Page 52 of The Good Duke
Unlike Simon, who’d have a wife and a family and travels abroad awaiting him, Persephone had only the hope for more work, and more work, so that she could scrape together enough funds and eke out an existence until she died, and some other spinster matchmaker stepped forward to take her role on the Marriage Mart.
A panicky giggle bubbled in her throat.
You should be so lucky if Simon hired you in twenty years.To do so, she’d have to escape handsy employers and their rakish sons looking to dally with the help.
Dread at the uncertain future awaiting her clawed at her mind.
Her breath grew quicker as the prettily papered walls began to close in on her.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Trowbridge sung happily.
Persephone came exploding back to the present, the same way she’d burst out from under the water when she and Simon had competed to see who could hold their breath the longest.
She’d always won.
Some goodthatskill had done her.
The housekeeper knocked once.
“Enter.” Simon’s deep, even voice penetrated the heavy oak panel.
In an attempt to steady herself, Persephone dusted suddenly damp palms over the front of her dress.
Mrs. Trowbridge hesitated and cast a glance back at Persephone.
Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, Persephone nodded. The moment the other woman looked away, she let her grin fade.
As Mrs. Trowbridge reached for the handle, it was as if everything—with the exception of Persephone’s thoughts—passed in infinitely slow motion.
Stop this instant. He is just a man.
And the good Lord knew she wasn’t a virginal miss any longer.
She knew how to handle men.
Not likethat.
Like the geysers of Haukadalur valley she’d read of, a hysterical giggle best suited for a young girl built inside Persephone and threatened to erupt.
Then, at last, Mrs. Trowbridge opened the panel.
Silence.
Heavy and thick and uncomfortable, it greeted them and effectively doused her fitful mirth.
The housekeeper dropped a curtsy and, into the quiet, she introduced Persephone. “Miss Forsyth.”
Persephone stepped forward.
Still, Simon said nothing. Instead, he remained seated in that throne-like chair behind his late father’s desk.
Persephone resisted the urge to squirm.
To give her twitchy legs a task, she dropped a curtsy. “Your Grace,” she said.
And tired of being the one to stand unnerved before him, Persephone boldly invited herself over to his imposingly heavy, ornate desk.
She stopped before Simon.
