Page 19 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
S carlett liked to think that she was doing quite well.
She went out for walks with Snowdrop in the mornings before breakfast. In the afternoons, she had tea with her mama, the Dowager Duchess, Phoebe, and the other female guests who had started trickling into Wolverton Estate.
In the evenings, she lay awake, alternating between contemplating the bleakness of the rest of her life or the feasibility of storming into the tower and making Hudson change his mind.
For two days, she had acted the part of the charismatic debutante, flitting between guests like the most dazzling of social butterflies. She could not even recall putting as much effort into her coming out.
Yes, she was doing exceptionally well, and except for the tiny dark circles under her eyes, she was certain nobody could tell. Absolutely certain.
“Who am I fooling?” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration before the mirror.
She turned towards Snowdrop, who looked up at her expectantly.
“Look at me, Snowdrop. I look like a fright. The Dowager Duchess should never let me step into the ball, or I would scare all the guests away!”
For the past few minutes, she had dutifully applied every technique she had read about in La Belle Assemblée and Ackerman’s Repository of the Arts.
None of them worked, unfortunately. A most regrettable waste of pin money, the whole lot of them.
“I should just skip the ball altogether,” she moaned despondently, burying her face in her arms.
“And admit defeat? That hardly seems like the Lady Scarlett Clarke I have come to admire!”
Scarlett gasped when she saw the stately and elegant Dowager Duchess standing at her door with a stern smile on her face.
“Your Grace!” She fumbled to get up from her seat, but the older woman simply waved her off and made her way to the upholstered sofa.
“Now, tell me—what is this I hear of your plan to skip the ball, hmm?” the Dowager Duchess asked, patting the seat beside her. “Has that stubborn son of mine offended you again, my dear?”
Define ‘offend.’
Scarlett bit back the retort that hovered on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she smiled slightly at the older lady and sat beside her.
“You have been very kind to me and my mother, Your Grace,” she said politely. “But I have not exactly been feeling myself lately. Besides, His Grace was right—we really should be heading back to Southford.”
The Dowager Duchess peered at her, and Scarlett feared that those eyes of hers were far keener than she let on. Mothers always seemed to know when their children were hiding something, and for a woman who bore Hudson Barrow? She trusted that the Dowager Duchess knew when she was being managed.
“Oh, it pains my heart when you say that!” the Dowager Duchess sighed, reaching for her hands. “You and your mama are my guests, no matter what Hudson says. And did I not promise you a ball to find you a more suitable match?”
Scarlett smiled hesitantly. “That you did, Your Grace.”
“So, there will be no talk of not going to the ball.” The Dowager Duchess patted her hands, oblivious to the dismay that Scarlett was certain showed on her face. “Don’t you fret, my dear—I have invited a great many nice gentlemen for you. Think of it as your second coming out ball.”
It had been three years since Scarlett made her bow, and there were very few reasons one would have a second coming out ball—none of them truly flattering. Except this time, it was the Dowager Duchess of Wolverton who was sending out the invitations.
“You are very kind to me, Your Grace. I will never forget it,” Scarlett said instead, biting back the words she truly wanted to say.
“Please allow me to go home and live the rest of my life in my family’s country estate.”
No, that would slight the Dowager Duchess.
“Say you will attend the ball, my dear.”
My, but she was certainly a persistent one! Scarlett had to bite back a laugh.
“I will, Your Grace,” she promised.
Pleased with her reply, the Dowager Duchess only stayed a little bit longer to urge her to get more sleep—they only had two more days before the ball.
With enough sleep and copious amounts of cold spoons, Scarlett just might manage to tone down the atrocious giveaway of her current dilemma.
Perhaps she could attend a ball. She had done so for the past three Seasons or so. She could survive one more.
Except that this time, she would have to attend one with Hudson Barrow in it, and suddenly, she was not so brave anymore.
She turned to face her reflection in the mirror, feeling mildly horrified as she took in the wan face and the dark, little crescents under her eyes. She looked an absolute fright. Hardly anyone to inspire a pledge of marriage.
That would have to change.
She closed the magazines and opened her armoire, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips.
How fortunate, she had just the dress to wear for the ball that weekend.
He was going out of his bloody mind—that had to be the only explanation as to why he had been staring at the half-finished hunk of marble before him, his tools lying untouched on the worktable.
Ever since that night Scarlett had shown up in a diaphanous robe and he’d bent her over the worktable exactly as he had pictured so many times, he had not seen her.
She had not gone out promenading with Phoebe and the other female guests. She rarely went out of the manor, and even then, it was only to take her puppy out for walks. She did not join the others for meals, and on the rare occasion he would appear for dinner, she had absconded with claims of a headache or some other malady.
Headache my arse!
Hudson growled as he stood up. She was avoiding him, that was what!
And he deserved it. Completely.
That did not mean he had to like it, though.
“Oh, good heavens! Has this room not seen a broom or a feather duster in years?”
He looked up at the sound of the annoyed voice coming from the door to find his mother glaring at him.
“Well, greetings to you, Mother,” he greeted. “What brings you here?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You.”
He walked over to the table and unscrewed the cap of his flask, before taking a drink. He would need it, from the look of his mother’s face.
“I suppose.” He shrugged. “Seeing as you have never expressed an inherent desire to carve or whittle before this visit.”
“And you have never been one to hide from a woman,” she retorted dryly. “Scare them off? Yes. Send them away crying? Most certainly. Lock yourself away in your tower?” Her eyes gleamed with shrewdness. “Now, that is something new.”
He smiled coldly at her. “I thought you were the one who told me that I should deal with ladies with more restraint.”
Her response was to slowly raise an eyebrow as she stared him down. “Did you, now? Show restraint, I mean.”
Hudson nearly choked when he attempted to take another swig from his flask. He glared at his mother. “Of course, I did.”
Except that he did not, and every second she stayed under his roof, his control continued to fray into nonexistence.
“Well, that is a blessed relief, then!” His mother let out a sigh and raised her eyes heavenward. “Seeing as I intend to find a wonderful match for dear Scarlett.”
Hudson closed his eyes and reminded himself that he could not possibly launch the flask at the wall in the presence of his mother.
Control , he told himself through gritted teeth. If he repeated the word over and over in his mind, maybe he might still be able to grasp the last few bits of sanity he had left.
“Poor thing, she was already beside herself when I saw her yesterday…”
His head snapped up at that. “You saw her?”
His mother shot him a look that said, “Do not be daft.”
“Of course,” she told him, looking extremely affronted. “I see to all our guests diligently. Wolverton Estate might not have seen a ball or social gathering in years , but I am still an exceptional hostess.”
Hudson ran a hand over his face. He needed a shave. Badly.
“That you are, Mother,” he sighed.
“And you might consider doing the same,” she admonished him. “Even your friend, Sinclair, has been wondering where you went off to.”
Hudson doubted that Ethan would even remember he existed, with Phoebe around. The man practically worshipped the ground his wife trod on.
Just like he did with Scarlett.
Do not even think of going there .
“Well, I have been staying here.” He opened his arms wide. “Enjoying my peaceful solitude.”
“Hiding,” she pointed out, matter-of-factly. “It’s called hiding, my boy.”
He had not been called a boy in ages , but his mother could do it and had chosen this particular time to do so.
“I am not hiding.”
She said nothing, just smiled as she walked over to him, deftly avoiding marble debris and the odd tool he had dropped—or launched—in his frustration the past few days. She reached out and patted his dust-covered cheek.
“Well, when you are done hiding from all the good in this world, you had best get cleaned up,” she chided him gently. “You know, before it’s too late.”
Hudson frowned. What the hell did she mean by that?
Terror, cold and sinister, wrapped around his chest like a vise, sinking its claws into his heart. She could not have found a match for Scarlett, could she?
He meant to stop her, ask her if she truly did, but she had already begun walking to the door, while he reeled in shock.
“I expect you to be at the ball tomorrow, Hudson,” she told him over her shoulder. “Do not be late.”
He sighed. That had to be it. She could not have found a match for Scarlett, what with her rarely going out the past two days.
But that was none of his concern. He had made his decision, although it stank abysmally of regret.
“Oh.” His mother paused at the landing. “Do get that doorknob fixed. I recall you complaining about it some time ago. You would not want to be locked in at the worst time possible, would you?”
Too late for that warning.
“No,” he bit out.
She smiled cryptically at him, but before he could ask her about it, she had disappeared down the stairs.
He was not inclined to follow after her.