Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

M atthew, Duke of Garvey, watched a series of well-dressed ladies parading themselves around flocks of unaware bachelors. “Look here,” he mused, “the game of marriage is afoot.”

“You are ridiculous,” an older woman said from behind him. Lady Tollock snapped her fan out as she watched the guests trickle in. “If only you’d get in the game yourself.”

“Did you truly think I would?”

Lady Tollock smirked. “A woman can dream.”

Even if he could not reciprocate the excitement of the new Season, the unusual companion he found in the widowed Lady Tollock let it go by quickly. She acted as the figurehead of the most popular social clubs in London. The first extravaganza of the Season always came from her brilliance—every guinea spent directly from her enriched pocket.

“I will say, Your Grace, I was quite surprised to see you arrive.”

“Why, did you think I truly believed all your visits to tutor Lucy only lied in fashioning a lady?”

Lady Tollock laughed, fanning herself as more and more of the ton filled her estate, Benedict House. “Don’t say I didn’t fool you,” she said, waving at a group of ladies listening to the music. “You even wore the colors we picked out for you.”

Matthew grimaced, the ease he felt from before draining into irritation. “ We? ”

“Well, Lucy and me, of course,” she said. “Your sister wants to see you wed and happy more than anyone else.” Reaching to straighten his coat, Lady Tollock swiped dust off his shoulder. “You even match my curtains.”

He lifted his head, over a head taller than the aging woman. Within the growing crowd, Matthew eyed the ladies dressed in their Season’s best, most likely secured months before in hurried anticipation. Mothers hooked arms around bachelors, subtly steering them towards their eligible daughters.

“I really don’t understand why you hold such disdain for the things we do every year,” she muttered.

“This is not the life for me, my lady, and you know that.”

“But it’s the life for Lucy?”

Matthew looked down at her, a reproach growing in his chest. “It is the life I will give her, Lady Tollock.”

“You know,” she began, stepping away from him, “the only way the ton will accept her is with your involvement.”

Holding his head up high, Matthew bowed to end the conversation. “We shall always agree to disagree, my lady.”

Lady Tollock smirked, offering a curtsey before disappearing into the growing crowd.

Twisting around a column in one of the dining rooms, candles lit on every corner, Matthew noticed a mother. Her hair was twisted into a bundle atop her head, and thin silks were wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyebrows lifted, and she was about to raise a fan to stop him from going the other way.

“Why,” a sturdy male voice rang through the room, towering over the banter and lively music, “if it isn’t the marquess!” Storming up to Matthew, the man snatched up his hand, shaking it vigorously. “I haven’t seen you since school, my friend!”

Matthew bristled at the interaction, but watched the eager mother turn towards another victim. He held back his relief as he tried to remember who the gentleman appeared to be. He returned the shake, a name coming back to him. “Danvers, right? From Solomon.”

“That’s the one,” Danvers said. “Good to see you in London, Baxton. Last I heard, you were traveling across the countryside.”

“It was due time for a trip,” Matthew replied. “My sister and I enjoyed it.”

Danvers inched backward slightly. His engaging smile slipped into a grimace, and the atmosphere became more polite than excited. “Right,” he said, “and… how is she?”

Anger grew in the pits of his chest. “Lady Lucy is well,” he snapped. “Well and bright.” Matthew forced his clenched fists behind his back, the rage he inherited from his father boiling his blood from the inside out. “It is not Baxton anymore, it is Garvey. Duke of Garvey.”

The gentleman took another step back, fear of propriety lost weighing heavily in his sunken eyes. He bowed slightly, a quiver in his lip. “My apologies, Your Grace, it was never my intention to offend.” Danvers cleared his throat, avoiding holding any prolonged eye contact. “It saddens me to hear of the duke’s passing. I have… been away from London for some time. Forgive me, Your Grace.”

Matthew sighed heavily. The sniveling and begging for forgiveness brought something worse than anger to his heart. What did any of them know of his father? What could they possibly know of the house he kept in Garvey Manor, or the way Lucy was brought up? They would never know. And Lucy, the most precious sunflower, sat in that same house, where her existence was ridiculed from the moment she showed up on their doorstep.

Bastard , his mother would spit as the little girl merely walked by. Bastard of his blood.

Matthew shook his head, burying the thoughts as Danvers anxiously waited for some sort of response. “Find yourself a docile wife, Danvers, and be rid of me on this night,” he said coldly. “Mamas would beg for a husband like you.”

And with that, he slipped back into the crowd, watching as mothers clawed their way towards the unknowingly foolish Danvers.

Entering another dining room, Matthew slowed his pace and let his eyes drag over the series of paintings adorning the walls. Before he could get too invested, a tall and slender woman sauntered by him. Emerald silk flowed down her legs and matched the gloves reaching her elbows. Her midnight hair was tied into a bun at the top of her head, and she had dark narrowed eyes to match.

“Your Grace,” she cooed, giving him a soft curtsey. Her gaze hit him through lowered eyelids. “I am Lorelai Clare. You remember me, don’t you? From last Season?”

Matthew tried to give her a half smile that didn’t come off as too engaging. “Of course, Lady Lorelai. How is the lord?”

Her smile grew. “How kind of you to ask, Your Grace,” she said. “My father is well.”

“Good,” he curtly said, not remembering anything else from their previous meeting to talk about. “Lord Clare was involved in that mining business, was he not? The one that collapsed?”

She faltered, letting her smile twitch into a frown.

“I suppose I’m not surprised to see only your mama with you this evening,” he continued, noticing the pinched-faced mother talking to other mamas as their daughters mingled within the room. “Lord Clare would find a lot of gentlemen here waiting for the money they’re owed, wouldn’t he?”

The lady pulled out a green fan that matched her silks. She held it over half her face for a moment, as if to conceal her true emotions. “It is thoughtful of you to remember,” she politely said. “I’m sure you and my father would get along swimmingly. You are incredibly fond of books, are you not? My father’s collection is brimming with treasures.”

Matthew gave her a forced smile, not realizing he had managed to back himself into a corner with her twisted words. “I know what it is you seek from me, my lady,” he began, “but I believe I made it clear during our first meeting last Season. I am not the one to save your family name from ruin.”

Lorelai’s face started to grow a shade of red. “We are all here in search of a marriage, Your Grace. Why would you be here if you weren’t set on a fruitful engagement?” Any shame he pushed on her before slowly disappeared. Lady Lorelai regained her confidence within moments, lowering the fan and batting wide eyes at him. “You scowl at the idea, but are you not curious?”

“Are there no other bachelors for you to antagonize, Lady Lorelai?” he asked, his jaw setting in a way he hoped scared her off. There wasn’t a trick she could produce that he would fall for. Not on this day.

She didn’t let herself get hit by his comment. “Do you find me antagonizing, Your Grace?” Lorelai extended her fan, walking around Matthew as though she planned on herding him in her direction. “So antagonizing you can’t walk away?”

“The nature of our society does not let me leave you in such circumstances,” he said. “Do not twist my words, my lady.”

“No words were twisted. I believe you and I are of the same coin, Your Grace,” she paused as her fan touched his chest, brushing the midnight colored coat buttons, as she dragged it towards his abdomen. “The same stained, rusting old coin.”

Her fan continued to move as mothers and daughters filtered in and out of the dining room. The close quarters moved in upon Matthew as she inched her way to a place considered scandalous, till her own mother would appear and screech in disgust.

Lady Lorelai paused, looking up at him. “That is why you cannot walk away.”

He smirked. “Lady Lorelai?—”

Her eyes widened with hope, and she leaned forward, eagerly ready to hear what he had to say.

“That is where you are completely mistaken, my lady.”

Her gaze fell in disappointment.

Matthew bowed. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And as he turned to walk away, leaving the disheartened Lady Lorelai watch him deny her, Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, merging back within the bustling ball.

Alicia felt like she had a fever, a heavy heat resting upon her forehead that trailed into the rest of her body. She knew very well it was not that, but rather something from the mind that harmed the physical health. But it kept her still, unable to move from the same spot she had been in since she entered.

And, in that moment, when she tried to gather the strength to leave the solitary library and reenter the ball, the doors creaked open.

Alicia froze.

A gentleman, at least a head taller than her, stormed into the library as though he had an important purpose. He shut the door behind him, smoothing out his coat as he breathed a heavy sigh.

Before she could gather the courage to make her presence known, the man’s head shot up as though he could hear her scattered thoughts.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he quickly said, bowing towards her. The man’s furrowed brow and permanent frown gave off the impression of anger or irritation at her presence.

Alicia responded with a curtsey, slightly swaying. “No need for pardons,” she said with a wispy voice. “I was about to take my leave.”

The man looked behind her. “Is your mama around the corner?”

Perplexed, Alicia frowned. “No,” she refuted. "The library was empty, and I sought its solitude.”

“I see,” he said with narrowed eyes. “A lady should not be alone like this.”

Despite the heaviness resting on her chest that threatened to push her over at any moment, Alicia was taken aback by the strange gentleman. “I do not need a lesson on propriety, sir.”

He scowled and gestured towards the library’s exit. “Might you come this way, my lady,” he said through forcibly fake politeness, “where the ball continues without you.”

Alicia was beginning to lose her footing. The room around her spun slightly, and the gentleman’s voice sounded more distant than she expected. She gave a slight nod, taking a few small steps before stumbling.

Almost as if out of instinct, the man extended a hand, catching her arm in support.

The man held her as though she would be contagious. “This is improper, my lady,” he snapped through the disgust.

Alicia turned towards him, feeling the energy fade from her limbs. She swayed again, swallowing down the sickness in her throat. “I said,” she repeated, “I did not need a lesson on propriety.”

The gentleman tried to yank his hand away but to no avail. Her grip was like stone, and she was too far gone to be able to let go of him.

“I—” she breathed before her eyes rolled back, a soft exhale leaving her parted lips.