Chapter Eight #3
But when she thought of Millie with her wide startled eyes yesterday morning and how this brief ruse might help her as well as Hattie’s future, she couldn’t argue against her choice.
Always playing it safe had yielded her nothing, while daring a risk, such as coming here, was proving to pay dividends.
She hoped it stayed that way and she hadn’t gambled too much too soon.
This was the beginning of a new chapter in her life and in Ophelia’s and Trudy’s lives.
This marked the beginning of permanent employment that could give them some measure of safety and happiness…
finally…and little Millie could be left to grieve and heal properly and find her voice once more.
Perhaps even the Duke himself could heal his broken heart.
Despite what he had said, Hattie was no fool.
He was a man struggling with grief. The sadness over losing his dream of a happy marriage was evident and hiding beneath his rage.
Hattie waited in the silence of the study in the same small chair, listening to the crackle of the fire and the distant voice of His Grace, who must be speaking to his household.
She was tempted to rise and join them, but didn’t dare.
Some of them might be displeased with their arrangement.
After all, he would be asking them all to lie, too.
She shook her head. What a turn her life had taken in such a short time.
Who knew what other turns were in her future?
Despite her trepidation and the shock of the news the Duke had shared with her about his late wife, Hattie could hardly wait to see what would happen as Lady Penelope Denning.
She tapped the toes of her boots on the rug, restless for what was next.
Her body ached for movement. She stood and walked about the room, letting her fingertips glide along fine furnishings and ornate crown moulding until she reached a large window looking down on the drive.
She smiled when she realised it looked down on the very spot where she had first alighted from the Duke’s carriage and met him and his staff a week ago.
Now she would be the pretend future duchess.
It was enough to make her laugh aloud, but she didn’t…
for a future duchess would have far more decorum than that, would she not?
She stared out in the distance. The sun was rising and the last vestiges of the darkened sky were disappearing, leaving only an endless swathe of a tangerine-rose-coloured sun pushing through the treeline as far as she could see.
It was glorious and her heart was full of hope, a feeling she had not had in so very long she could hardly name it at first.
Then the familiar knot of dread that followed any flickering of hope set in.
What if she couldn’t be this Penelope Denning?
What if everyone laughed at her and she brought shame to the Duke or brought scandal and more rather than less intrigue to his doorstep?
And—how did one greet a marquis or a lord?
And would she need to learn to dance? Her stomach soured.
She had little idea what one did at a fancy ball, especially one befitting a duke.
Her nerves and pulse increased, threatening to drown out her initial enthusiasm.
But what if you are brilliant?
She could hear Ophelia’s words in her head now encouraging her, and Hattie bit her lip.
What if she was the jewel of the ball? This man believed in her, so much so that he was risking his standing in Society and had everything to lose, while she had little to lose other than her reputation, which was small despite how protective she was of it.
She had to at least try to believe in herself and so she would. She closed her eyes and made the promise to herself.
I will believe that I can do this for Millie’s sake and for my own.
‘Miss Potts?’ the Duke called from behind her.
Hattie squared her shoulders and turned.
Her stomach lurched at the sight of him at the doorway with a sea of servants standing behind him in the hallway.
Her smile faltered before she set it in place.
She’d had no idea they would be joining him upon his return and that so many would already be awake.
She chastised herself. But, of course, they would be.
Their day started even earlier than her own.
‘We are ready, Miss Potts,’ he said with confidence and authority, smiling at her as if this was the biggest adventure of her life. ‘Let us begin.’
And in that moment, she realised it was. Her throat dried. All these people knew of their charade and wanted to help? How was that possible? How would they ever keep this secret? It was required for this plan to be successful.
His Grace cleared his throat and Hattie glanced in his direction, realising he was indeed waiting for something. Had he asked her something and she not noticed?
Blast.
What would Ophelia do?
Greet everyone.
‘Good morning,’ Hattie said in the loudest and most certain voice she could muster. ‘Thank you for whatever it is you are all about to do to transform me…for Lady Millie’s sake,’ she rushed out at the end.
A silence followed. Her cheeks heated. Had she said the wrong thing?
The butler was the first to respond. ‘We would do anything for her, Miss Potts. We are grateful for your help in this…endeavour.’ He nodded, which was as close as the man had ever come to a smile.
‘Yes, Miss Potts,’ the housekeeper added. ‘Whatever you need…just ask.’ She truly did smile at Hattie, which put her at ease, and she smiled back.
The rest of the servants nodded or gave smiles of encouragement as they looked upon her.
‘What shall we do first, Mrs Chisholm?’ His Grace asked.
The woman assessed Hattie for a moment and said simply, ‘Wardrobe, Your Grace. We simply must do something about all that brown.’
Hattie looked down at the brown dress she had chosen this morning, which was the same one she had arrived in a week ago. A flush entered her cheeks. Perhaps it was a bit drab, but the colour hid every stain, which is why she had selected it.
His Grace’s lip quirked up. ‘Yes, Mrs Chisholm. I could not agree more.’
Hattie prayed the floor beneath her would open and swallow her whole. Sadly, it didn’t.