want me to lose?” He glared at me over his goblet. Then, he again pointed to a chair. “I’m curious as to why. I thought it was in both our best interests that Georgina Wilcox is given her heart’s desire.”

“Well, yes, but having you select whom she’s to marry doesn’t seem wise.”

“I’m of the opinion that a woman, given the proper amount of information, can make a rational decision.”

Livingston chuckled, his laugh cold and sober. “Torrance has a number of very interesting ideas that he’s going to test. I’ll help to make this scientific.”

“Are you one of the candidates, Livingston? I thought you were against marriage.”

“Heavens, no.” He stabbed at a piece of beef and put it into his mouth. Then he grabbed two kartoshkas. Taking his time, chewing everything slowly, he delayed before delivering his full answer.

“I’m very much against ever marrying again. My support of Torrance’s experiment does not change that. However, I’d love a scientific approach on the matter. Understanding how the female mind makes this type of selection will be important for me. Then I can always avoid their traps.”

Why were they both like this?

About to turn and leave, I was struck by the similarities between the earl and the duke. Both surely had had women break their souls. The loss of love or a relationship had turned them into sour beings.

Would that be me if Georgina married someone else?

“A logical process,” Livingston said. “I will help Torrance select the perfect candidate for Miss Wilcox. Logically, she shouldn’t be able to say no. He’ll surely win his wager.”

“Sebastian, our friend understands winning is important. But as I was explaining to Livingston, this must be a big scientific test. Can logical beings, like ourselves, influence emotional women into saying yes to an ideal candidate?”

“Does that mean you both are invested in finding the right husband for Georgina Wilcox? You don’t care if Miss Wilcox is happy as long as you win the wager?”

“I do care,” Torrance said, “but I must win this bet. We all should be happy with the right husband being selected and me winning.”

Livingston nodded and cleared his plate. “This shall be fun.”

Frustrated that I couldn’t get through to either man, I flopped into the chair. It took everything in me not to bash their heads together. This flawed experiment could hurt Georgina. Whether she would be mine or not, that woman deserved to be happy.

Livingston stood, dusted his fingers of cocoa, then pushed in his chair. “I’ve spread the word at my club—”

“Oh, no. More gamblers.”

“Sebastian, let the earl finish.”

Livingston clasped the lapels of his dark blue jacket and proceeded to strut. “As I was saying . . . men at my club and some from the Royal Society have been invited. We should have a good crowd this afternoon. Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going to prepare—”

“My study,” the duke said. “It’s big enough but not too big. Perfect for the games or more so the parade of suitors to begin.”

Parade? Were these two going to make men show off in front of Miss Wilcox?

“The study it is, Torrance.” With a nod, Livingston left the dining room.

Almost raising my hands in prayer to beg the duke, I groaned. “This isn’t right.”

“Rest assured, I truly have Miss Wilcox’s interests in mind. I’ll not let anything untoward happen to her. I only win if she believes my candidate is the best husband. We both know she refuses to marry just anyone. She’s not easily swayed. She’ll not choose a person who won’t make her happy.”

“And what of Lady Hampton’s interests? Is your hate of her clouding your judgment?”

The smile on Torrance’s face evaporated, like water in a hot pot, sizzling to become steam. “The woman is my concern. She has free will to decide what’s best. She can even back out of this bet if she’ll come to me reasonably and apologize. But such a wise act is beneath her. She’d rather rot in hell than admit she’s wrong.”

“And you wish to be married to that? A bitter woman will destroy you.”

“No. Suffering doesn’t matter. She’ll act accordingly. And I’ll know that all the sisters will be provided for. They are gentlewomen. I can assure they will be married well and protected. That makes everything right.”

“What’s the great sin you are trying to fix, that you don’t care about your own happiness?”

The duke looked over his goblet. “You ask a lot of questions like a certain miss. I think you need to finish a sonata so that you can see about your own future. Do it quickly and gain another chance with Miss Wilcox.”

“But that doesn’t help you, Torrance.”

“As I said, I want each of the sisters happy. I think she truly cares for you, but you both have no future together if you’re not a successful composer. That’s what you’ve told us all.”

I had, hadn’t I?

He sipped and seemed to gaze at the remaining kartoshkas. “Remember, if you can win her, my wager is a draw. Scarlett’s potential matrimony will be the deciding match. I have a whole year to learn and nudge her in the right direction.”

“And you still get a full house of Wilcoxes. I joked about this other day, but it’s true. It’s not Lady Hampton you want. Well, not alone. It’s the whole family.”

The duke downed whatever was in his goblet and slammed it on the table. “I made a mistake a long time ago. I’m setting right what I would’ve had: a warmer, closer relationship with them. Those girls, especially Lydia, would’ve always been welcome here. And I could’ve seen to her medical care from the beginning. To have her not suffer like my sister is worth the punishment of a shrewish woman.”

His logic was flawed, but his concern for the Wilcoxes was unimpeachable. I envied his self-control, this man who cared more for these ladies than his personal happiness. Steele was right. Power looked different in the duke’s hands.

Rising, Torrance dropped his napkin into his chair. “You’ll just have to trust me, Sebastian. I shall go dress. The candidates should be arriving soon.”

He walked to the door. “Sebastian, stay. I think I’ll find your opinion on the men as fascinating as Livingston’s. It may be more valid, more emotional, because you know Miss Wilcox. Our friend will be clinical. That won’t make the best assessment.”

What was clinical about actually loving someone? Everything ached all over again, as if Georgie herself had just rejected me once more. I wished I could be clinical or as cold and removed as Livingston and wish Miss Wilcox well in choosing a mate.

I could do none of that, not with Georgina Wilcox choosing anyone to marry who wasn’t me.