“What’s that?” Eliza asked bluntly as she entered the room, gazing at the paper in her mother’s hand.
“A poor caricature of dear Alice,” her mother said.
Taking a look, Eliza burst into a peal of mocking laughter. “It looks exactly like you, Alice. Even the exaggerated ears!”
“Thank you, Eliza,” Alice said emptily.
A discreet knock on the door drew their attention to the doorway where Mr. Charles, one of the two footmen her uncle employed, bowed. “I am sorry to interrupt, but Lord Rutledge is here to see Miss Penelope.”
The cup in Eliza’s hand crashed to the floor, splintering expensive crockery everywhere and soaking her shoes. “What?” Eliza spluttered.
Alice sat quietly as the footman reiterated his opening statement and the unholy rage that creased Eliza’s face made Alice’s heart curl in fear.
It only grew worse when the lord entered; his blond hair was combed rakishly to the side, and he was dressed dapperly in a checkered brown jacket and matching silk cravat.
Her aunt looked moonstruck, but her uncle handled the sudden visit with aplomb, and Rutledge was the perfect gentleman, his smile wide and his words light.
“Oh my goodness,” Aunt Agatha’s hand fluttered as she fanned her face. “Another titled lord for my girls. Dear husband, I think I may faint.”
We are your girls now? Since when?
“No collapsing, my dear,” Richard said. “Stay with us, please. After all, isn’t this what you wanted for your girls?”
Penelope entered the room, clad in a white taffeta dress; with its tight waist and elegant ruffled elbow-length sleeves, she looked like a princess. “My lord,” she curtsied.
“You look like a beautiful dove,” Rutledge said, but Alice noted a strain in his words, as if he were forcing them out of his mouth instead of them coming from his heart.
“She does, doesn’t she,” Aunt Agatha gushed. “Will you be joining us for luncheon, my lord?”
“If you don’t mind,” Rutledge smiled.
Alice dropped her utensils while feeling utterly discomfited and a bit ill. “Aunt, would you mind chaperoning Penelope? I just remembered that I have to go to the Pall Mall for some ribbons.”
Aunt Agatha nodded absently. “Of course, dear.”
Slipping away from the table, Alice met Rutledge’s eyes and internally grimaced at the hardness in the man’s gaze; it vanished in seconds as he took Penelope’s hand and kissed it.
Hurrying, she left to her bedchamber and quickly changed her homey attire into a peach dress, donned her bonnet and coat, then left for the carriage with her reticule in hand. Only when the vehicle set off did Alice feel that she could breathe.
“It is the best thing,” she tried to argue with herself. “If she is in that way, it is best that they marry. Otherwise, it will spell her destruction. She’ll be an outcast. They’ll marry for a year; the babe will be born, and they’ll separate. It is better than the alternative.”
Speaking of alternatives; what shall I do with Benedict and Edward?
The carriage ran through the streets of London, making the surroundings a blur, or maybe it was her state of mind that made it look so—until they came to the bookstore.
She thanked the driver and told him to return by evening as she felt she needed to be away from the house for a full day.
Entering the store, a haven away from her home, she promised to visit the dining lounge and sample the pastries they had on display. She took the shelves, meandering through them, wondering what title would catch her eye.
She perused her way through sections of history, architecture, and sculpture, before winding her way to the back of the store where the romance novels and poetry were housed.
“The Pauper’s Wife?” she read out loud while plucking the book from the shelf. “What could this be about?”
“Well, well, if it is not Miss Alice Winslow, skulking through the bookshelves as you once did at Lady Loughrey's,” a light female voice sang out, a voice Alice knew all too well.
“Diana!” She exclaimed, delighted. “You’re back!”
Four years older than her, Diana Duhart had been Alice’s older classmate at school and the one older girl who had not snubbed her nose at the poor ten-year-old because of her gentry position.
