Page 21 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

T he dining room was even grander than her bedchamber.

The walls were painted a warm ivory with gilded molding, and tall windows lined one side of the room, spilling sunlight over the gleaming table.

A glittering chandelier sparkled above her head, and the mahogany sideboard was stacked with gleaming silver platters and fine china.

Fresh flowers—white roses and lilacs—stood in a tall vase at the center of the table, and everything gleamed with quiet, understated wealth.

Pembroke stood as she entered, looking unfairly composed and devastating in his dark coat and perfectly tied cravat.

“Good morning, Lady Pembroke,” he said politely, inclining his head. The hint of a smile played around his firmly molded lips.

Ooh. The title (and the way he said it) sent a strange little twist through her stomach. That was the second time she’d been called Lady Pembroke today. She had best begin to get used to it.

“Good morning,” she murmured, taking the chair opposite her husband .

He sat again as the butler poured her tea and set out a selection of eggs, toast, fruit, and pastries in front of her.

She glanced intermittently at Jason as the quiet clink of silverware and the faint tick of the clock filled the silence between them.

She nibbled at her toast, painfully aware of how elegant and handsome he looked across the table—and how awkward she felt in her own skin. And for the first time, she began to think about— truly think about —everything that had taken place yesterday.

First, there was the undeniable fact that Jason was handsome.

He always had been. Is that why she’d said yes to him yesterday?

It had been nearly irresistible after all.

Him yelling “enough” to quiet her family, him offering an ungodly sum of money to get her father to agree, him making all of them leave and demanding that she be the one to decide.

While all the while, he’d looked unbearably good-looking and the memory of his kiss had played through her mind as if it was on a roundtable.

Then there was the simple case he’d made… “ I can’t possibly be worse than Henderville ,” he’d said. Beyond an understatement, of course, but perfectly true. Yesterday, it had made quite a lot of sense to her frightened, tired, frantic mind.

But there was more, wasn’t there? Additional reasons. Reasons she couldn’t think of at the moment. But valid ones, just the same. She bent her head and concentrated on pretending to eat her food.

After a while, Pembroke cleared his throat, setting down his fork. “I thought,” he began carefully, “that you might like to redecorate one of the wings of the house.”

Her head came up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“This place has more rooms than I know what to do with,” he continued evenly. “You may choose whichever suite you prefer and make it entirely your own. New wallpaper, furnishings—whatever you like.”

Her fingers tightened around her teacup.

Oh.

So that was it.

He was already planning to keep her tucked away in some corner of the house where she wouldn’t be in the way.

She forced a polite smile. “How…generous of you,” she murmured.

He tilted his head slightly, looking a bit puzzled by her tone, but said nothing. Instead, he returned to his meal.

But Georgie set down her teacup abruptly. Oh, God. It hit her. It finally hit her right then . She knew why she’d married Pembroke. But try as she might, she hadn’t been able to think of why Pembroke had married her .

But now…it was obvious. And the reason blazed across her brain as one awful word.

Obligation .

He’d done it out of obligation. He was a gentleman. A gentleman who’d made a horrible mistake bringing her to his house yesterday, and the only honorable thing to do once her parents had found them together was…to offer for her.

And she, like the complete fool that she was, had accepted .

Oh, God. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt tight.

Yesterday, it had all made some sort of sense to her.

But now…in the light of day, with plenty of sleep and no one yelling at her, she realized she never should have agreed to it.

What she should have done was taken Pembroke up on his offer to sneak her back to the coaching station.

She should have continued on her way to Bath.

A horrible sick feeling lurched in her belly.

She’d told him yesterday that she didn’t want him to marry her in order to save her.

And he’d replied that he couldn’t promise her that he would be a good husband.

But he’d never said the one thing that truly mattered…

He’d never said he wanted to marry her. He’d only promised to make the ton think he had.

And she, fool that she was…hadn’t asked.

She could kick herself now. For her sheer, blind stupidity.

Of course Pembroke had married her out of obligation.

He was simply paying for his mistake. And she might not be married to an old, feeble man.

But neither was she married to a man who had chosen to marry her.

Perhaps not out of love—she wasn’t foolish enough to expect that—but at least out of preference . Even Henderville had offered her that.

She clenched her jaw. “I’d like my own room,” she said, her voice firmer than she expected.

Pembroke froze, his brow furrowing faintly. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “Of course.”

For just an instant—the briefest flicker—she thought she saw something in his eyes. Disappointment? No. It couldn’t be.

And then it was gone, hidden behind his usual unflappable composure.

He rose, folding his napkin with quiet precision. “I’ll see to it immediately,” he said.

And then he left her alone at the table, staring down at the delicate roses in the vase. Her heart beating double-time in her chest.

She hadn’t escaped trouble yesterday. She’d run directly to it. And no doubt in doing so, she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.