Chapter Eight #2
She started and met his gaze. He furrowed his brow. She had missed his question. Blast. Woolgathering was going to be the end of her.
‘I came to speak with you about…yesterday, Your Grace. I have a few questions before I make my decision.’
‘At five in the morning?’ He lifted a brow at her.
Her gaze slid to the large mantel clock to her right and cringed. Was it really that early?
She flushed again. ‘My apologies. I slept soundly from the tonic Mrs Chisolm brought me and I wanted to talk to you about…the proposal you made to me yesterday as soon as I woke…’ She paused, uncertain if she should say it aloud or not. ‘I did not even check the time.’
His eyebrows shot up higher and he smirked. ‘My proposal to you?’ he asked.
All the colour drained from her face when she realised her faulty word choice. It made it seem as though she believed his offer for her to be his fake betrothed was a real offer of marriage.
‘I…’ she began, unsure how to unwind her words.
‘I am teasing you, Miss Potts. I know what you are referring to. Come, sit.’ His smile was warm and welcoming and she released a shaky breath. She smiled back at him, relieved by his good humour. She sat in the chair across from his desk.
‘What questions do you have?’ he asked as he settled into the large chair behind his desk and leaned forward, letting his arms rest on his desk and linking his hands together. ‘Oh, and did you enjoy the book and the story of the Cinder girl?’
‘Truthfully, I fell asleep before I finished all of it, but I believe I understand the gist of it. You wish to transform me into a princess, or, in this case, Lady Penelope Denning, for the evening to fool the ton and then I shall be returned to my governess position.’
‘Yes. Exactly. For one evening, I will show you off to the ton as my future bride. Then, you will return to…wherever we decide you are from to await our wedding after a very long engagement.’
‘And then you hope the ton will forget?’
‘While I know they will not forget, I hope it will at least buy us some peace and quiet for a bit.’
Her stomach flipped. ‘You do not worry they will want more?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You have had men trespassing for just the name of a possible bride and to revive gossip about your family. Will they not want more than one opportunity of seeing us together at your upcoming ball? What if more than one event is required?’ This was the question that plagued her: that it might not be a one-day affair.
She couldn’t imagine surviving more than one evening pretending, so she needed to know what his expectations were. She was not the actress Ophelia was.
‘Does this worry you?’
She stared down at her hands. ‘Yes,’ she replied, daring to meet his gaze again. ‘I am a horrible liar, Your Grace. I am afraid I will be discovered if people ask too many questions.’
He studied her. ‘How do you know this?’
‘That I am a horrible liar?’
‘Yes,’ he asked.
‘My friends Trudy and Ophelia have told me so. And they’ve known me for years.’
‘Would having them here make you more believable?’
She almost gasped. ‘No, Your Grace. It would make it harder. I don’t wish to lie to them as well.’
‘Would you be embarrassed to tell them if you agree to this?’
‘Yes,’ she faltered, her cheeks heating again.
‘Then why consider it?’
‘Because I want the chance to better my life and theirs with my continued employment here…and I also want to help your daughter. I know perhaps more than most how she feels right now.’
His gaze softened and a muscle ticked in his jaw before he swallowed and nodded. ‘May I ask?’ he said softly before clearing his throat to continue. ‘How she feels? How you felt after losing your mother?’
Goose pimples rose along her skin. Such an intimate question from him shook her, but his need to know the truth burned bright, hot and deep in his eyes as the light caught them from the candles lit sparsely around the room.
She dared not deny him for he needed to know for Millie’s sake.
She gathered herself for a moment before she spoke the truth.
‘I was eight and close to your daughter’s age when I lost my mother.
I suppose the best way to describe it is like that tiny duckling we found at the lake my first morning here.
It was alone and crying out for help on the other side of the lake, desperate for its mother.
Then it was overjoyed at being reunited with her once we brought them together and couldn’t stop quacking.
But, for me…for your daughter,’ she continued holding his intense gaze, ‘it is as though she is the duckling that never gets reunited with her mother. She just cries for her and aches for her…every day.’
His features tightened and he stared at her before he silently stood and walked over to the hearth, turning his back on her.
He leaned his hands on the mantel and cursed, dipping his head before pushing back from it and running a hand over his face.
When he turned to her, his eyes reflected in the firelight bright with unshed tears.
A chill came over her as they stared upon one another with such a ferocity she felt naked and exposed. She had revealed too much to him about herself and his daughter and she wished to take the words back, but she couldn’t.
‘Thank you for your honesty,’ he said, blinking, his tone husky and full of emotion.
The fire crackled and silence settled between them.
‘I am grateful for it and I feel compelled…no, that it is not right.’ He hesitated. ‘I want to tell you about Cecily, my late wife. You should know what you are stepping into in some sense and it may help you understand why I have dared ask this of you.’ He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets.
‘Mrs Chisholm told me she died in a carriage accident,’ Hattie offered. ‘I am sorry, Your Grace.’ And she was. ‘I can see how it pains you to speak of it.’
He released an awkward chuckle and shook his head.
‘Ah, thank you, Miss Potts, but I think you mistake me,’ he offered.
He wiped a hand over his mouth and his brow furrowed before he continued.
‘It is not grief, but her betrayal that pains me…angers me,’ he replied, his words sharpening, darkening with emotion.
‘She had affairs with other men and she died with one of those men, breaking the vows of our marriage, in a carriage accident that night.’
Hattie stilled and her throat dried. She could have sworn her heart stopped in her chest. That was the last thing she had expected him to say.
Her cheeks heated. Why would a woman do such to her husband, especially to a man such as him?
No wonder he did not wish to remarry and held himself at such a distance from Society.
Hattie stared down at her lap, uncertain what to do.
What did one say after such an admission?
‘And because of her choices,’ he continued, ‘my daughter has no mother and she does not speak, and we live as we do now attempting to recover from the damage she inflicted upon us under the ton’s oppressive gaze.
It enrages me. So, it is not grief that keeps me silent, but the shame and anger of her betrayal and the scandal that has engulfed us since then. ’
Hattie’s heartbeat thrummed in her ears as she looked upon him. ‘I am so sorry,’ she replied. ‘I did not know. I thought—’
He met her gaze and gave a wistful smile. ‘That I was a grieving widower?’
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
‘Well, at least now you know I am not.’ He sighed. ‘I grieved for the loss of the marriage and the woman I believed I had married early on in our union. Now, I am merely a protective father hoping to shield his daughter from further harm.’
‘You do not worry I may fail in this charade and bring you worse scandal?’
‘No,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘I have every belief in you, Miss Potts.’ His words were certain and steady. ‘Dare I ask if you have decided if you will take part in our ruse?’ he asked.
Her mind screamed not to risk such foolishness and deception and to just remain the governess, but her heart, her heart smothered out that reluctance when she thought of what he and Millie had suffered and that she might help her recover.
‘Yes. I will help you.’ Hattie’s words came out quietly like a tremble against the air.
His shoulders relaxed, his gaze softening further. ‘Thank you,’ he said, walking closer to her. ‘And as I said yesterday, I promise to protect you in all of this, Miss Potts. Your reputation will not be harmed.’ He reached out his hand to shake hers. ‘To seal our agreement.’
She nodded and, as her hand slid into his, the warmth and intimacy of it after what she had shared about herself sent a pooling heat through her entire body despite how brief the touch was.
She swallowed and prayed she could protect herself in all of this. The Duke of Wimberley was slowly becoming the most dashing man she had ever met and the most dangerous employer she had ever had.
‘We have not a moment to waste,’ he said. ‘I will speak with the servants, let them know of your agreement, and return. Wait here.’
He was gone before she could even nod in agreement.
Her hands trembled and her stomach flipped.
Her agreement had set this whole farce in motion.
She imagined how Ophelia would have clasped her hands in glee and droned on about how romantic it was to pretend to be a future duchess and how Trudy’s raised brow of disapproval would have disappeared into her hairline entirely this time.
Hattie fought the urge to giggle out of nervous uncertainty.
She had never done anything so reckless or daring in all her life.
And she wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing at all.