Page 18 of Taken By the Duke of Stone

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.

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