Page 15 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

T he bells of St. George’s tolled brightly in the morning air, mocking her with every joyous peal.

Georgie stood in the tiny back room of the church, the faint scent of wax and lilies clinging to her like a shroud.

The sun streamed through the high windows, catching on the gauzy white veil draped over her head—a veil she had every intention of abandoning before the hour was out.

Her mother sat primly in a chair near the door, her gloved hands folded in her lap, her mouth drawn into the thin line it always became when she was suspicious, which was often.

And she was certainly suspicious now.

“Stand up straighter,” Mama growled under her breath. “You’ll make the family look ridiculous if you slouch.”

Georgie stiffened automatically, even as a sharp reply sat on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it down. It wouldn’t do to start a row now, not when the plan was already in motion.

Her gaze flicked toward her father, who leaned casually against the far wall, his arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips as if he thought this entire spectacle was amusing.

It probably was to him. Why wouldn’t it be? He thought he was about to collect the money, his earnings for selling off his only daughter like a prize cow.

Henry was sitting near the door to the vestibule. He’d hobbled in early and sat down with his broken, braced leg jutting out oddly in front of him. He, too, had a smug smile on his face, no doubt already counting the money this marriage stood to make him.

The man Georgie was to marry wasn’t with them, however. She peeked out the door. The Marquess of Henderville stood waiting at the far end of the aisle near the altar, frail and stooped, his cane planted firmly before him, his face flushed and gleaming with anticipation.

Georgie shivered despite herself. His expression was…unsettling. Too happy. Too eager. Too… hungry . She forced her eyes away before her stomach could turn completely.

And then she saw her.

Bea.

Seated in a front pew, flanked by her impeccably dressed parents, her blond head held high and her eyes as sharp and knowing as ever.

Bea turned ever so slightly, and when Georgie’s gaze met hers, Bea gave the barest of nods. Georgie fell away from the door.

The plan was set.

In the room with her, Poppy fluttered about nervously, pretending to fuss with the hem of Georgie’s gown but really stealing glances toward the door every few seconds.

“Stop fidgeting,” Georgie whispered.

“I’m not fidgeting,” Poppy muttered, though her hands were twisting the fabric of her own skirt.

Earlier, when Georgie had insisted to her mother that her new friend Poppy stay with her in the back, Mama had merely sneered, “I didn’t realize you had any friends.”

But Mama hadn’t objected. And that’s what mattered.

Shockingly, Lady Viva, who was seated in the third pew on the groom’s side for some unknown reason, had yet to do anything to cause a scene.

She was dressed in an ostentatious confection of pink and feathers, her expression surprisingly serene for once.

Poppy claimed she’d begged her mother to act propitiously, but she also claimed that that never worked.

Georgie had almost smiled at the sight of Lady Viva. Though it figured that she would choose this one day—the day Georgie was counting on her to cause a scene—to sit quietly for once.

But no matter. Georgie intended to carry out her plan with or without Lady Viva’s help.

Georgie exhaled slowly and adjusted her white kid gloves, her pulse beginning to climb.

And it had reason to.

She was about to cause a scandal the likes of which London would not soon recover from.

She took a deep breath. Everything was ready.

It was time.

But Georgie’s thoughts skittered to a halt when she glanced out the door again and caught sight of another figure…

Standing at the back of the church, partially in shadow but unmistakable all the same. Pembroke.

Her breath caught.

What in God’s name was he doing here? Hadn’t he promised to stop following her?

Her heart stuttered, suspicion curling through her.

Why was he watching her like that—sharp-eyed, intent, arms folded as though he were judging the entire proceeding?

“Ah, Pembroke’s arrived,” Henry said. “I thought he’d told me he couldn’t make it.” Her brother pushed himself to a standing position and hobbled out the door with his cane, ostensibly to greet his friend.

Hmm. Georgie remained suspicious. Henry may have admitted to inviting Pembroke, but why had Pembroke accepted? He had better not even consider interfering with her plans.

She forced herself to look away. At the moment, she had bigger problems than Lord Pembroke.

Much bigger. It really was time.

One more breath. And then the music began.

Mother stood, smoothing her gloves against her arms. “Well,” she said coldly. “The next time I see you, you’ll be Lady Henderville, I suppose. Try not to embarrass yourself. Or us.”

Georgie smiled sweetly. “I’ll do my very best, Mama.”

Poppy gave her a quick, panicked glance, then slipped behind her, carrying the little bouquet and trailing a few steps as they stepped into the nave.

Georgie began her slow march out of the room, her gaze fixed somewhere over her father’s shoulder.

Halfway out—just as she and Bea and Poppy had discussed—she faltered slightly, pressing her hand to her temple.

Poppy darted to her side. “Are you all right?” she whispered, loud enough for a few nearby guests to hear.

Georgie gave her the faintest of nods and murmured, “I…I think I just need a moment. Some air…”

Poppy straightened, her expression all anxious concern. “The bride needs a moment,” she announced softly, glancing at Georgie’s father. “If we might…”

Mother’s head snapped toward them instantly, her eyes narrowing.

Georgie caught Bea’s barely concealed smirk in the front pew, just as Georgie pivoted neatly and slid toward the side door. Her skirts whispered over the stone floor, her heart hammering in her chest.

Poppy trailed behind her, glancing nervously back at her mother every few steps.

They reached the little archway, and Georgie turned to her friend, her fingers clutching her bouquet tightly. “Afford me thirty seconds,” she murmured. “That’s all I need.”

Poppy nodded, her face pale but determined. She turned to Mother, while Georgie took another step toward the side door.

But her mother’s sharp voice rang out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Georgie froze…then she picked up her skirts and bolted .

Poppy let out a startled yelp but immediately stepped in front of Mother, blocking her path. “She just needs?—”

But Mother wasn’t having it.

Heels began clicking furiously against the stones as Mother began to chase her.

That was it.

No more pretense.

Georgie lifted her skirts higher, tossed her veil aside, and hurled her bouquet backward.

Then she ran .

Her white satin slippers skidded slightly on the stones as she sprinted through the narrow side passage, the sound of her mother’s outraged cry echoing behind her: “ Stop her! ”

But Georgie didn’t look back.