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"Should?" Anthony demanded. He didn't like that word. He wanted certainty not speculation. "Mr Patterson, if I am to marry this girl, I must be sure that your plan is going to work."
He glared at the solicitor, remembering well the last time he had seen the man in person. Though they had corresponded plenty through letters over the last several weeks, he had only seen the solicitor's face on the day when he had told him that he had damned both him and his sisters. No doubt that was why the man was so skittish now.
"Yes, Your Grace, of course." Mr Patterson nodded. "It was a mere slip of the tongue. I can assure you that this marriagewillcorrect all the offenses of the previous duke."
The man's words only half eased Anthony's anxieties because there was still the matter of having to marry a woman he had never met, a woman he truly had no interest in actually meeting. To him, she was a means to an end, and he loathed even that about her.
Never in his life had he ever allowed anyone to tell him what he could or couldn't do, and yet here he was, stuck between a rock and a hard place with little left to do but be told what he must do.
"You're absolutely certain?" Anthony asked. He offered the solicitor such a hard glare that he knew the man would not be able to lie to him. It was a look he had used on many soldiers, both those below and above his station, when he was unsure whether he was being told the truth or not.
"Yes, Your Grace, I am certain."
Finally, Mr Patterson lifted his head and looked Anthony in the eye, and at that moment, the new duke realised there was no turning back. The solicitor’s surety that this solution was the surefire way to solve his problems left Anthony with little choice but to trust him.
When it came to battle plans and strategy, hand-to-hand combat and weapons, Anthony was in his element, but here and now, faced with battles including the obstacles of the ton and the social elite while trying to hide the debt the late duke had left him, he felt like he was floating out to sea without a paddle. There was no turning back, and all he could do was ride the current to see where it would take him.
"Then you shall write back on my behalf expressing my excitement at the ladies’ arrival and wish them well for their journey," Anthony insisted. He was well aware how slow correspondence was travelling these days, and although he wasn't sure the message would reach Lord St Clair in time before his niece and sister-in-law set sail, he could at least say the letter had been sent. He would never allow himself to be called anything less than a gentleman.
In the meantime, I had better prepare,he thought as he dismissed his solicitor with little more left to say. All that was left to do now was prepare himself mentally for what might be his last few weeks of freedom before he found himself thrown into a loveless, lust-less marriage to a French noblewoman who was likely exactly the same as the others, beautiful and lustful and sinful.
At least she will have no excuse for me taking a mistress,Anthony thought, bile rising once more in his throat. He had always maintained that he would never marry, yet a man had needs. He had been with women, and that was not about to stop when he was forced into a political and financial marriage.
He would not give up on what little made him happy, and that included the small contribution he could still make to the war effects.I shall find a way to make this work,he vowed, watching Mr Patterson leave with yet another silent promise.You have damned me again, Mr Patterson, but I shall make it work.
Chapter 4
Penelope's salvation came in the form of a ticket. Having taken the time to clean and dust the study during a rare moment when all of the St Clairs were out at once and not in need of her, she found there was an odd sensation surrounding her whenever she drew close to the desk drawers.
Ordinarily, she would never have even dared to look inside them, especially not when the late Comte had been alive. She had respected him far too much to snoop. And yet, here she was standing before the desk, gazing down at the top draw that had been left slightly open, with an odd tugging sensation in her gut that was urging her over and over again to pull it open.
Perhaps it was the corner of paper sticking out from the drawer or her need to be sure she didn’t damage anything inside before closing it; she couldn’t be sure.
"No, no, I shouldn't," she urged herself aloud, turning away from the desk to leave. Her work in the study was finished, and she had no other reason to be there, yet the moment she took a step away, she realised she could go no further.
With gritted teeth and holding her feather duster tightly in one hand, she turned back and looked at the draw again. Nothing had changed. It was still firmly shut to her, yet the small voice in the back of her mind was urging heropen it!
Glancing at the door to ensure it was still shut behind her, she inhaled sharply and held onto the breath before laying her feather duster on top of the desk and using both hands to gently ease the drawer open. She paused the moment it creaked and sucked in another breath, listening for anyone who might hear the noise and come looking for the source.
After several tense moments of utter silence, Penelope pulled the draw the rest of the way open, astonished to find that sitting on the top of a pile of papers was a ship's boarding pass with the name Lady Clara St Clair scribbled in fine penmanship.
Had she not been so finely educated, Penelope might not have had a clue what the paper was or what was written on it, but she was lucky. The late Comte had given her all the skills she needed to survive alone, even if she did not have a father or a husband to provide for her.
I can't,Penelope scolded herself even as a dastardly plan began to form in her mind. The wordEnglandwas written so clearly it drew Penelope's gaze, making a shiver run down her spine.
How could Clara St Clair have more opportunity to see the country than she did? Clara's mother was not English, while Penelope's was. If anyone had a right to see the beautiful country her mother had described, it was Penelope, not the spoiled and cruel Clara who had made her life a living hell since her father's passing.
Penelope had been at a loss as to how to escape the tightening grip of the new Comte, terrified of what might happen if she were to be left alone with him when Clara and her mother set sail for England.
She can't set sail without her boarding pass,Penelope pointed out to herself. Though she knew that for a person like Clara St Clair, it would only take a few extra days to purchase another, she also knew that for herself, it would be next to impossible to purchase one.
Could I really run all the way to England?She asked herself, but even as she did, the answer became clear. It was a gnawing in her gut that told her if she didn't at least try, she would regret it for whatever remained of her short and miserable life. She could not let the Comte have her in the way she was sure that he wanted her, and she was well aware of what happened to women who refused him.
This is my second chance, she thought, picking up the boarding pass and checking it over. The given departure date was almost two weeks away, but that would be too late. If she did not depart sooner, then the St Clairs might have time to foil her spur-of-the-moment plan.
The evening couldn’t have been more perfect. With the Comte and the ladies out at some ball or other, having refused to take Penelope as their maid due to her still bandaged arm, she had the perfect opportunity to slip away into the night before anyone would be any the wiser.
Yet one glance down at her plain black button down dress and white apron told her she didn't have a chance in hell of stepping onto a ship as Lady Clara. Since the late Comte’s death, her wardrobe had been far less cared for, the mistresses refusing even to consider the idea that she was to be kept in the same state that he had kept her.
