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"The girl has been missing along with the pass and ticket for some time now," the Comte explained. He was sitting as usual in his desk chair, his voice hard and expression quite unreadable. Brushing his salt and pepper hair back from his face with his fingers, he read over the letter in his hand once more. "The girl's description fits with our Penelope."
"Our Penelope! She is notourPenelope!" Lady Cecily snapped. "That girl is nothing to us! She never even ought to have existed, yet here she is taking my Clara's place! My daughter was supposed to be a duchess, and now what is she?"
Lady Cecily stopped pacing the Persian rug and glared at the man who had taken over from her husband as head of the household. "She is nothing!"
"She is safe, is what she is!" the Comte boomed back, and he slammed a fist down on the desk to show the lady that he did not appreciate her being irate.
"How so, My Lord?" Lady Cecily demanded. "How can she possibly be safe? She is an unwed woman in a time of war. Who knows what will happen next!"
Clara was instantly surprised the moment her uncle stood up and walked around the desk. She leaned backwards into the shadows outside the door, hoping that it was ajar only enough for her to see them and not the other way around.
At the last moment, before he turned his back on her, Clara saw the brilliant idea-fuelled expression upon her uncle's face. He reached out and gripped hold of her mother by her upper arms. Holding her at arm’s length, he looked as though he was struggling not to shake some sense into her.
"Don't you see, my dear, sweet Cecily?" The Comte had grown much too comfortable with Clara's mother since her father's passing, and it made her cringe. She had to place her hand over her mouth to stop herself from making an audible gagging sound.
Though she knew her mother was not stupid, that she would play the games of men, acting lustful and whimsical if she were required, she knew what her mother truly thought of the Comte. He was nothing but a means to an end for them. “Our plan does not have to entirely change. Penelope will work quite as well as our Clara.”
Bile rose in the back of Clara’s throat. Though she had known all along that her marriage to the duke was nothing but a plan to benefit their family, she wasn’t entirely sure she liked the thought of Penelope being in her place. It wasn’t the fact that she liked the silly maid or that she was concerned for her. She simply did not like the thought of being replaced.
More fool her,Clara thought, smiling to herself. Penelope truly had no idea what she was letting herself in for.
“How can it possibly work?” Lady Cecily demanded. “How are we ever to fix this?”
Even though she could not see his face, Clara could hear the smug smile in his voice as the Comte replied, “Fear not, sweet Cecily, these kinds of things have a funny way of working themselves out.”
“Then what are we to do?” Cecily demanded. It was clear from the tone of her voice and the side profile of her face that the lady was absolutely seething. Clara was more than a little glad that she was not Penelope right now. “I cannot simply sit here and let the girl get away with this. She has got away with far too much for far too long!”
The Comte’s shoulders trembled then, and Clara thought she heard laughter, though it was too quiet for her to be sure.
“We shall not let her get away with this,” the Comte promised. “We shall go to London, and we shall bide our time. All that has happened may yet work in our favour.”
Almost Two Weeks Later
They had been in London near on two days when Clara’s uncle finally called her into his room at the Dog and Duck Inn where they had set up what he liked to call ‘camp’. It was a respectable distance from the docks and still some way from the Duke of Chatham’s residence.
They kept their presence quiet, ensuring no names were passed about. She had been ordered by her uncle to merely call him just that. Though it was clear from the looks of all of them that they were of noble blood, nobody questioned their reasons for being there. To the stupid English, they were merely French nobles on a trip to visit some family.
Yet Clara knew better, and as she stood in her uncle’s quarters in the inn, she waited impatiently for him to finally tell her what they were doing in England. Of course, she already knew what they were doing, though she had never let on, choosing instead to question her mother on their voyage only to receive stupid answers such as, “We are going to England early at the duke’s request,” and, “We shall see when we get there.”
“Clara, as I am sure you are aware by now, things have not been going entirely to plan,” Lord St Clair announced with a deep sigh. He was doing as he always did, sitting at a desk he’d had brought in by the inn’s staff, and looking over piles of letters in front of him. Clara merely nodded her acknowledgement of the words, knowing it was better and quicker to remain silent until he had said all he wished to say.
“Well, I am afraid I have some dreadful news that I hope you will not take too harshly.”
Clara glanced at her mother, sitting in the armchair beside the fireplace. That was how her mother had been for the last few days, sitting beside the fireplace, warming her bones, because she was adamant that England was far colder and damper than France, even though it was almost the height of summer.
Clara offered her a quizzical look, hoping she was playing the part of the clueless innocent. Unbeknownst to her mother and uncle, she had learned to spy from the very best; them. And it had not taken much for her to get all the information she required. Now she merely needed to play her part and hopefully return to France as quickly as they had arrived in England.
“What is it, Uncle? I shall try to handle it as best I can,” Clara said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him as she turned her full attention back.
Lord St Clair leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat harshly before he answered, “I am afraid that the maid, Penelope, did not only steal your pass and your ticket here to England, but she has also stolen your identity and is currently married to the Duke of Chatham as if she were you.”
Clara offered an overexaggerated gasp, hoping she had not overdone it, and slammed her hand over her mouth with widened eyes. Looking at her uncle in horror, she gasped behind her hand, “That is dreadful!”
Lady Cecily scoffed in her chair as if she were well over the shock of it all and had resigned herself to the fact. The Comte merely nodded his agreement with Clara’s statement before continuing, “Though it is a travesty since having arrived in London, your mother and I have decided that it may well work to our advantage.”
Clara paused for a moment, watching the Comte and trying to read his face, though it was just as expressionless as always. Then she asked, “Does this mean you shall not challenge the marriage?”
The Comte’s salt and pepper brow rose, and he glared at her in silence for a moment, his expression still almost entirely unreadable. Then he started to shake his head, and Clara felt a wave of relief wash over her.
