Page 20 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

G eorgie woke to the scent of beeswax and fresh lemon.

At first she lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, waiting for the familiar chill of her small bedchamber at her father’s house, the usual thin coverlet and threadbare curtains that didn’t quite keep out the morning sun.

But there was no chill.

Instead, the sheets beneath her were soft— luxuriously soft—and warm, smelling faintly of soap and something far more expensive than anything she’d ever owned.

Her lashes fluttered open, and the sight that met her eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

She was not at home.

She was in a bed—a massive bed—draped in pale blue damask with delicate gold embroidery. Above her, the ceiling was painted with cherubs and clouds, and on either side of the bed hung rich, thick draperies of a blue so deep it could only have come from the finest dye.

The room itself was enormous—easily three times the size of her entire bedchamber at home—with tall windows framed by gleaming white shutters and heavy brocade curtains.

An exquisite Aubusson rug stretched across the polished wood floor.

The walls were lined with paintings, landscapes, hunting scenes, and one that appeared to be some kind of Italian seaport bathed in sunset light.

On the mantel stood a row of sterling silver candlesticks, polished to a gleam, and the fireplace was flanked by two armchairs upholstered in velvet.

A small writing desk stood by the window, already set with quills and fine paper, and there was even—good heavens—a dressing screen embroidered with golden lilies.

It was like waking up inside a dream.

Her fingers curled into the thick, soft sheets.

She was at Pembroke’s house. Oh, God, she might be in Pembroke’s bed. The thought made her eyes snap open even wider.

She’d known Pembroke was rich—he had to be to pay twenty-five thousand pounds for a wife.

But she hadn’t truly comprehended until now just how rich that meant. Yesterday, she hadn’t been looking at the furnishings.

The sound of a door opening drew her attention.

She sat up a little, clutching the coverlet to her chest as a young woman in a neat cap and apron stepped inside, curtsying immediately.

“Good morning, my lady,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Hester. I’m to be your maid.”

Georgie blinked at her. “M-my maid?”

Hester smiled. “Yes, my lady. His lordship gave me the instruction himself.”

Georgie flushed faintly, her fingers twisting in the sheet. “My maid at home was…dismissed long ago,” she said slowly. “We couldn’t afford…”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that here,” Hester said briskly, already moving toward the wardrobe. “You’re Lady Pembroke now.”

Georgie swallowed hard at the sound of it.

Lady Pembroke.

She wasn’t sure it fit.

She wasn’t sure she fit.

But then the memory came back. Of she and Jason riding in a coach, him half-carrying her into a grand town house, a man in robes greeting them, a ceremony, some words mumbled and then…a ride back in the coach and then…nothing.

She’d fallen asleep in the coach. At least she thought she had.

She quickly pulled the coverlet from her chest and then looked down.

Oh, dear. She was not wearing the last thing she’d been wearing when she remembered things.

Instead, she had on a gossamer night rail that felt like pure silk.

Clutching the coverlet to her chest again, she blurted out the question before she could stop herself.

“Was it you who undressed me last night?”

Hester, who was pulling out a pale morning gown, froze. Then she pinkened just a little.

“No, my lady,” she admitted. “That was…Lord Pembroke. He insisted on seeing to it himself. I did go to the dressmaker’s yesterday to buy a few things for you.”

Georgie went hot all over, her fingers clutching the sheet tighter as she ducked her head and glanced down the front of her gown once more.

And felt her stomach drop.

She was nude beneath the thin nightgown.

Completely nude.

Her face flamed as she scrambled to tug the blankets higher, even though it was already too late for modesty.

Hester, wisely, pretended not to notice and simply busied herself with laying out undergarments and stockings.

Once Georgie gathered herself, Hester combed out her hair and dressed her with deft, practiced hands, all the while chattering about how much she loved working in this house, how kind his lordship was to the staff, how well everyone was treated, how beautifully kept everything was.

Georgie tried to nod and smile in the right places, but she was still overwhelmed by the sensation of being…cared for.

It was utterly foreign.

At home she’d been ignored at best, berated at worst. Here she was being treated like a princess.

It was…disorienting.

By the time she was dressed and her hair neatly pinned, she wasn’t entirely sure she recognized herself in the mirror.

“His lordship asked if you’d like to join him for breakfast,” Hester said.

“Breakfast,” Georgie echoed, a small smile popping to her lips. “I suppose I could do that.”