Georgiana enjoyed a quiet morning as she broke her fast. Before long, Jean returned to help her into a soft morning dress. Then Georgiana made her way to the kitchens to check on the menus for the week and announced she would be spending some time in the library.
This was one of her favorite rooms, and it had the best little writing desk in the entire house. She took her seat before penning a short letter to her sister, recalling the difficult conversation she’d had with her father.
I hope it will all work out. He must understand that I mean this for everyone’s well-being. Emma cannot be left unattended as she grows up. She deserves companionship, and if he will not let me be there for her, then he must do it. But I’ll write to him tomorrow. I don’t wish for anything else to ruin my mood today.
“Your Grace?”
Looking up, she grinned at the footman. “Good morning, Thomas. You’ve come at the perfect time. I have something to post. And are those new letters?”
“Yes, here is all of your correspondence,” he said as he stepped forward to show her the envelopes on the silver tray. “I’ve already shared everything else with His Grace.”
Georgiana paused, remembering the last time this had happened. “Did he remove any letters for the trash, Thomas?”
He hesitated before nodding. “Two invitations. Only three remain here, Your Grace.”
There were five letters in all. Though she didn’t like the thought of invitations being tossed in the trash without offering a proper and polite rejection, Georgiana supposed her husband was used to doing such a thing. She hoped no one would think differently of her. Eyeing the thicker invitations, she wondered what other events he apparently wished to attend with her.
It is an odd way to show he cares, but it certainly is something Owen would do. He wants to feel some sort of control over the situation while still allowing me a mode of control. We’ll need to discuss this further. In the meantime, I cannot help but feel amused. Appreciated, even.
“Thank you, Thomas.” She put the invitations down and scooped up the other letters. “Here, can you have this one sent post-haste?”
The footman offered a polite bow before accepting the letter she had written to her sister. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
As he left her in peace, Georgiana turned to the invitations. She shifted comfortably in her chair before opening the first card.
It wasn’t too much of a surprise to see there was an open lecture on botany happening that week. Of course, Owen would wish to attend, and she rather liked the idea of seeing what held so much of his interest. The other two were more aligned with her interests—another upcoming ball in the next month and then an early luncheon hosted by Lord and Lady Blythe and his wife.
“Oh, I should like to see her again,” Georgiana noted to herself. “I wonder if Marjory might join us? I owe her and her parents a letter for last night’s ball.”
She could start writing that, she supposed, but the other two letters held her attention. The one on top was a notice from her modiste. She’d requested some particular purple satin to be imported, and it had arrived. They could do a fitting any time she liked. As she pondered on visiting the modiste’s on the morrow, she turned to the final letter.
“Strange,” Georgiana murmured, as she noticed it didn’t mention where or whom it might have come from.
The paper was of a fine quality, as was the ink. She opened it, wondering if Marjory had sent her a letter and had been too distracted to sign her name.
Even then, there should be some sort of reference to where this post came from. Although perhaps she sent it with a footman. If it’s truly important… Oh.
She first frowned when she opened the short note to find there was no name signed on it.
Then, as she read the lines, her frown only deepened. Clouds formed overhead. Her heart sank to her stomach. She had to read the letter a second and a third time, as though hoping she was wrong.
Your Grace,
While we may not know one another well, I would be remiss not to reveal to you the truth of your situation. Any claims of adoration or love the Duke may have made to you are false. Owen Comerfield is nothing but a deceitful liar.
It is because of him the two you have married at all. He orchestrated Benedict’s proposal just as he orchestrated Benedict’s disappearance. Owen knew his cousin would jilt you at the altar––all to marry another woman. This would leave you trapped with only one option to salvage your name: to marry him.
All he wants is control. He is a worthless vermin. There is no telling what he plans to do next. When he is not at home, he is away with ladybirds and frauds. None of this is real.
The Duke should not be trusted, and I encourage you to distance yourself from him before it is too late.
As she reread the final line, she shuddered and dropped the note on the desk. Shock ripped through her. Georgiana wrapped her arms around herself while staring numbly at the opened letter.
Somehow, the temperature of the room had dropped significantly. She felt the goosebumps forming on her arms. Then she heard the heavy, hollow beating of her heart inside her chest as she tried to catch her breath.
“It’s not…” She swallowed and tried again to refute the claims in that strange letter. “He can’t have…”
Or could he?