Page 90 of Marry in Scarlet
Emm leaned forward and smoothed a stray curl back from George’s face. “Men aren’t the only people who find it hard to open up to someone else.”
George grimaced. “You mean me, I suppose.”
“I mean all of us. Love takes a leap of faith. It’s an act of courage.”
Her words hung in the air. Little Bertie gave a half-hearted wail, and his mother picked him up and began to wrap him in his soft baby blanket. “You have a lot of love to give, George, dear. You give it unstintingly to those closest to you—Rose, Lily, Cal and me, your Martha, Finn, and”—she kissed the baby—“to little Bertie here. You’re a loving person, and loyal to the backbone.”
George felt her cheeks heating. She never knew how to take compliments. And talking about emotions made her uncomfortable. “What’s the ‘but’?”
“No ‘but,’ I’m just reminding you that you are a prize to be won.”
George didn’t feel like much of a prize—nobody had ever thought of her as a prize—but Emm’s words warmed her.
“And the duke has gone to a lot of trouble to win you.”
“Win me? Hetrappedme.”
“Perhaps, in his mind, it’s the same thing.”
George scowled. It wasn’t the same thing at all. But he’d offered to release her and for some stupid reason she didn’t fully understand yet—midsummer madness?—she’d agreed to honor the betrothal.
“And you have always had a particular soft spot for wounded creatures. Think about that when you look at your duke.”
“The duke? A wounded creature? Don’t make me laugh.”
“You’ve met his mother, haven’t you?”
George stilled.
Emm added, “We are all wounded creatures in one way or another—Cal, me, Rose, Thomas, Lily, Edward, the aunts and you—yes, you, dear George. The duke has his points of vulnerability, as we all do, and manlike, he’ll do his best to conceal them from the world—and you. So think about it.”
George tried to think of the duke as a wounded creature, but failed. He was a predator. One who took more than he gave. Wasn’t he?
Chapter Sixteen
There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement.
—JANE AUSTEN,PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
George was having the final fitting of her wedding dress. It was spectacular, but she had to admit she had an occasional qualm about wearing it, now that first angry impulse had passed.
Miss Chance pinned the last tiny alteration in place, stepped back and eyed her critically. “I must admit, Lady George, I had me doubts when you first chose this fabric, but you were right. It’s stunnin’.”
Stunning? In what sense? George wondered as she gazed at her image in the looking glass. Shocking or beautiful? She’d chosen it to be shocking, but she had to admit the color did suit her.
She’d chosen it to shock, to defy all those harridans who’d twitted her about entrapment and implied she was a money-grubbing, title-snatching, hypocritical strumpet.
And to remind the duke who’d entrapped whom.
“I’ll finish off those last little bits and send it around this afternoon,” Miss Chance said. “Now, your maid knows what to do with it?”
Sue nodded eagerly. Miss Chance’s assistants had given her thorough instructions about how to care for a silk dress.
George was pleased she’d taken only Sue with her to the dressmaker. Lily and Rose and their husbands were on their way to London, and she didn’t want them—didn’t want anyone—to see the dress until her wedding day.
The day finished with a visit from Aunt Agatha. George almost refused to see her—she was still angry about the way Aunt Agatha had helped the duke’s mother to deceive her. But she was about to get married; it was time to put past grudges behind her. Aunt Agatha, meddling old woman that she was, was still family. And according to Aunt Dottie, she meant well.
“I have some words of advice regarding your marriage,” Aunt Agatha announced. George sighed, sat down and pretended to listen.
