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"Your husband has been quite naughty, sister," Clara announced, and Penelope's head started to spin so badly that she could barely see straight.
"My husband has gone to see his solicitor in London," Penelope announced, hoping she might be able to learn something more, but the Comte St Clair and his niece only chuckled at her words and shook their heads.
"You poor, unfortunate soul," Clara whispered, and when she laid a hand on top of Penelope's, she almost believed in her sympathy. Maybe if there hadn't been a satisfied gleam in her gaze, she might have believed it.
"What are you saying?" Penelope asked, looking deep into Clara's eyes, trying desperately to learn something from what she saw there, but there was nothing save for contempt.
"What we are saying is that your husband is being used to communicate important information about the war," the Comte said in a hissing tone. He leaned close and added into her ear, "We want that information."
Penelope's blood turned to ice as the Comte pushed himself swiftly back to his feet and straightened his jacket before holding his hand out to Clara. "Come now, niece, I think your sister has much to think about."
Penelope found she was entirely unable to move as the Comte and Clara moved toward the parlour door and the hallway beyond. At that very moment, as if he sensed their desire to leave, Mr Cartwright knocked and entered with a bow. He at least had the decency to look startled when he came face to face with the Comte.
"Ahh, forgive me, My Lord," the butler said, bowing once more, "I was merely coming to see whether you needed more refreshments."
For the first time, Penelope noticed the tray laden with teapot and cups on the table in front of her and started to wonder just how long the two of them had been there before she returned home. What had they seen? What had they learned? Had they questioned Mr Cartwright? If they had, then she couldn't tell; he seemed quite the same as he always did.
"My un …" she began hoping to somehow explain, but the Comte beat her to it again.
"Cartwright was it? Forgive us, but we must be leaving. We have taken up quite enough of theduchess'stime."
The way he spoke made Penelope quiver, and not in a good way. Her mind was still reeling, her throat constricted with nausea, and her stomach churning with terror.
What am I to do?she asked herself as the butler began to show the Comte and Clara out. Though she listened carefully for anything that the two of them might say to the butler to give her away, she heard nothing but pleasantries until their voices faded entirely. She knew she ought to have escorted them out personally as the lady of the house, yet she could not move.
All she could do or think about was Anthony.What have you got yourself into?she wondered, her heart hammering so hard that she felt like it might burst right out of her chest. Worse still, she thought,what have I got myself into?
The way that the Comte had spoken she was now certain that he was not only threatening her but also her husband. Though she had been stuck, unsure as to how to escape the mess she had got into, she now realised why she had not seen consequences before now.
Though she couldn't be sure of their plan, she was sure of one thing, the Comte had decided that instead of punishing her, he would use her. He had all but threatened that she must do as he said or face his wrath.
Yet he no longer scared her as he had previously; what scared her now more than anything was Anthony.What will he do if he learns the truth?she wondered, feeling what was left of the colour draining from her face;what will I do when I must face him and admit the truth?
Though the Comte had not announced that was what he intended, she couldn't help feeling that sooner or later, he would reveal the truth and when he did, she realised, she could no longer run. She was now more trapped than ever before with the realisation that only one thing was certain.I am in love with the one man I could never truly belong to.
Chapter 30
Anthony's days in London were the most excruciating in all his life, not only because of his work and having to constantly be on his guard but also because he missed his wife more than he ever believed possible.
Having had to remain in the city for over twice as long as he had intended, he was more than ready to make his way home to her. In fact, whenever he thought about returning to the countryside estate where he had left her, his heart began to race, and his skin tingled with the thought of being able to touch her again.
It was an odd sensation that he wasn't sure he had ever felt before. And he was more than ready to return to find out just how it would feel once she was back in his arms again.
Yet just as he was preparing to leave, having watched the footmen carry his trunks out to the carriage awaiting him outside his London residence, an unexpected visitor arrived with startling and quite frankly, unbelievable news.
"Your Grace, forgive the interruption," Mr Mathers, the man who always stood in for Mr Cartwright whenever he was in London alone, arrived at his study door just as he was finishing up filing away the last of his important paperwork.
"Is everything alright, Mathers?" Anthony asked, noticing the quiet discomfort upon the stand-in butler's face.
Mathers bowed his head for a second time and announced, "A Lady Marchand has arrived with an urgent request for an audience with Your Grace."
Lady Marchand?Though he recognised the name as that of a noble lady he had met several weeks earlier at a ball he had attended with his wife on their last night in London, he couldn't for the life of him understand why she would possibly be at his door, asking for an audience.
"Did she give any idea of what her visit is regarding?" Anthony asked. He had been in London for several days already and had not had a single visitor save for his good friend Jonathan.
"She would not give any great detail, Your Grace, though it appears quite urgent," Mathers explained, and his cheeks reddened slightly as if he were reluctant to add, "though she appears quite frantic and does not wish to be kept waiting."
For just a moment, Anthony's mind ran wild with him. He imagined that this Lady Marchand was also in the espionage business and had come to him with important information on the fact that he had been found out or even that he was needed for some great and exceptionally dangerous task. Then he quickly shook himself mentally, deciding it was best not to get ahead of himself.
