Page 2 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“I’ve been serving your family since you were a wee one, M’Lady. I’ve seen you grow into the young lass that you are, sharp as a tack, and I could not be prouder. I beg your forgiveness for speaking my mind—” The coachman looked pleadingly at Dahlia. “—but as you, yourself, called me a friend, I ask that yousee and consider where your pursuits have led you and those that have been faithful to you.”
“Benson…”
“I am sorry, M’Lady. But this must be the last time we help you. I hope you understand that we cannot let you put yourself at risk any longer, and of lesser consequence, we cannot risk losing our positions in this household as well.” He turned his gloved hands palms up in a gesture of appeal. “Furthermore, I beg you, do not venture forth on your own, M’Lady. Retire this pursuit for your own safety.”
Without waiting for a reply, the coachman bowed his head and turned from her with a finality that seemed, to Dahlia, to emphasize his words. The silence rang in her ears, and she collapsed back against the seat. The conversation with Benson left her feeling hopeless and weak. Never in her life had she wanted more to have the freedom of being a man. The past three years had brought her such fulfillment.
To have created something that is truly mine! But what is to be done? I cannot do this alone. Truly, there is no way.
But more than that, her thoughts went to Benson, Biddy, and John—those loyal servants who, at first, had indulged her but then went on to fully support and keep her secret.What if, next time, John really gets stabbed? What if Biddy really gets dismissed from service because of my secret dealings? What if Papa blames Benson for my proclivities? Oh Lord, how selfish I have been!I have only thought of myself.
These people were her family’s servants, yes, but they were also her friends. Goodness knew that while her parents had been too busy with their social responsibilities, they had been her constant companions, more than anyone else in her family.
I cannot repay them with such behavior. It would cost her dearly—to give up her writing was a heavy thing—but she must do what was right and decent.
Outside, the night seemed to deepen though it was only a quarter past nine in the evening. Dahlia looked out again at the darkened windows of the printer’s workshop and at the now familiar streets. She would tell Benson that she understood. As soon as they reached Celine’s townhouse, she would tell him.
“Penelope Lovelace has written her last novel,” she whispered.
The sadness she felt upon uttering those words was immense. It was like leaving a part of herself behind. She fought back a sob. It may not be what she wanted—what she had hoped for, but it must be. Dahlia could see her friends’ faces in her mind.
“I shall do better by you, Benson, Biddy, and John; this I promise.”
She saw her reflection on the carriage window, her shoulders squared, her head held high. Dahlia nodded to herself, feeling somewhat proud of her self-sacrifice despite her sorrow.
Still…
Her reflection smiled at her conspiratorially; there could be another way. Therewouldbe another way! Clasping her hands together, Dahlia almost exclaimed out loud. She would not give up, this she vowed. Her eyes sparkled, her smile wide and determined.
Penelope Lovelace has written her last novel.
For now.
Peter Thornscroft, the Duke of Icedale, stood outside the door of the office of a lesser-known London solicitor. He held the reins of his horse in one hand, the other he fisted against his hip. He had been standing in that attitude for a full ten minutes now.
“I will only be five minutes,” Matteo Castor, the Duke of Valen, and Peter’s best friend, had said over his shoulder as he secured his horse and went in through the door.
“Five minutes, indeed,” Peter muttered under his breath. Had it been any other man, he would have left him already. But this was Matteo, probably the only person on earth he would wait a further five minutes for. Then as if on cue, the door opened and out stepped his friend.
“Apologies, Peter, that took longer than I expected.”
“Why this solicitor? And why at this time?” The directness of his questions did not seem to bother Matteo. Indeed, he seemed to expect it.
“I cannot answer your question without besmirching a certain lady’s reputation,” Matteo said with a wink.
Peter sighed. He shook his head at his friend. “Have you settled it then, as I advised? She has agreed to part ways?”
“I know not of what you speak, Duke.”
“You are too generous for your own sake, Matteo. The lady knew what she was getting into. If you let every woman play you the way she has, you will soon be beset with a line of scheming females.”
“My pockets can afford a few more of them, I daresay.”
Peter shook his head again at his friend’s joking and noncommittal answer. They prepared to mount their horses.
“To the club?” Matteo asked.
“Unless you prefer to grace the Debutante’s Ball? Or perhaps one of the many society ladies’ dinner parties? I have been sent twenty invitations for just this night,” Peter said drolly.
