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His blonde-haired, blue-eyed little sister, who took so much after their mother, was only halfway down the staircase before she stopped to grip hold of the bannister. Anthony turned just in time to see her give a delighted little bounce before she turned and began to race right back up the staircase, calling, “Elizabeth! Lizzie! Come quickly!”
Well, there is definitely no turning back now,Anthony thought grimly. The excitement and happiness of his sisters only appeared to be growing with each passing day. And so was his own apprehension, knowing that soon he would be left with no choice but to marry the young woman who was practically saving his entire family from ruin without even being aware of it.
As if she sensed his anxieties, Mrs Cartwright spoke up once more, “Do not worry, Your Grace, I shall ensure that their ladies’ maids are fully briefed on what is necessary and what is not during their stay in London before I depart.”
Anthony could only feel half relieved that at least his housekeeper appeared to know exactly what she was doing. He continued to feel as though he was set afloat at sea with no paddle.
“Thank you, Mrs Cartwright,” he said with a sigh, realising that it was far better to merely let the tide carry him than try to fight it. “Your help is much appreciated.”
Glancing down at the telegram in his hand, he read once more that Lady St Clair had boarded the White Rose a week early. His stomach twisted with concern all over again. What if the ship had sailed quicker than usual? What if she was already at London Docks? What if something dreadful had happened because he hadn’t had the foresight to travel to London early to ensure everything went smoothly?
There were so many questions, so many variables that Anthony’s head was spinning. Even in the Army, with all the strategies and all the different men he’d had to organise, none of it had been this hard. Anthony longed for those simple days to return, but the sound of Emily’s squawking reminded him that was no longer possible.
“Now, now, Lady Emily, you shall be travelling with the duke at a later date,” Mrs Cartwright insisted as she hurried up the stairs to try to calm the young lady. “It is I who shall be travelling today.”
“Mr Cartwright, once your wife has wrangled my sister and is ready to leave, please remind her that she is a godsend,” Anthony insisted to his butler before he returned to his study with a newly brewing headache, wondering just how much worse things might get before they started to get better.
Chapter 6
The journey from France to England was most disorientating, and Penelope spent much of her time trying not to bring up what little she could stomach. It was a gruelling ordeal that constantly left her feeling nauseous and exhausted.
Even when she stood on deck trying to get fresh air into her lungs, the salty scent all around her was enough to make her heave. Just when she believed she was starting to feel better, a fresh wave of illness would overtake her, and several times she believed it was far more than just the motion of the ship. The food aboard the ship wasn't the greatest, though more often than not, it was edible.
Several times she was even invited to dine with the captain himself, though truly she had little appetite. Still, she was forced to keep up her ruse and pretend to be Clara throughout the voyage for fear of what they might do to her if she did not.
She even dreamt of being tied to the mast, left out during a sea storm, or even thrown overboard for concealing her identity and wrongfully stowing away aboard the ship.
She had little to occupy her time save for listening to the stories of the ship’s crew. Other than a couple of old war veterans and a retired doctor, the ship was practically empty. It was a relief that she only had a few people to deceive; it was also quite lonely.
Although the journey was difficult, it was the moment they landed that was most confusing to Penelope. Almost as soon as they docked, she could see a greying-haired woman in a plain black dress, her hair pulled back severely from her face, waving a white handkerchief as if greeting an old friend.
As soon as the gangway was lowered, the woman who had been waving the handkerchief suddenly called up, "Lady St Clair! Oh, Lady St Clair, I do hope you had a pleasant journey!"
At first, Penelope was confused. Though she had grown used to the people on the ship calling her by the said name, she was not expecting anyone on English soil to call her by it. She had been hoping to be able to slip away from theWhite Rosethe moment they docked and never be seen again. Yet the woman who called to her appeared to have other plans, as did the strong young man who followed her wearing a black and green livery that was similar to that of the footmen who had worked at her former master's residence.
Anxious and reluctant to meet anyone else who believed her to be her late master's daughter, Penelope hesitated at the top of the gangway.
"I believe you are being called." Captain Cook's voice caused her to jump as he sidled beside her. "So nice of them to send someone to meet you."
"Indeed," Penelope responded, struggling to speak past the sudden lump in her throat. Forcing a smile, she added, "Thank you, Captain Cook, for your hospitality and for bringing me safely to London."
"You are most welcome, Lady St Clair," Captain Cook replied, bowing with his fingers pinching the rim of his hat so as not to lose it in the sea breeze. Penelope bit her lip against the urge to tell him her true name. After several days at sea with the man, a part of her felt as though she had truly got to know him and wished him to know her also. It was an odd sensation to have been in such close quarters with a man for so long and never allowed herself to be known.
"You mustn't keep them waiting, my lady."
With another bow, Captain Cook gestured Penelope off the ship. The gangway swayed alarmingly beneath Penelope as she descended towards the docks below. Her heart hammered not only because of the movement but also because the elderly woman and her much younger companion had moved to the end of the gangway to meet her.
The docks were strangely quiet, and Penelope knew she had little hope of slipping away before she reached them unless she wanted to throw herself between the docks and the ship into the crashing waves below.
Holding onto the gangway rope, Penelope’s grip threatened to pin her there, stuck for all to see in midair with all eyes upon her. Heart in her throat, she struggled not to stop walking and keep her feet from slipping on the salt-sprayed wood.
Please don’t slip now,she prayed, knowing it would be the most undignified and unladylike thing she could possibly do in front of all those people, in front of the people who clearly believed they knew who she was.
If she were to slip up in front of them now, if they were to figure out that she was not Lady Clara St Clair, then it would be only a matter of days before the news reached the Comte St Clair, and she was entirely sure that no matter where she tried to hide, nowhere would be safe. It was one thing to run away as she had, but quite another to impersonate the Comte’s niece.
The man, as she knew him well, would take it as a personal affront, and he was not the kind of man who let things go easily. A memory flashed in her mind of what it had felt like for the Comte to stroke his fingers down the back of her neck, for him to look at her as though he was hungry enough to eat her, for him to make her feel all kind of uncomfortable with a single sentence.
A shiver ran through her so violently that she had to take a moment before stepping off the end of the gangway.
