Page 56 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

The footman stood in the threshold, holding a small silver tray. Resting precisely in the center of the polished metal was a folded piece of thick parchment.

“A note has arrived for Miss Corinna,” the footman announced smoothly. “Delivered by hand, from the Ravenswood household.”

Corinna froze. Her pulse kicked into a frantic, hammering rhythm against her ribs. She looked at the silver tray, and then she looked directly at Aunt Phoebe.

Usually, Phoebe would intercept such correspondence. An unchaperoned note from a gentleman’s household to an unmarried girl was a breach of etiquette that warranted immediate confiscation. Corinna braced herself for her aunt to step forward and dismiss the footman.

Phoebe looked at the folded parchment. She looked at Corinna’s pale, desperate face. Then, very slowly, Phoebe took a step back, gesturing toward the tray.

“I gave him a day,” Phoebe murmured, her voice so low that only Corinna could hear it. “And the day is running.”

Corinna did not waste a second. She crossed the room, her soft leather shoes silent on the rug, and picked up the note. Her name was written across the front in a strong, unhesitating script that she instantly recognized from the ledgers he had been carrying at Ashwell Park.

She broke the simple wax seal.

Corinna,

I must speak with you. Privately. Please. There is a truth that belongs to you, and I can no longer bear to keep it from you. I will wait near the Serpentine at noon. If you do not come, I will understand.

Yours, M.

Corinna read the words twice, her heart swelling with a desperate, terrifying hope. Yours. The single word carried the weight of a thousand unspoken promises. He was not running. He was asking her to meet him, to finally lay the pieces on the board so she could see the entire game.

She folded the parchment carefully, slipping it into the hidden pocket of her skirt just as a sudden rustling of silk erupted from the hallway.

“Mother! Aunt Phoebe!”

Vivienne swept into the morning room like a conquering general entering a newly captured city. She wore a stunning day dress of pale yellow silk, her golden hair perfectly arranged, her cheeks flushed with absolute, unadulterated triumph. She practically vibrated with luminous certainty, commanding the entire space the moment she crossed the threshold.

“It is happening,” Vivienne announced, clasping her hands together against her chest. “I can feel it in the very marrow of my bones. The announcement is coming.”

Phoebe sighed, moving back to her side table and picking up a clean brush. “Good morning to you as well, Vivienne. I see modesty is not on the menu for breakfast.”

Vivienne waved her hand dismissively, entirely immune to sarcasm in her current state of glory. “Do not be tedious, Aunt. Lord Ravenswood danced with me twice last night. He was entirely attentive. The entire room was watching us. I am certain he intends to call on Father before the week is out to formalize the arrangement. By next week, I shall officially be a countess.”

Corinna stood near the fireplace, keeping her hand pressed against the hidden pocket of her skirt where the note burned like a physical brand. She watched her sister spin in a circle, admiring the fall of her own skirts in the mirror above the mantel.

“That is wonderful news, Vivienne,” Corinna managed to say, her voice impressively steady.

Vivienne stopped spinning. She turned to look at Corinna, her pale blue eyes sweeping over her younger sister’s simple navy dress with a look of benevolent, condescending pity.

“It really is,” Vivienne agreed, walking over and patting Corinna’s shoulder as one might pat a slightly dull, obedient spaniel. “And you must not worry about your own future, Corinna. Once I am the Countess of Ravenswood, I shall ensure you are properly taken care of. You shall have a permanent place at the estate. In fact, if you wish to continue seeing the companion, I suppose you may, once my engagement is completely settled.”

Corinna stiffened, the patronizing touch sending a jolt of pure irritation down her spine. “I do not require your permission to speak with Mr. Marsh.”

“Do not be prickly, darling.” Vivienne laughed, a bright, brittle sound that grated against the quiet room. “I am merely being generous. He is a secretary, yes, but he is handsome enough, and he seems well enough for your station. A quiet life for a quiet girl.”

Vivienne turned away, wandering toward the window to look out at the street. “Though, I must warn you, Corinna, you should not be too hopeful regarding his affections.”

Corinna’s fingers curled into tight fists. “And why is that?”

“Because Lady Cecily Vane seems to have her eyes fixed quite firmly upon him,” Vivienne said lightly, tracing a pattern on the windowpane with her gloved finger. “I spoke with her at length last night. She is a woman of the world, Corinna. She knows exactly what she wants, and she is a proper lady of standing. A man in his position would be a fool to ignore the attentions of a woman with her connections and wealth. I am afraid you simply cannot compete with a Parisian wardrobe and a formidable title.”

Something inside Corinna broke open.

She was utterly exhausted by the relentless performance of the ton, by the endless calculations of rank and wealth, and by the sheer, unyielding cruelty of her sister’s vanity.

“I do not care about her wardrobe,” Corinna said.