Chapter 20
Lavinia stood still on the edge of the courtyard, her eyes fixed on the road that stretched beyond the estate, winding through the hills where Peter’s carriage had disappeared moments ago.
She knew she should have turned away by now, returned to her family, but her feet remained rooted to the spot, her heart heavy with the weight of her emotions.
The ache in her chest grew as she replayed the last few moments in her mind—his silent farewell, her deliberate refusal to say even a few words to him.
A wave of sadness rolled through her, settling deep in her stomach.
She felt guilty for not bidding him goodbye.
She had wanted to, but her pride had gotten in the way.
He had hurt her, dismissed her feelings, and she had convinced herself that he deserved to be ignored, to feel the sting of her coldness.
But now, as the dust from his carriage settled on the path, all she could feel was regret.
Why had she not said something? Why had she not given him a proper goodbye, even if it was just a simple word?
Her thoughts were interrupted by her father’s deep voice.
“Lavinia,” he called from behind her, his tone steady but firm.
She quickly straightened her posture, willing herself to turn away from the road.
“Yes, Father?” she replied, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she faced him.
“Come with me to my study,” he said, a serious expression on his face, though not an unkind one. His gaze, however, held a certain intensity that made her heart skip a beat.
She nodded and followed him into the house, casting one last glance at the horizon where Peter had vanished.
As they entered the house, Lavinia caught sight of her mother standing near the grand staircase. Her smile was wide and slightly mysterious.
“Mama, what is wrong?”
“Nothing, my sweet,” her mother purred as she patted her turban. “I am only pleased to see you.”
Lavinia looked around the hall for Madeline or the Dowager Duchess of Pemberton, but she was not sure where either of them had gone. When she could not spot them, she cast a glance around in search of Charles, but he had vanished too.
Something strange is going on here.
Curiosity gnawed at her as she joined her mother and they walked down the hallway to her father’s study.
What could this be about? Why does Mama seem so pleased?
Her mind raced as she followed her mother into the study.
The room, with its towering bookshelves and dark mahogany furniture, was a place of both comfort and authority for her.
She had spent many afternoons here with her father as a child, listening to stories of the world, of his travels, and of his life before becoming Lord Crawford. But today, something felt different.
Her father gestured for her to sit in one of the leather armchairs by the fireplace, and he took the seat opposite her. Her mother perched on the edge of the desk and swung her legs merrily.
Her father’s expression softened, and for a moment, Lavinia felt like a little girl again, seeking his approval.
“Father,” she began, but he held up a hand, stopping her.
“Lavinia,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “I want to talk to you about something very important.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Something that will shape the rest of your life.”
Her heart rate quickened. What could this be?
Her mind flashed to Peter, to the emotions still swirling inside her, but she pushed them aside, focusing on her father.
“I have been thinking a lot about the future,” he continued, “and about your happiness. You are growing into a fine woman, Lavinia. A woman of grace, intelligence, and kindness. You remind me so much of your mother when she was your age.”
Lavinia blinked, surprised by the warmth in his words. Her father was renowned for giving sentimental speeches, but something felt unique about this one.
“I have been fortunate,” he said, his gaze soft for a moment, as if recalling memories long past. “Your mother… she’s been my anchor, my happiness. We have built a life together that I would not trade for anything in the world. And I want that for you.”
Lavinia’s brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t understand, Father. What do you mean?”
Lord Crawford leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked her directly in the eyes. “I mean, I want you to find the kind of happiness I have found with your mother. Someone who will love you as deeply as I love her. Someone who will take care of you and cherish you.”
Lavinia’s breath caught in her throat. His words hung heavy in the air.
“Father, I want that too…” She faltered.
“You know I have waited so long to marry because I hoped to find a love like yours.” She cast a glance at her mother, who smiled in answer.
But then she looked back at her father. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you reminding me of things I already know?”
Her father smiled softly. “Because an offer has been made. A gentleman has asked for your hand in marriage.”
The room seemed to close in on her. Lavinia’s heart began to pound in her chest, and her mind raced to catch up with the words her father had just spoken.
An offer of marriage? Who could it be?
“An offer?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” her father confirmed, his tone calm, almost reassuring. “A respectable match, one that will bring you stability and happiness.”
Lavinia felt the blood drain from her face. She had not expected this, not now, not when her heart was still so tangled in confusion over Peter.
But maybe the offer came from Peter?
Her blood pumped through her veins erratically as she momentarily entertained the notion.
Peter might be in love with me, after all. He might have spoken to my father before he left, and that goodbye… that parting… it was just… just…
She was so overwhelmed by the possibility that she could not even finish the thought.
“Who?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
Her mind whirled as she recalled all the gentlemen who had shown an interest in her that week.
There was Lord Selway, who at the beginning of the week had been insufferable.
Then, there was Lord Denton. He had complimented the diamond necklace at her throat every time she had worn it.
She could not forget about Lord Windham either.
He had told her that he was in love with her.
He had professed his amorous feelings openly.
Perhaps he offered for my hand?
But then, her mind drifted back to Peter.
He was the one she wanted. The Duke of Pemberton was the only man whose offer she would accept.