Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

L avinia was curled up in the chaise lounge in the sitting room, a book open on her lap when there was a knock on the door.

She raised her head from her book to see one of the maids at the door.

"Miss, his lordship wants to speak to you," she said. "He's waiting for you in the office."

"Oh? What about?" she asked even as she got to her feet and tucked the book under her arm.

The girl shrugged and continued on her way.

Her forehead wrinkled, the brown haired girl headed to her uncle's office at the other end of the house. She knocked lightly before cracking the door open and walking in.

She had only been in the space a handful of times. It was a bright and airy space with books bursting out of every end as it doubled as a library annex since the main one was far too small.

"Uncle, you called for me."

"Yes," the Earl of Hartfield responded with a nod, "Please, come in and take a seat."

It was as she made to take a seat that she realized they weren't alone. Tucked into the chair near one of the shelves was her aunt wearing a pinched expression that was alien on her face.

"Is anything the matter?" she couldn't help but ask, feeling like she had just walked into a war tent.

"Of course not," Lady Hartfield replied in a voice that rang false, "There is really nothing to worry about."

Her uncle sighed, pressing his thumb and index finger to the space between his eyebrows like he was trying to push off a headache.

"It has to do with, uh, your season," Uncle Thomas began.

"My season? What of it?" she asked, gaze swinging between the two other occupants of the room.

Had they finally come to their senses and realized they were wasting their time by giving her one?

"This may just be your last," her aunt said regretfully.

"Truly?" She tried and failed to hide her excitement.

Her guardians exchanged a wordless glance and then finally her uncle sighed, "I did not want to tell you because It is not right to get you involved in such matters, but after some contemplation, we have decided that you have a right to know."

Her brows drew up, "know what?"

"Darling, we are in financial straits at the moment," her aunt informed her.

Lord Hartfield snorted, "Do not sugarcoat it for her. We've been in financial straits for a while. We only managed to shell out enough for your season and a dowry for you."

Blood drained from Lavinia's face, "H-how?" She had known her guardians weren't swimming in money, of course, but she had never thought it was this bad.

The older man dragged a hand across his face in a gesture of exhaustion and it was only then that she noticed the eye bags and how lined his face now was, "A couple of bad investments and then some steep loans to try to mend my bad luck. And that's what it was, blasted bad luck."

"Don't curse, Tommy!" The countess snapped at him then turned to the younger woman with a shaky smile, "We don't want you to be bothered by any of this."

"Is that..." Lavinia trailed off and swallowed, "is that why you have been pressuring me into making a match?"

Her aunt's eyes went wide, "We are not trying to use- oh Lavvie- we have no intentions of using you as our cash cow. I hope you don't think that, for it isn't true! We only want you to be far away from all of this with a gentleman who will be able to take care of you."

She fisted her dress and dropped her gaze to where her knuckles had turned white from her tight grip.

She knew that her uncle and aunt loved her. They had taken her in after her parents had passed and treated her as theirs. She was the daughter they had never had and she appreciated them for everything they had done for her.

So how could she in all conscience go off and get married and let them drown? Or worse, how could she turn her back on them now and stand her ground about never getting married until she met someone that made her soul sing.

"I am a part of family," she insisted, "and as such, I am required to pull my own weight."

The Earl shook his head sadly, "unfortunately, there is not a thing you can do about this string of bad luck. The only thing you can do is give your aunt some peace of mind and she can only have that when she knows you will be well taken care of."

She rose to her feet, determination lining her features and declared, "I shall be well taken care of. I am going to secure the best match in the whole country."

Her guardians exchanged a confused glance, but before they could ask her to explain herself, Lavinia had slipped out of the office and was running up the stairs to get to her room.

She knew exactly what she had to do.

Even as her heart pounded in her chest, she had never been so sure of a decision in her life.

It took Lavinia four wrong tries to finally pen down the perfect letter to the Duke of Wyld and then she tucked it in the folds of her dress and raced downstairs.

She handed the letter to the first footman she ran into.

"I need you to deliver this personally to the Duke of Wyld's residence," she wasn't sure exactly where he lived, but if she had to guess, she would say one of the large, gaudy houses in Mayfair.

"It is rather urgent," she continued, "so make sure the Duke reads it at once. I do not know how you will make sure of that, but I know you can. I shall be waiting down here for his reply."

The young man nodded rapidly before rushing off.

Lavinia bit down on her lower lip. While she was nervous about this harebrained scheme, there was also a tendril of excitement she didn't want to examine too closely.

Exactly half an hour later somewhere in Mayfair, a butler walked into a sitting room with three occupants, "Letter for you, Your Grace," the slender, elderly man announced.

Victor reluctantly dragged his gaze away from the newspapers he had been reading.

"Put it away with the rest of my correspondence," he nodded towards the endless stack of letters lying in a silver tray in the hallway.

"This letter is from a lady and her footman is waiting outside to convey your reply," the butler clarified.

The two women in the room glanced up sharply, their amber eyes shining with curiosity.

"Oh let me read, let me read," Georgie tossed her embroidery away like it was trash and from what The Duke could see, her work deserved to be in the bin.

As the younger woman reached for the letter, he snatched it away from her reach. "Did no one teach you that it is bad manners to snoop into someone's letters?"

She pouted at him, but it was his mother that responded, "I believe that was one of the many things you failed to teach her."

The Duke ignored her and grabbed the letter opener.

"Who is it from?" his sister asked, "I did not think you were interested in any of the ladies."

His mouth pulled up at one corner, "who said anything about the sender being a lady?"

"Victor!" His mother hissed, looking utterly scandalized, "How dare you?"

"Relax, Mother. It was just a joke."

"It wasn't a very funny one," the dowager duchess retorted.

The letter was simple to the point.

Your Grace, I have thought about it and my answer is yes. Can we meet up to discuss further?

A slow smile took over his expression as his gaze ran over her swirly penmanship for the third time. She was truly the most unpredictable woman on earth. When he had come up with this sudden plan, he had expected her to fall to her knees with appreciation for considering her to be his duchess.

Instead he had gotten a cutting glance and an accusation.

He hadn't thought she would accept, not in a hundred years and yet, here was the evidence. He only imagined what had pushed her into suddenly changing her mind.

The Duke decided he would find out the reason why when they met.

Grabbing his pen, he quickly scribbled down his one line of reply, folded back the letter and handed it to the butler.

"You mentioned that the footman was waiting for my reply."

"Yes, Your Grace," the butler bowed and walked out.

"What is that smile all about?" his mother asked, eyes narrowed on him.

The Duke hesitated, wondering if he should inform his mother about Miss Proctor before he had spoken with her. But then again, she had agreed, had she not? The only thing left was to iron out some terms for their association and then they could go public with the announcement.

There was nothing to it than for the dowager duchess to start getting used to Miss Proctor.

"You will be glad to know that I have managed to secure a bride, Mother," he announced with a gleam in his eyes.

The two women went silent and exchanged a confused glance before turning to him.

"Oh, who is it, brother?" Georgie cried, "Do not keep me in suspense. Do tell! Is it Lady Hannah? I never suspected you had a fondness for her."

He made a face, "It is not Lady Hannah."

"Well, I for one am just glad you've gotten around to doing your duty," his mother nodded at him, "Now I trust that you have selected a woman of good breeding and mannerisms. Not just anyone would do as your duchess."

"As long as it is not that horridly dull Miss Proctor, then all is well," his sister said magnanimously, "I doubt a lady like that would have knowledge of anything past the books she always has her nose stuck in."

Victor went eerily stiff, "Miss Proctor is in fact the woman who will be the next Duchess."

"Do not play such games. They are beneath you," the dowager duchess groused, "now tell me the truth, who is she?"

"Georgie has the right of it, Mother, it is Miss Lavinia Proctor."

His mother exploded out of her seat, practically foaming at the mouth, "I knew there was something afoot when you so willingly took her to the dance floor the other night. Oh, Victor, how could you?"

He crossed his legs and leaned back into his seat, "how could I what? Finally do what you have been prodding me to do for weeks? Why am I not surprised that I have done what you have always wanted and somehow, you are still not satisfied."

"Anyone but her," his mother roared. "There are dozens of unmarried girls who would have made wonderful duchesses. There is Lady Amelia, Lady Hannah. I made you a list. Did you not see the list I made you?"

"You did?" Georgie asked, mouth trembling with suppressed amusement.

He shot her a quelling glare, "I saw the list, Mother. I doubt there is anyone in this household who did not see that list. It was not exactly small and easy to hide."

"Victor!" she chided.

"Your list was unsatisfactory to me," he continued, "I have made my decision and there is no amount of dramatics you can display to make me change my mind. The title requires a duchess, well, now it has one, end of the matter."

"I know you only did this to punish me," his mother sucked in a breath.

The Duke, who had had quite enough of his mother and also had a meeting with his soon to be duchess, rose up from the chair and straightened the labels of his waist coat.

"If you will excuse me," he said.

"Where are you going?" the older woman asked.

"Good day, Mother," he cheekily saluted before grabbing his coat and walking right out.