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He then dropped her onto her feet and held her close to him, his hands cupping her face and pulling her gaze up to meet his.
"An … Anthony, what are you doing here?" she blurted, unable to understand or even comprehend what was going on. "You surely can't have travelled all this way just to see me."
Glancing over his shoulder at Mr Finn, Anthony turned back to Penelope and suggested, "Perhaps there is somewhere that I might talk to you privately, my love?"
Anthony, stop playing games with me.Penelope wanted to scream the words at him, unable to understand why he would still insist upon pretending she was his wife. The last she had seen him, he had been desperate to keep his distance from her.
"Lady Argyll will not be using the parlour for another hour," Mr Finn suggested discreetly, gesturing them through the manor. Relieved that the butler did not question them, Penelope offered him a silent smile of gratitude and took Anthony's arm to lead him through to the west parlour where the lady of the house liked to sit and watch the wildlife from the window.
Standing in the parlour, keeping a careful distance from the duke, Penelope was all too aware of Mr Finn's constant presence as he stood at the edge of the room.
"Mr Finn was it?" the duke asked, glancing over his shoulder at the butler. "Perhaps my wife and I might have a moment alone."
Penelope held her breath, half expecting the butler to deny the request. A part of her even hoped that he might. She wasn't entirely sure she wished to be alone with the duke, terrified that his attitude towards her might change the moment they were left alone. Yet when he turned a hopeful gaze upon her, she knew she could not deny him the request.
"Mr Finn, perhaps you might go and ask for a maid to bring us some tea and check on Lady Argyll for me?" she suggested, terrified at the thought that her mistress would be confused when she awoke to find her not already at her bedside.
Mr Finn looked reluctant but nodded and silently bowed, leaving them alone. As he did, Penelope held her breath, waiting anxiously.
As soon as the door was closed, she was surprised when the duke hurried forward once more and took her in his arms again. "Oh, Penelope, when I set out, I had no idea whether I would actually find you here. You have no idea how relieved I am to see you looking so well."
Penelope leaned into him for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his warm body pressed against her own. She imagined for just a few seconds that nothing had gone wrong between them, that she was back at home in the English countryside living as a duchess once more. Then she reminded herself that had never truly been her life and forced herself from his grip.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have work to be getting on with unless you have brought the authorities with you?" She spoke as confidently as possible even though her heart was hammering in her chest. She half expected men to come hammering on the door, hounding for her arrest.
"Penelope, I have come to take you home!" he explained, and the happiness in his voice startled her more than anything else. "You need not remain here. All is well in England. Everything has worked itself out."
"But … but you are calling me Penelope, so surely you must be well aware of my background and my past and all that I have lied about," she pointed out, her knees growing weaker with every sentence.
"Your Grace, if you are playing some kind of game to trick me back to England to face the consequences of my actions then I understand, and I shall come with you willingly, but I would rather know what faces me there."
Lord Chatham straightened up then and looked her directly in the eye. She struggled to stop herself from cringing as he stepped forward and took hold of both her hands. "Lady Penelope, you are my wife, and I wish you to come home."
"Lady Penelope? I am no lady," Penelope said, shaking her head. She tried to pull her hands free of his grip, but he continued to hold her there.
"You are indeed a lady," he insisted, "You are My Lady. Lady Penelope Grafton, Duchess of Chatham. If you will have me. I have already had all the paperwork drawn up."
Penelope stared at him in astonishment. "I … I don't understand."
Reaching up, the duke pushed a stray hair from her face and stroked her cheek gently before producing some paperwork from the inner pocket of his jacket.
"This should clear things up for you," he told her, handing her the papers. Penelope took them and unfolded them, her heart stopping as she repeatedly read the words she found there.
Distantly, she sensed Anthony guiding her to the nearest couch and sitting beside her as her legs gave way.
"I don't understand!" she exclaimed, the will and the letters still clamped in her hands like one final lifeline she couldn't release.
"Penelope, you are not only the daughter of Rose Dupont. You are also the daughter of Lord Michael Vigneault, the late Comte St Clair, and in his will, he left you half of everything," Anthony explained, and although she had already read the details in her hands several times over, she still could not believe it.
"It appears that the Comte and your mother had quite the illicit affair, and rather than denying it, he left very strict instructions for his wife to continue to care for you if anything should happen to him."
Suddenly everything started to make sense as the duke added, "You said that the abuse at Lady Cecily and Lady Clara's hands started after the Comte's death?"
When Penelope nodded, tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"My solicitor, Mr Patterson, did some digging, and all this is true. What is also true is that the St Clairs kept this from you because they did not wish you to get what was owed to you," Anthony continued and when he placed a hand upon her knee, squeezing gently and comfortingly, Penelope could barely hold back her tears.
"Where are they now?" Penelope asked, leaning into the duke's hand as he cupped her face and offered her an expression of sympathy.
