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"Yes, My Lord, Anthony?" she asked, her gaze gleaming in such a way that Anthony would have liked to gaze into the blue-green depths of her irises for eternity.
Instead, he abruptly took a step back, clearing his throat and bowing his head. "Forgive me; I have kept you long enough. I wish you a good night, My Lady."
Bowing low, releasing her hand as he went, Anthony stepped back again. Knowing that he might do something he would regret if he remained, he quickly turned on his heels and began to make his way back down the hallway in the direction he had come.
He heard Lady Rose's intake of breath as if she were going to call after him, but even though he half-paused for a moment, she remained silent. With a clenched jaw, Anthony continued down the hallway, swiftly making his way around the corner and taking several more steps before he finally stopped.
Pricking his ears and holding his breath, he listened for the sound of Lady Rose's bedroom door clicking shut. Several moments passed before he finally managed to breathe again and even when he did, he still battled the urge to return to her door, reminding himself,in the morning all will be different.
Chapter 12
Penelope felt utterly trapped. No matter how hard she tried to escape, something always seemed to be drawing her back in. Perhaps she had been reading far too many romance novels when she ought to have been looking at more serious books thanks to the late Comte's insistence on her having an education, but a part of her was even beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was right where she was supposed to be.
The back of her hand still tingled where the duke had clutched her fingers to his chest, and although he hadn't kissed her, she felt as though he had. At least, she had imagined what it might have been like for him to lean in and kiss her goodnight.
Even a peck upon the cheek would have sufficed. At least then she could say that one man in her life had kissed her. Of course, she had kissed the stableboy back in France when they had been little more than ten years old, playing at being adults long before either of them ever understood the weight of it. But it had never gone any further than the one kiss upon the lips before they both fell back in the long grass, laughing about how silly they both felt.
Yet the thought of kissing the duke as she stood outside her bedroom with him was like nothing she had ever experienced. Though it was only a thought, it was somehow more real than any intimate moment she had ever had.
It wasn't like when the Comte tried to corner her, making his intentions plainly clear even when he was being creepy and cryptic. It wasn't like the time when she had accidentally witnessed one of the maids with one of the footmen in an alcove in the servants’ yard. It was breathtaking and heart-stopping, and her mind still reeled long after she clicked the bedroom door closed, wondering,how am I ever to get out of here?
Maybe if she had just looked where she was going that afternoon when she had tried to slip out of the garden gate, she might have been able to avoid all this. Yet the more she thought of it, the more she realised,I have tried to leave twice now, and both times the duke has been the one to stand in my way.
For one wild moment, she allowed herself to imagine it was something her mother had so often talked about during her childhood whenever something happened, whether it be good or bad; fate.
Yet no matter how long she wracked her brain, she couldn’t possibly imagine how or why fate would wish her to remain beneath the duke's roof. It couldn’t possibly be to be the duke's maid because, of course, as soon as the real Lady St Clair arrived, her life and time beneath the roof would be over.
It couldn’t be anything more than that either because, even though she had read many romance novels, she would never truly allow herself to imagine that what she felt when she gazed into the duke's eyes was real.
"Just give it an hour," she told herself aloud, determined that she had to try again. Talking to herself was beginning to feel as though it was the only way she could remain sane. She desperately missed Betsy.
The old cook might have been able to impart some wisdom upon her had she been there to see what a mess she had caused.If she were with me, I would not be in England,Penelope reminded herself, knowing that the old cook had vowed after her husband died that she would never sail again because he had loved it, and she could never face doing it without him.
She would not have joined me even without that vow!Penelope knew, imagining just how irate Betsy would have become if she had ever mentioned running away to England with Lady Clara's ship ticket. Maybe if she had been foolish enough to admit her plan to the older woman, she might have talked her out of it, and then she would not be here now.
Dropping down onto the end of the bed with a huff, Penelope thought,why did the duke have to be so kind?
Her heart hammered whenever she thought about him and whenever she closed her eyes she could see him as if he were standing right before her once more, with all dark hair and dark irises and a charming smile. He wasn’t at all how she had imagined him. No man so kind and considerate would ever agree to marry a woman like Lady Clara, especially not if he got to know her.
Maybe I am here to rescue him and not the other way around!Penelope thought, chuckling to herself when she quickly decided that was even more foolish a thought than her plan to run away in the first place. In what world was a maid ever capable of rescuing a duke?
There was only one good thing about the duke's catching her trying to escape. It had given her one more night to try and figure out what to do next.
Falling backwards, crossways on the bed, she laid one arm over her eyes to block out the world as she tried her hardest to think about where she could go or what she might be able to do. She could try to find more work as a maid, maybe even a governess.
She had always liked children. There was always her earlier idea of finding some work as a tavern wench in the hopes of earning bed and board with little money behind her. There were so many options, yet one thing still remained, what would happen when the Comte finally learned she had been impersonating his niece?
The next thing Penelope knew, she was being awoken by the sound of drape rings being pulled back, and the bright morning light that filtered through the window almost blinded her the moment she removed her arm from where she had been sleeping with it over her face for most of the night.
Surprised into acting immediately, she sat bolt upright and wiped the drool from the edge of her mouth, glancing around at the windows across the room to see a young lady she didn't recognise. She was wearing a plain black dress with a white apron, and a matching lace cap pinned to her scraped back hair.
"My Lady, apologies for waking you," a familiar voice sounded from the door as the maid dropped into a curtsey the moment she saw that Penelope was awake. Penelope whipped around to face the door, finding Mrs Cartwright standing upon the threshold. What she held draped over her arms made Penelope's stomach instantly somersault.
Please, don't tell me that is a wedding gown!she thought, biting the inside of her bottom lip just to stop herself from blurting the words aloud.
"The duke insisted that we wake you as he did not wish you to be rushed this morning," Mrs Cartwright explained with a pleasant and happy smile as she wandered into the room and gestured for the maid to help with the gown she was holding. Together the two women hooked the gown to the top of the wardrobe, allowing the white satin and lace to drape in stark contrast against the dark mahogany wood.
“Luckily, the duke has been planning everything for weeks, so this arrived for you from the seamstress this morning. I only hope the measurements your uncle provided are still accurate.”
