Page 53 of Cinderella's Charade With the Duke
‘Good morning, my sweet ladies,’ he said. ‘A flower to match your beauty.’ He bowed and then extended a flower to each of them.
Millie giggled and rushed to him. She hugged his knees and took the flower, holding it against her nose. She smiled. His heart soared at the joy in her face. He was right to have risen early to join them this morning. He congratulated himself on his choice.
He glanced up at Penelope, who he hardly recognised in her simple, worn brown gown. Something about it was familiar. She pointed to a tiny pack of furry ducklings. ‘Look! Another hen and her brood. They are beautiful, are they not? Millie found them.’
His head ached and he stilled, closing his eyes as a rush of memory flooded him.
‘Perhaps you and your father could also help me this morning. When I came out, I heard a little duckling quacking. She is all alone on the other side of the pond, which is why I was in search of its mother on this side. I need to reunite them, but I do not wish to scare the tiny creature. Perhaps she knows you both well enough to allow you to move her without injury and bring her back over here once we find her mother?’
Millie’s eyes widened with excitement and she tugged his hand, urging him to follow. ‘Of course, Miss Potts,’ he replied. ‘And we know just where the mother and the duckling’s siblings are. We passed the little brood on our way to you.’
Miss Potts nodded. ‘Follow me, then.’ She rose and began the trek back to the other side of the pond.
They reached the site where the small duckling continued to quack and shiver, cold and scared from being alone for so long in the cool wet grass. ‘I do not know how to move her,’ Miss Potts said.
‘When I was a boy, we used to scoop them up in our coats and hold them close to our chest, which of course made our mother livid. They are not the cleanest of creatures.’
‘Oh? I will try that, then.’ She removed her wrap and gently scooped up the tiny duckling, humming to it as she slowly nestled it to her chest. Its tiny orange-webbed feet pushed against her chest like a tiny flutter until it decided to trust her and settled, releasing one final plaintive squeak. The poor thing didn’t know what she was about. Millie let go of his leg and approached her. Gently, she ran her hand over the tiny duckling who chirped at the girl’s touch. Millie laughed with glee and Miss Potts did, too.
‘William, are you unwell?’
He looked up into the beautiful brown eyes of the woman he knew to be Penelope, his betrothed, and the woman he loved, but it was also the same face as this Miss Potts from his memory.He didn’t understand. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. She gripped his arm.
‘William?’ her voice was overlapping with another memory that came rushing in from the past. This time he was in his study with her.
‘I would like to extend your offer of employment not only as Millie’s governess, but also as my fake betrothed. I think a Lady Penelope Denning would do nicely,’ he said, his words rushing out. ‘Do you think you could do that?’
‘I am sorry, Your Grace. I don’t think I understood you. I would love to remain on as Millie’s governess, but that last part… Did you say you wish for me, an orphan from Stow, to also pretend to be your betrothed as some other person entirely?’ She worried her hands in her lap and her eyes were wide and searching.
A beat of silence passed, then he sat back in his chair, his hands sliding down the curved wooden armrests before covering the painted gold flowers at the ends. He met her gaze. ‘Yes, Miss Potts, that is exactly what I wish for you to do.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘A fair question,’ he replied and stood. He walked along the outline of the room as he thought and tucked his hands in his trousers.
He paused in front of the portrait of the late marchioness and turned. ‘In the simplest terms, Miss Potts, I cannot take a new bride, but thetonwill give me and my daughter no peace until I am adequately…unavailable. I cannot ask a woman of high society to fill such a role as they all know one another and will gossip about such a ruse and embarrass me, and so, my hope was that you being from Stow and far removed from here and someone who cares for my daughter and whom my daughter adores would help me with this…endeavour.’
‘You mean lie to everyone?’
‘Yes.’ He supplied no excuse in what he had asked. ‘After speaking to Dr Kemplar, I feel I must do something drastic to protect my daughter. He said we cannot risk more situations such as this morning. She is too fragile.’
‘Again, Your Grace, why me? Who in the world would look at me and believe I am a lady of…anything?’
He studied the fine features of her face. ‘It is no secret my daughter adores you, Miss Potts. You are willing to risk your life to keep her safe as I have seen this morning. Also, you are not of thetonand from what I can see do not have a deceitful bone in your body. In short, I trust you. And I believe with the right clothes, hair and training in the ways of society, you would be quite…believable.’ His gaze roved over her slowly, hesitating on her face. He was certain in his next statement. ‘Quite believable, in fact.’
‘You are not my betrothed, are you?’ he accused, shaking off her hold with ferocity. His heart raced in his chest and he felt short of breath. All he had long forgotten rushed back. His cheating wife. The scandal of the past. The deception and lies from Cecily that had nearly destroyed him. And the lies of this woman, who he knew…yet didn’t know at all.
The woman stilled. ‘Millie,’ she said quietly, never taking her eyes from him as if he were a threat, like a rabid dog, and a danger to them all. Perhaps he was. ‘Go inside and tell cook to prepare your scones with jam. I will come in to join you later…with your father.’
The girl nodded, setting fearful eyes upon them.
‘It will be fine, sweet girl,’ the woman said sending her a smile before encouraging her to go, giving her a reassuring pat to her back. His daughter cast her one last glance of confusion and jogged out towards the Manor. Once she was far enough away, he set his gaze upon the woman again.
‘Who are you?’ he asked. He clenched his hands by his sides. ‘Are you Miss Potts? Penelope?’
‘Are you remembering?’ she asked, her tone hopeful but timid.
‘Yes,’ he accused. ‘And I am remembering that you arenotthis Penelope Denning, but a governess. And not my betrothed as you pretend to be.’
