Page 17 of Tamed By a Duke
"I know," Charlotte tried to look suitably chastised, but failed somewhat as she continued on to her next point, "But I was there honestly believing that the meeting would be a gathering of intellectuals interested in Parliamentary reform. Penrith has no such excuse."
"You can't honestly think that a man of Penrith's rank would be interested in toppling the system which has gifted him wealth and power?" Julia replied, with an amused laugh.
"No," Charlotte admitted, "But why was he there? He has no right to chastise me, when he himself was in attendance."
"He was probably keeping an eye on things for Whitehall," Violet offered, "I know Papa has said that the government has eyes and ears everywhere. It's possible that Penrith does some work for the War Office—Orsino is quite involved."
"Really?"
Both Charlotte and Julia whirled around to look at Violet, who was seated on the sofa opposite them. Their friend clasped a horrified hand over her mouth, as she realised what she had revealed. Violet's Papa, who was heir apparent to Lady Havisham—who held, in her own right, the Baronetcy of Aberford—was heavily involved with government dealings. He was currently on the continent, accompanied by Violet's Mama, working as an emissary for the Crown.
"Yes. Well. Eh," Violet stammered, her face puce with embarrassment, "Obviously, it's all top-secret, but I know that he and Papa are in correspondence with each other about certain matters, but that is all I can say. Your Penrith was probably just keeping tabs on any hint of dissent brewing."
"He's not my Penrith," Charlotte replied hotly, but her protests were interrupted by the arrival of a footman, carrying an enormous bouquet of hot-house flowers.
"Bianca is in her rooms," Charlotte called to the young man, for invariably, any blooms which were delivered to the house were for the younger of the two sisters. Even though she was not yet out, Bianca had already made an impression on the young bloods of London, who were enraptured by her beauty when they spotted her out riding in the park, or promenading on Bond Street. Charlotte, in contrast, had received few bouquets during her three-year tenure in town, and the less said about the sender ofthoseflowers, the better.
"They are for you, Miss Drew," the footman replied, his surprise as evident as Charlotte's own, "Where shall I place them?"
"On the sideboard, if you please," Julia dictated, as she realised that Charlotte was too stupefied to give directions. "Is there a card?"
The footman placed the flowers on the sideboard as instructed, before handing the accompanying card to Julia, who appeared far more in charge of the situation than Charlotte, who was feeling rather dazed.
It was not possible that the flowers were from the same person who had once sent Charlotte a similarly abundant bouquet, but despite this knowledge, her heart still raced at the sight of them, and her palms felt awfully sweaty.
"They're from Penrith," Julia exclaimed, waving the card in triumph. Charlotte quickly dragged her thoughts from her disastrous first season out and leapt from the settee to inspect the missive for herself.
"Miss Drew," she read aloud, so that Violet might be included, "I would very much enjoy the pleasure of your company this afternoon, for a ride in Hyde Park. My sister shall accompany us, if you are willing."
"Goodness," Violet looked alarmed, "I hope there's not an invitation from Orsino waiting for me at home, one dance was frightening enough."
"Youcan refuse Orsino," Julia replied with a wave of her hand, "Charlotte, on the other hand, cannot refuse Penrith—not when our plan is working so perfectly."
Violet's relief at this news was countered quite obviously by Charlotte's groan of dismay. The prospect of taking a jaunt with Penrith was not an enticing one. When she had thought him a faceless duke, it had been far easier to imagine proceeding with their plan. Now that she knew him to be her handsome stranger, who inspired strange feelings and desires, Charlotte was not entirely certain that she could carry on.
"Perhaps there is another duke...?" she asked feebly, casting her mind about in the hope that she might conjure a name for Penrith's replacement, "Or perhaps my father will lose interest in the whole affair. He adores Bianca, there is no way that he would really refuse her a come-out. No, I will refuse Penrith's invitation to go riding on the Row."
"The Duke of Penrith has invited you out riding?"
Bianca stood in the doorway of the drawing room, her pretty face wearing an expression of surprise. If Charlotte had not been so flustered by the duke's invitation, she might have taken the time to be mildly insulted by her sister's incredulity. She was not so hideous that she warranted exhibition in Polito's Menagerie; was the idea that a duke might be attracted to her really that surprising?
"Does anyone in this house care to knock?" Charlotte replied, with a sigh. The footman, who had been employed with the Drews for many years, quickly took his leave, perhaps recognising the signs of an impending disagreement between the sisters.
"I was drawn down by all the shouting," Bianca replied primly, walking across to the sideboard to inspect the bouquet, "It is rather difficult to study sheet music, when it sounds like Bedlam downstairs. Oh my—"
Bianca had picked up the card that had accompanied the flowers and read it with wide-eyed wonder. For a moment, there was silence, until the young woman turned to Charlotte and threw her arms around her.
"Oh," she squealed into Charlotte's hair, "I knew that you could do it! Papa thought he was so clever, setting such an insurmountable task, but I knew that you would best him. We shall both have our happily ever afters, thanks to you, Cat."
There was little that Charlotte could say in the face of her sister's exuberance; she certainly could not tell Bianca that she did not wish to lay eyes on Penrith ever again. So, she meekly accepted her sister's hug, resigning herself to the inevitable.
It seemed that fate wished to intertwine her life with Penrith's for the foreseeable future, and if that was the case, who was she to argue with the Gods?
During her two years of service, Charlotte had never appreciated Helga as much as she did that afternoon. The Duke of Penrith had arrived, just before five o'clock, in a handsome barouche whose lacquered wood gleamed in the spring sun.
"Your carriage awaits," he had said, offering Charlotte a flourishing bow, though the smile on his face had faltered somewhat, as he had spotted the lady's maid behind her.
Helga was gifted with the stature of a Valkyrie and a scowl just as fearsome. She held all men—regardless of rank—with suspicion, and Charlotte took great pleasure in witnessing Penrith shrink slightly under the Nordic woman's censorious gaze.
