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Her gaze never left his, and for the first time, she looked utterly sure of herself as she assured him, "I have met Lady Clara many a time during my visits to France. I have stayed among the St Clairs. Lady Clara is a beautiful and striking blonde. Forgive me for asking, but what colour hair does your wife possess?"
The woman looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and it was clear that she felt much better now that she had got what she wanted to say out of the way. Her words, however, made Anthony feel sick to his stomach. A lump formed in his throat, making it almost impossible for him to speak.
It was only the lady's expectant look that made him whisper, "My wife has brown hair."
He remembered it well, the soft as silk, glossy brown hair that ran through his fingers whenever he brushed them through it, the hair that smelled like lavender and tickled his nose whenever she laid her head upon his chest, the hair that he buried his nose into just to enjoy the scent and warmth of her presence in his arms.
"Your Grace, I am mightily sorry for bringing this to your attention, but I could not in good conscience keep it to myself," Lady Marchand said when Anthony remained silent and brooding for several minutes.
At that moment, Mathers returned with a tray of tea and the man silently entered, placing it on the table in front of them, though neither made a move to pour any or even ask for it to be poured. Instead, they remained utterly still as if stuck in time as Anthony tried to come to terms with what he had been told.
It cannot be!he told himself firmly, certain that the woman he had taken to his bed had to be the right woman; after all, he had received the dowry. Not only that, but she had never given him any inclination that she was anybody else. Worse still, he felt utterly sure of her, comfortable whenever he was in her presence, feeling as though there was nothing hidden between them.She is the most beautiful, intoxicating woman I have ever met.
Yet as he thought the words, he realised that perhaps that was why he had not seen it previously, perhaps it was because he did not wish to see, because he wished to believe that he could be happy and in love with his wife rather than married to someone he detested.
I should have known it was too good to be true!he realised as seething anger threatened to overwhelm him. Barely able to hold it back, Anthony lifted his gaze to Lady Marchand and said, "Thank you, Lady Marchand for bringing this to my attention. I shall be sure to get to the bottom of it."
Rising to his feet, he straightened the buttons on his silver brocade waistcoat and cleared his throat before saying to Mathers, "Please ensure that Lady Marchand has everything she needs and then escort her to her carriage. I am afraid I have a few more things to tie up before returning to the country."
With that, he bowed to Lady Marchand and started to exit the room, only turning back to ask, "Mathers, are the packages for mywifealready safely on the carriage?"
At a raised eyebrow from the noblewoman, he was certain of what she must be thinking, that he had taken her words to heart. Yet what she did not know was that the package he was talking about had absolutely nothing to do with his wife or even the woman who claimed to be his wife.
She is still my wife!he reminded himself. No matter who she was, the woman who had shared in his wedding ceremony and his bed was his wife, whether she was who she claimed to be or not.
"Yes, Your Grace." Mathers nodded, knowing full well what the duke was talking about.
At the confirmation that he had everything he needed to return to the country, Anthony turned back to Lady Marchand once more and said, "It was lovely to see you, My Lady, though I am afraid I have things I must attend to. You must forgive me."
"Yes, of course, Your Grace," Lady Marchand responded and pushed herself to her feet to curtsey. Her lady's maid added her own and Anthony made a quick exit before he could fall any further down the hole into the news she had given him. Whatever the truth was, he would find out for himself, though he was certain he would not find the answers in London.
No, the answers lay in the countryside, a place he had been desperate to get back to but now felt as though he could do without. Though when he closed his eyes and pictured his wife, the image still caused his heart to race; he couldn't help wondering if any part of what Lady Marchand said was true.
After all, what did he truly know of the young woman who claimed to be Lady Clara? She so rarely spoke of herself, allowing him to fill the lulls in conversation.Am I such a fool?Deep down, he knew there was only one sure way to find out, and yet he wasn't entirely sure he wished to know.Will the truth remove the feelings I have for this woman?he wondered, feeling his heart beginning to ache painfully.
Chapter 31
Eagerly awaiting the return of the duke, though terrified not only for her safety but his also, she was more than a little relieved when Mr Cartwright arrived at the library door to tell her that his carriage had been spotted at the end of the lane.
"Holden, please fetch my bonnet. I wish to meet him," she instructed her lady's maid, and the young woman curtseyed and disappeared, hurrying to do as she had asked.
Penelope stood and smoothed the front of her pale-yellow day dress, relieved she had chosen such a bright and happy colour for that morning. Having received word from him that his business was keeping him in London a little longer than expected, she hadn't been sure when to anticipate his return, leaving her feeling on edge constantly, struggling to sleep.
Now that his return was confirmed, she felt as though she could finally breathe.How long will that last?she asked herself, unable to stop thinking about the Comte St Clair and Lady Clara.
Though she had heard nothing from them since their visit and had not had any intimation from Mr Cartwright or even any of the other servants that the duke had been made away of the conversation between them, she couldn't help feeling as though there was a sword hanging right above her head just waiting to drop.
The moment Holden returned, the two women hurried to secure the bonnet upon her head, careful not to undo the hair pins that Holden had taken just under an hour to put in place that morning.
"Thank you, Holden." Penelope smiled at the maid. Though as far as the maid knew, they were worlds apart, Penelope couldn't help feeling as though they had made some form of a friendship. At least, she liked to believe she was far more friendly to the servants than any other lady whose presence she had ever been in.
"The duke is almost arrived, My Lady," Mr Cartwright announced, and Penelope knew that was her cue to hurry out onto the porchway, to be at the bottom of the steps when his carriage pulled up so that she might greet him. The thought of seeing him, of having him kiss her in greeting as he had begun to do no matter who might be watching, made her stomach flutter, and for just a moment, she was about to forget about everything else.
Hurrying out to the forecourt, she saw that Cartwright was right. There was indeed a carriage coming up the lane. It moved fast towards the house and came so quickly around the fountain standing in the middle of the front garden that, for a moment, Penelope feared the entire thing might topple.
She held her breath, waiting with her hands clasped before her and a bright and welcoming smile upon her face. Though it had only been a few days, it felt like years had passed since she last laid eyes upon the duke.
As soon as the carriage drew to a halt, the coachman hurried down from his seat and moved to open the door. Penelope's heart hammered hard in her chest as she awaited the duke's departure from the vehicle. When he did so, her chest tightened with happiness, and her smile grew so much that it felt like her cheeks might tear if she smiled any harder.
