Page 11 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

I t had been a sennight since the Cranberrys’ ball, and Georgie still couldn’t decide whether she loathed Lord Pembroke or…something else entirely.

Not that she intended to dwell on it.

She had more important matters to attend to. Like planning her escape from her own wedding.

At present, she was seated in a beautifully appointed salon at the front of Bea’s father’s London town house, her gloved fingers fidgeting with the edge of her worn shawl.

The room was painfully elegant with high ceilings, ornate plasterwork, and two enormous windows draped in gold damask.

Of course it was perfect. Bea’s father was not only a duke, but one of the highest-ranking members of Parliament, and apparently one of the perks of holding such lofty titles was living in a house so intimidating it made even Georgie’s family’s grand but drafty town house seem like a country inn.

Across from her, Bea sat perfectly straight in a carved chair that looked more like a throne than a piece of furniture, her cool sea-green eyes scanning some unseen list in her mind.

And beside Georgie on the settee, Poppy, with her fiery red hair and sweet, slightly anxious smile, sipped tea and cast a few nervous glances toward the door, as though it might open at any moment to reveal her mother.

It was comforting, in its way. Their little trio—the Wallflowers’ Revolt—had convened here twice already since the Cranberrys’ ball to finalize their plans.

Truthfully, the Cranberrys’ ball had been in Georgie’s thoughts all week. She’d successfully escaped the party. Then, she’d dutifully endured her mother’s resulting lecture.

But neither of those things were what kept rolling about in her mind far too often.

Instead, her thoughts centered around how almost…decent it had been of Pembroke to let her go that night.

She’d seen him watching her. Of course she had. The man hovered like a storm cloud whenever she was in the room. He’d followed her out of the ballroom. He’d even attempted to talk her out of her escape. But he hadn’t stopped her.

And she’d felt, absurdly, like perhaps he was quietly on her side, though she knew that was foolish.

Still, she thought with a faint smirk, it had been almost decent of him all the same.

Bea’s crisp voice cut through her thoughts.

“Right,” she said, setting her teacup down with finality. “Let’s go over this one last time, shall we?” she said in something of a loud whisper.

Georgie straightened. “Of course.”

Poppy let out a nervous giggle.

“First, the wedding is at St. George’s,” Bea began, ticking off each point on her fingers and keeping her voice low.

“You’ll be in the small room in the back of church where all brides prepare.

You tell your mother you’re not feeling well and need to use the convenience.

You walk out the side door—slowly, mind—and then, when you reach the halfway mark and clear the church wall, feel free to run. ”

Georgie nodded solemnly.

“On the other side of the wall,” Bea continued, “my father’s secondary carriage—the plain black one—will be waiting at the corner.

The driver knows the plan. And he’s been well compensated.

He will take you as far as the coaching inn on the London Road, where you’ll switch to the post chaise waiting there. ”

“And that chaise will take me directly to…” Georgie prompted.

“Your friend’s home in Bath,” Bea finished.

Poppy clapped her hands lightly. “It’s perfect,” she said. “No one will suspect a thing.”

Georgie turned to her. “And you’re certain you’ll be ready with your part?”

Poppy nodded vigorously, her red curls bouncing. “Yes. As soon as you slip away, I’ll distract your mother by telling her how faint you were looking. I’ll insist you’ve only stepped out to collect yourself. That should buy you at least three minutes before your mother grows suspicious.”

Georgie sighed and shook her head. “My mother will believe that excuse for approximately thirty seconds,” she warned.

Bea arched a brow. “Then you’d best move quickly.”

“I intend to,” Georgie replied firmly. She took a deep breath. “I cannot thank either of you enough?—”

“Tut, tut,” said Bea. “You will do the same for us when it’s our turn.”

“I will,” Georgie agreed. “You only need write to me. Only…” She glanced away sadly. “I am sorry I won’t be able to see either of you again… Perhaps for a very long time.”

“We shall write,” Poppy said, forcing a smile to her face.

They all sat back then, a brief silence falling as they imagined the scene to come.

Again, Poppy was the first to speak. “I still can’t believe I’ve been invited to the wedding,” she murmured.

“With Mama’s reputation, I rarely get invited to anything.

I’m entirely certain I’m only invited to the events of the Season because the hostesses are hoping Mama will do something to gossip about.

It’s nearly as if she’s the entertainment.

” Poppy grimaced faintly. “Honestly, I can’t help but worry what my mother will do at your wedding, Georgie.

She’s bound to cause some sort of gossip. ”

Georgie gave her a wicked grin. “Are you jesting? I’m counting upon it. The more distracted everyone is by Lady Viva’s antics, the easier it will be for me to disappear.”

That earned a soft laugh from all three of them, though Poppy blushed furiously.

Bea leaned back in her chair, glancing toward the window. “Well,” she said at last, “I suppose that covers everything. Now all we need is for the wedding date to arrive.”

“One more sennight,” Georgie said, pressing a hand to her belly. She wasn’t entirely certain if she dreaded the moment or couldn’t wait.

Of course she’d considered running off in the middle of the night. It held certain advantages. But after her recent stints of running away from parties, Mama had taken to posting a footman outside her door at night, and the drop from her bedchamber window appeared to be fatal.

The sound of the front door opening out in the foyer carried into the salon. A deep male voice drifted faintly toward them, followed by the familiar murmur of the butler.

Bea rolled her eyes. “Undoubtedly, that is Lord Vanover,” she muttered, rising to peer toward the salon door. “My father’s favorite sycophant. He’s forever stopping by to discuss parliamentary business…which means I must take my leave soon.”

“Oh, yes, the man you were hiding from.” Poppy raised an eyebrow. “But why do you need to take your leave? I thought you didn’t like him.”

Bea waved a dismissive hand. “Of course I don’t like him. But helpfully, my bedchamber is directly above my father’s study, and if I press my ear to the floor, I can hear everything they say.”

Georgie shook her head. But she couldn’t help her smile. “And you enjoy eavesdropping on their dry, tedious political discussions?”

Bea’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not. But how else,” she said sweetly, “can I plan to ruin him?”

Georgie and Poppy both laughed—though Georgie could tell from the set of Bea’s mouth that she wasn’t entirely joking.

Not for the first time, Georgie had the thought that she was truly glad to be Bea’s friend. It was obviously preferable to being her enemy. In fact, Georgie felt a bit sorry for Nicholas Archer.

As the sound of male voices drifted away, Georgie leaned back into the settee cushions with a sigh.

“This is all going to work,” Poppy whispered, a little too hopeful. “Isn’t it?”

Georgie gave her a half-smile. “It has to.”

She meant it. And yet?—

Her gaze drifted to the gold-draped window, where sunlight angled in and caught the shimmer of Bea’s flaxen hair. Georgie reached up to her own head and patted it, trying to shake loose the thought that had been lurking for days now.

Lord Pembroke.

She still couldn’t decide exactly how to feel about his interference at the Cranberrys’ ball.

He hadn’t stopped her that night. He’d let her go .

And ever since, he’d been cropping up in the most inconvenient places.

At Hyde Park when she’d tried to walk alone.

On Bond Street when she’d darted into a bookshop.

Even—Heaven help her—at Hatchards, pretending to be absorbed in a volume of naval history when he was clearly watching her from across the aisle.

At first, she’d assumed it was coincidence. But Lord Pembroke was many things, and accidental was not one of them.

“Bea,” she said suddenly, interrupting her own thoughts. “Do you happen to know anything about Lord Pembroke?”

Bea blinked at her. “Hmm. A little. Why do you ask?”

Georgie pressed her lips together. “Because I believe he’s been following me.”

Bea’s eyes widened and Poppy scooted forward on the settee. “Pardon?” they both said simultaneously.

Georgie nodded. “Yes, apparently my ne’er-do-well brother asked Lord Pembroke to keep an eye on me.”

“Are you serious?” Bea replied, already looking outraged. “Why didn’t you tell me? What if he attempts to thwart our plans at the wedding?”

“I’m not certain he means to,” Georgie replied. “Last time I slipped away, he helped me.”

“Helped you?” Poppy echoed. “What do you mean?”

Georgie shrugged. “I mean he actually allowed me to go and later Mother mentioned that he’d asked her to dance after I left, I’m certain of it.”

“Well, what do you make of that?” Poppy asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Perhaps he’s smitten with you, Georgie,” Bea offered.

“Oh, no, not all,” Georgie replied, waving her hands back and forth in front of her face. “He told me he owes my brother a favor.”

“If he owed your brother a favor, he’d have stopped you,” Bea pointed out, her eyebrow fully arched.

Georgie sat there, biting her lip…a bit dumbfounded. It wasn’t usual for her to be at a loss for words.

“And it wouldn’t be entirely awful if he were smitten,” Poppy added with a sly smile. “He’s as handsome as Nicholas Archer.”

“I’ve heard he is a marvelous kisser,” Bea added. “Lord Pembroke, I mean. Not Nicholas Archer.”

Georgie’s mouth dropped open. She honestly couldn’t help it. “Who told you Lord Pembroke is a marvelous kisser?”

Bea winked at her. “I never reveal secrets, but suffice it to say it was someone in a position to know.”

Georgie was torn. On one hand, she was heartened to know that Bea never revealed secrets.

Of course she’d thought that was the case, but Bea was holding quite a few of Georgie’s own secrets at the moment, and having reassurance that she wouldn’t betray her confidence was quite welcome.

On the other hand, Georgie was practically dying to know who had kissed Lord Pembroke.

She wasn’t about to examine the other thought that cropped up in her mind.

The one that was slightly jealous of whoever this mystery person might be.

“My source told me it was quite a pleasure,” Bea continued. “And apparently, it was practically indecent.”

Oh, no. Now Georgie was even more curious. And why did an indecent kiss with Lord Pembroke sound entirely too inviting?

“What’s an indecent kiss?” Poppy wanted to know.

“I’m not entirely certain,” Bea replied with a sly smile. “At the time, I wasn’t brave enough to ask.”

“Well, I’m certain there won’t be any opportunity for me to share a kiss—indecent or otherwise—with Lord Pembroke,” Georgie insisted.

She was trying her best to ignore the thrill that shot through her body as she remembered how he’d backed her up against the wall in the Willoughbys’ garden.

Oh, dear, that wasn’t helping the situation at all.

A wave of heat swept through her, pooling directly between her legs.

She stood abruptly. “I should get home. Thank you for hosting the Society meeting here, Bea.”

Bea and Poppy stood too.

“My pleasure,” Bea replied. “Mama is only too happy to allow young women to sit alone and discuss whatever they desire as long as no gentlemen are present.”

Poppy sighed. “I wish my mama would allow me to sit alone. She likes an audience too much. She’ll probably send the butler for me if I don’t get home soon.”

After giving Poppy a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder, Georgie turned and headed toward the door. But Bea’s final words followed her. “Don’t be too quick to dismiss the opportunity,” she called, “if it were to arise.”

Georgie spun around to face her friend. “What opportunity?”

“Why to allow Lord Pembroke to kiss you indecently,” Bea replied with a wink. “It may be the only chance you get.”