Page 46 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“Did Lord Langwaite see you carrying this to me?”
“No, My Lady. It was delivered with a very urgent request to be seen only by yourself. I thought it imperative to act on the orders, considering who they were from.”
“Who?” she pressed, eyeing the gift.
“I am not at liberty to say, My Lady. You are to find out when you open the gift.”
The footman bowed after setting down the strange package, leaving Penelope to close her door quietly and quickly go to her bed.
Her brother was downstairs in his study, but it seemed he always heard her secrets, from daring to try on a more revealing dress to writing down her exasperated thoughts.
She winced at every crinkle of the package as she slowly opened it. No doubt it was Cecilia, stubbornly gifting her something. Perhaps it was one of the other ladies playing a prank on her, daring her to be braver than her brother’s control allowed.
Yet, when she painstakingly peeled back every layer of gift wrap, she found the gown she had tried on earlier that day.
Her breath caught, and she reached out, afraid to touch it, lest it be a dream. Lest it be acurse, even.
She looked towards the door, her heart jackrabbiting against her ribcage. She felt as though her brother would already know her secret—that he would sense a forbidden, sensual dress being brought into the townhouse.
But she pushed away those worries and returned to the dress, plucking a cream-colored note.
Had Cecilia ignored her protests, after all?
Penelope’s breathing quickened.
It was not her friend’s familiar script, but the bold lines of penmanship not yet familiar to her. But the name signed at the end was.
Lady Penelope,
A lady must seek what she desires, and you do belong in this gown. Enjoy it, it is yours. Do not allow anybody to take that from you.
Sincerely,
The Duke of Blackstone.
A thrill shuddered through her, and, for a moment, she traced her fingertip over the curves of his hand, following the roundedoin his title, the solid dot that signed off the note.
She fingered the gown, feeling the beautiful silk.
She had never received a gift from a suitor—or, if she had, they had likely been turned away at the door before she even knew about them.
The Duke of Blackstone was hardly a suitor, but the gift rang with consideration, reminding her of his stumble in the dressmaker’s shop and how he had regarded her in the dress.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought of him continuing to think of her wearing it, even after she had left, and having it delivered so discreetly.
Yet her time indulging in the offering was cut short when she heard voices coming up the stairs—Finley and one of the footmen. She could already hear him barking orders, and she was instantly on her feet.
She shoved the new dress into the bottom of one of her armoires and spun around to face Finley as he strode into her room, hailing her down for dinner.
ChapterEleven
“Do stop your incessant fidgeting, Pen,” Finley grumbled, frowning at Penelope as she once again tugged on her collar. “You are making me look untidy with your lack of stillness.”
Penelope scowled at her brother, giving one last sigh of annoyance at him for making her wear yet another uncomfortable, stifling dress.
She rolled her eyes, looking away from him. Heavens, but he made her feel like a petulant child, and she was far from it.
The neckline of her dress crawled up her throat, a suffocating grip that may as well have been Finley’s fingers.
