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The room was suddenly too hot, and the walls seemed to be closing in around her. She had to get away, to get fresh air, before she screamed. “Please, excuse me,” Lydia said before fleeing. *** “Well,” Ian drawled, leaning back in his chair. “That went well.” Vincent ignored him and turned to Miss Hobson with an icy glare. “You did inform Lydia that she is to wed, did you not?” The woman’s chin lifted in a vain attempt to hide her anxiety. “I’d assumed she understood her responsibility as a young lady of noble birth.” Her voice quavered defensively. “She’d spoken of having a Season in New Orleans. How was I to know things may have been different there?” Vincent cursed as the matter became clear. “Because her father failed to perform his responsibility to Society when he married for love… Bloody hell, I should have known!” “Vincent.” The duke’s voice was implacable. “My wife will not sponsor the young woman if she is not willing.” Miss Hobson sighed. “Surely she could not expect something so fanciful as love.” Vincent ignored the chaperone and faced Ian. “I am certain we can persuade Miss Price to see reason. She has been receptive to all other aspects of taking her place in Society.” Ian swirled the brandy in the glass before giving a slight nod. “No doubt her grief remains for the loss of her parents.” Miss Hobson nodded. “A reasonable assumption, Your Grace. I’m certain she’ll collect herself after a while and be down soon.” Ten
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