Page 48 of All Duke and Bothered

“Yes, I’d like the bed linens to be washed weekly. I’ve been here for almost two weeks, and I like to sleep in a fresh bed. As does the duke, I’m sure.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“And sometime next week, I’d like to give a dinner for all the Seatons and the Duke and Duchess of Loxchester. Something simple but delicious. Just family.”

“But the duke and the duchess aren’t family…are they?”

“Well, they’re almost family.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brown,” said Penelope warmly. “You’re a wonderful housekeeper. Thank you for making my life and my husband’s life so easy.”

A surprised twitch of her brow revealed a fleeting expression of being touched, then the old mask of detached servant was back.

“It’s my pleasure, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” said Penelope again. “Do you know if His Grace is back yet?”

“Not to my knowledge, ma’am.”

When Mrs. Brown left, Penelope looked at the door to Preston’s study, clutching her hands. She walked briskly towards it, full of determination, but her stomach was dropping inside. This is for Papa, she kept saying to herself as she flung the door open. This is for Papa.

It was empty. The painting of Danaë still hung there, as beautiful and as eerie as before. A stab of empathy for the woman made Penelope bite her lip. She needed to hurry. The servants would have no reason to suspect her of anything if they found her here…she was the lady of the house, after all.

But Preston…

She hurried to his desk and looked through the pile of documents that lay on top. Then another one. Only brown leather folders and papers. Some books. Heavy ledgers.

She opened one drawer in the desk after the other. There were more documents. Letters. Pens and a closed jar of ink.

Then in the third bottom drawer, there it was—a red leather folder lying on top of other letters and documents. She remembered seeing it on his desk the night she’d found him asleep in here. The night she’d read Spencer’s letter… She went completely still, her pulse drumming in her ears. She swallowed and laid her shaking fingers on the smooth, tightly stretched leather.

This was the answer to her father’s troubles and the revelation of Preston’s secrets. She clasped the folder and picked it up, feeling like it may be a snake about to bite. She held it before her, the leather dully reflecting the light from the window.

She had it now. All she needed to do was to leave with it and hide it and then to deliver it to Papa…

Should she look inside? But how could she betray Preston so completely and irrevocably that the fragile trust and peace between them would forever be broken?

She remembered Preston’s words as he’d protected her against Papa’s harsh words… If my wife wishes to be an artist, I think that is spectacular. I think she has more brains than you, sir. More brains than most men I know.

Preston, being giddy and excited about hiring Enrica de Luca for her.

Preston, getting down on his knees and having his mouth on her…there… Preston, telling her about his deepest pain and deepest guilt…

Preston, the trust with whom was so fragile and precious now.

No. She couldn’t look inside or steal it. She was not this person. She loved her papa, but there must be another way to help him than to betray her husband.

Just as she moved to put the folder back into the drawer, the door creaked open.

She looked up.

Standing in the doorway with a shuttered expression was Preston.

20

Preston soared through the house as if on wings. A fresh bouquet of yellow, white, and pink tulips stood in the vase on the sideboard as he entered Chalworth. The scent in the house had changed from dusty and old to flowery and fruity, like bergamot and lavender.