Page 48 of My Deceitful Duchess
Which left him no better off than he had been. Worse, in fact.
Charlie, who had positioned himself beneath the desk, began to thump his tail in a steady rhythm, a little whine curling up from his throat. He had grown accustomed to a certain routine, and he wanted to ensure that Sebastian hadn’t forgotten it.
“I know, boy,” he said, and he reached under the desk to rub the dog between the ears. “I know. Let’s go, then, shall we?”
Though tonight was the first Saturday in a month that Jenny was home once more, safely ensconced within Ambrosia, still she would not join them on their midnight walk. Not with the armed guard standing silently at the rear entrance, ensuring she did not slip away into the night.
But he supposed it didn’t much matter. He’d long since learned the route himself.
∞∞∞
Ambrosia was more crowded than she’d ever seen it. It had not been unusual, since they had made the move to this massive building, for their numbers to swell to above one hundred on an average night. But this was beyond all expectations—a literalcrush. Jenny had been hard pressed to make it down the stairs and into the halls, which had just beenpackedwith ladies.
Her name, which had ranged anywhere from ‘Jenny’ to a distinctly more distanced ‘Madame Laurent,’ depending on the degree of familiarity in which the user had held her, had been reduced only toYour Grace. Which, she supposed, made a perverse sort of sense, given that she had neverstoppedbeing a duchess. But it had not mattered how often she had uttered the phraseI don’t claim the title—a duchess shewasand a duchess she wouldremain.
And there was little so intriguing as a duchess playing at managing a ladies’ club. Now, the smooth dance of management to which she had grown accustomed was something else entirely, the intricate waltz of staff flowing in and out as her partners was instead a disjointed jig—she could make it perhaps three steps before she was accosted anew by another patron, asking for a recommendation or wanting a few moments of her time to express sympathies and support.
She might have had a handful of free moments to spare for a few—but certainly not all of the nearlytwo hundredladies that now swarmed Ambrosia’s halls. She could not even spare the time to climb the stairs again and join Lottie and Harriet for their usual Saturday evening meeting, which she had missed for a month now.
It wasn’t until the last of the ladies had swept out the door at midnight exactly that she was relieved of her duties as manager and hostess—but that did not confer with it any degree of freedom. She swept a longing glance toward the rear of the building, toward the servants’ entrance. Her midnight walks had come to an end, probably forever.
She was just as much a prisoner here as she had been in jail. A gilded cage was still a cage, after all—no matter that her surroundings were lavish and luxurious. They had been that, too, when she had been a proper duchess, and still it had all been just a prison comprised of paint and gilt, silks and damasks. She had slipped her bars for more than a decade, but she had merely exchange old captors for new.
No more midnight walks. No more morning profiteroles. No morefreedom.
She turned and headed for the stairs. Though she had doubtless missed the entirety of the Saturday meeting, she knew that Harriet had not yet left—and Lottie stayed the night over on Saturdays.
Usually they concluded club business somewhere around ten. The fact that Harriet had not left yet could mean only one thing—talking.
There had been little enough opportunity for it, at least privately. But there were things that needed to be said, explanations to be made,arrangements—
And she could not avoid them any longer. Days were slipping away from her, a moment at a time, and soon it would be altogether too late.
The office door stood ajar. She was expected.
And of course, there they were—Lottie and Harriet both, looking a trifle worn, given that they did not naturally keep the hours she did, but nonethelesshereand settled into their seats, bordering a table that had been set with tea and biscuits and tiny cakes. Lottie had developed a habit of rubbing her hand absently over the swell of her stomach, which, thanks to clever cuts of gowns, was really only visible when she was sitting. And she did it now, that absent motion which highlighted the fact that she would bear a child in a few short months.
Jenny was not so very far behind her. But at least she wouldmeetLottie’s child, however briefly.
There was no point in mincing words, nothing to be gained by drawing out the inevitable. So she closed the door behind her and said, “You will have to begin considering my replacement.” If they had not already.
“That will not happen.” Lottie’s voice was pitched to a tone of forced calm, and Jenny wondered if they had expected this. “Come sit, Jenny. It has been too long.”
Shedidstill have a place here amongst them. Perhaps not for very much longer, but right now—right now it washers, even if eventually she would have to cede it to another. “You know you must, Lottie. It is only prudent—”
“We’ve managed well enough this past month,” Harriet said. “It seems you have prepared the staff quite well. I’ll admit there was some minor floundering, but on the whole, things ran more smoothly than even we had anticipated.”
Jenny folded herself into her chair, smoothing her skirts over her lap. “We should not…pretendthat things will continue as they have,” she said, even though the words wanted to stick in her throat. “We must be realistic.”
“Must we? I think I’ve had all therealismI can manage just lately. I would rather—I would rather—” Lottie’s voice broke, and Jenny found herself reaching across to pat awkwardly at her hand.
“Oh,ma chérie,” she said. “You mustn’t upset yourself. I have always known that this was coming. I made my peace with it long ago.” Lottie’s fingers clutched at her own, and she squeezed back. “Now we must look forward.”
But Lottie’s despairing little breaths turned to sobs, and Harriet’s fragile smile trembled—because they all knew that she meant forward to a future without her.
Lottie lifted her free hand to her mouth, breathing through her fingers. “If you had left London when you meant to,” she said. “None of this would have happened. It’s because of Ambrosia—because ofme—that you stayed.”
“Or it might have happened sooner,” Jenny said. “Oh, Lottie—it isn’t your fault. It could never be your fault.” She heaved a sigh. “It is a miracle in itself that I have livedthislong,” she said. “And until I met you—both of you—my life was so empty. I had no name, no family, no friends. But I consider what time Ihavehad well-spent, and I—I am so happy to have spent it with you.”
