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"I am sorry, Lady St Clair," Mrs Cartwright announced when she saw Penelope was still nestled into the four-poster bed. The housekeeper bowed her head and paused in the doorway with a silver tray clasped in her hands. "I was not sure if you had risen yet or not."
"No, please, don't apologise," Penelope insisted, struggling to stop herself from blushing as she clambered from the bed.I should have been up hours ago!She scolded herself.How am I supposed to sneak out of here now? If the housekeeper is up and about, then surely everyone else shall be too.
Alarm quickly caused her to ask, "I haven't missed the duke's arrival, have I?"
Her heart hammered so fast in her chest that it felt as though it was trying to leap right into her throat.
"Oh, no, My Lady," Mrs Cartwright responded, shaking her head. "May I place the tray on the table, My Lady? It is rather heavy for my old bones."
"Oh, yes, yes," Penelope blurted, gesturing for the housekeeper to go ahead, feeling like a fool for having not already instructed her to do so. It had entirely skipped her mind that the tray and its contents were for her, not some high and mighty lady staying in residence.
I am the high and mighty lady,she realised, gulping past the sudden lump in her throat and fighting the urge to help Mrs Cartwright pull open the heavy drapes and secure them on either side of the floor-to-ceiling, lead-lined windows.
"Will you be requiring help to dress, My Lady?" Mrs Cartwright asked as she finished up with the drapes and pushed open one of the windows to allow some fresh air into the stuffy room.
"I … umm … I have nothing to wear," Penelope reminded the woman when she suddenly remembered that the housekeeper had helped her out of Lady Clara's filthy gown the night before and insisted upon taking it to be cleaned.
Penelope had suspected there would be no cleaning the dress after so long at sea, but she had not protested, and Mrs Cartwright had not made any such comment. Having worked in a residence such as this for most of her life, she was almost certain that the housekeeper would have had something to say about it as soon as the door to the servants’ quarters slammed shut behind her. The words 'filthy' and 'unladylike' sprang to mind.
"Not to worry," Mrs Cartwright replied quickly with a shake of her head, and Penelope watched with dismay as the housekeeper crossed the room and pulled open the large mahogany wardrobe to reveal several gorgeous gowns.
"The late duke could never face throwing away his late wife’s clothes, so they were kept in here.” She gestured again at the wardrobe before adding, “When His Grace learned of your predicament with your luggage, he instructed me to allow you to use these until your things arrive.”
The housekeeper stepped away from the wardrobe, gesturing for her to step forward, and Penelope forgot herself for a moment. Crossing the room with her mouth gaping open, she stood before the wardrobe and brushed her fingers over the beautiful gowns, feeling the silk and satin, the fine silver and gold threads, and the delicate beadwork. These gowns were fit for a princess, not a maid, and Penelope fought the urge to say so out loud. She had already come so far; she couldn't very well go and give herself away now.
"I must once more apologise for not having offered you a tour late last night when we arrived, but it was quite late, and I thought you too exhausted from your journey," Mrs Cartwright explained. Penelope could feel the housekeeper watching her like a hawk as she debated whether it was a good idea to accept one of the gowns hanging before her.Lady Clara has hundreds of fine gowns,she reminded herself, thinking of all the fine and expensive things her master's daughter had been gifted over the years.
She will never miss one she has never even laid eyes upon.Besides, she was well aware that she would need something to wear if she managed to sneak out and try to make it in the world on her own. She could only imagine what kind of questions might be asked if she was caught wandering about in nothing more than a chemise.
She would likely end up in some kind of asylum or, worse, sent right back to France to be punished by the Comte. At the thought of the latter, she imagined an asylum would be a welcome option. At least then, she would have a roof over her head and nobody to answer to; the St Clairs would likely happily wash their hands of her and she of them.
I would be swapping one cage for another,she realised quickly,no, I must be careful about this.Determined that she must be discreet, she picked the plainest yet quite possibly prettiest of the day dresses hanging in the wardrobe and turned to Mrs Cartwright to finally admit, "I would greatly appreciate some assistance with dressing, please, Mrs Cartwright. If you would be so kind?"
The housekeeper looked quite astonished for a moment, and Penelope wondered whether she had been entirely too polite for a lady. Then the elderly woman smiled warmly and nodded. "Of course, My Lady. But please, call me Ada. Mrs Cartwright was my mother-in-law."
Penelope was intrigued by that. Though many housekeepers were titled 'Mrs' as a sign of respect, she had rarely met one who was actually married. Having spoken to several in her time, she had learned that many women were forced to choose between marriage and their careers.
"No man wants his wife caring for a family other than their own," she remembered one woman explaining back when she had been young and innocent and questioned every little thing.
"Is Mr Cartwright well?" Penelope blurted, unable to think of how to broach the subject any other way. She was glad that she had already turned away from the housekeeper so that she could help her fasten the stays that were possibly the most uncomfortable item of clothing Penelope had ever encountered.
She would have much preferred not to wear one, but as she had got herself stuck in acting like a lady, she was well aware that she must.
"He is quite well, thank you, My Lady," Ada responded, and Penelope could hear the smile in her voice. "I am pleased to say that you shall meet him today. He shall be arriving with the duke."
"Are he and the duke friends?" Penelope asked, unable to hide the surprise from her voice. She couldn't quite picture it. A duke and the husband of a housekeeper, close friends, it was ridiculous.
"Oh no, I would not say so." Ada chuckled, though it was clear she was trying to control her amusement. "I am unsure how they do things in France, but here in England, things are done properly. Mr Cartwright is Lord Chatham's butler, and he has been butler at this estate for three generations."
Penelope felt she could picture him now, an elderly and stern- faced old man who loved to order everyone else around, overseeing all the work while barely raising a finger himself. Whether she knew it or not, England was much the same as France when it came to butlers.
"Then what of Mr Mathers, who greeted me last evening?" Penelope asked. Though she had no intention of staying and so did not need the information, she had never been able to stop her curious mind from wandering or wanting to learn more about everything going on around her.
"Mr Mathers is the under butler and is only standing in while Mr Cartwright is away with His Grace," Ada explained. They were silent for several minutes as they worked together to get Penelope into the powder blue day gown she had chosen.
She was more than a little surprised at how well it fit, wondering whether the gowns had been made to Lady Clara's measurements and she had merely lost a few pounds thanks to her dreadful seasickness or whether it had been a lucky coincidence. Either way, she wondered for a moment how much fuss Lady Clara would make if she arrived to find that the gowns the duke had gifted her did not fit upon her arrival.
Perhaps she might think he is trying to insult her,Penelope thought a little smugly, imagining that maybe the duke was actually trying to suggest she was on the larger side. But then she instantly felt guilty, knowing that the duke surely could not deserve Clara's brattiness when it came to such matters.
