As they ate roast chicken, she found herself glancing up at him several times. He really was quite handsome, with his short dark hair – a little shorter than society would normally choose – and his sharp jawline, even if he never smiled. That would be a good test, she decided: was there a way to make him smile? Something that would make him cheerful? It did not seem that speaking of his sisters did so.
She needed to be careful, though. She was not an accomplished liar, she knew that, and she had already nearly ruined the ruse by telling of her love of castles and the countryside.
"Will you join your sisters for any of the Season?" Penelope asked. It was rather difficult, she was finding, to make conversation whilst concealing so very much. So many opportunities to accidentally spill her secret. And then, she rather thought that he would be mad. He wouldn’t understand that she had never got to know a gentleman outside of a ballroom. That she just wanted to know whether a connection could be made, before her parents married her off to some lord old enough to be her grandfather.
"I shouldn’t think so," he said, pursing his lips. "I do not find London particularly appealing, I must say."
Penelope was about to agree with him when she remembered that she had lost her memory. "But your sisters enjoy it?"
He waved a hand dismissively through the air. "My sisters are, as many women are, rather silly. Yes, they enjoy the frivolity of London – and hopefully there they will make their matches and be secure and happy in whatever way they wish."
Penelope frowned. He certainly had a rather low opinion of the fairer sex. She rather wished she could meet these sisters, and see if they really were as silly as he made out.
Chapter Eight
Penelope awoke knowing exactly who she was, but for a moment with little memory of where she was. She could tell, before she even opened her eyes, that she was not in her own bed at Amblewood, with its green drapes and view out into the grounds.
No, this bed felt different. And when she opened her eyes, the whole room looked different. Then she remembered – the boat, the storm, the Duke.
The lie.
She had slept in only her shift, since she obviously did not have nightclothes. Although the Duke had furnished her with a dress, he did not seem to have thought any further than that.
With her own gown still somewhere below stairs being washed and dried, she had to rely on the borrowed gown, and then set to making her hair look as presentable as possible without any pins other than those she had managed to retain in her hair throughout her adventures.
When she looked at herself in the looking glass, she wasn’t exactly pleased, but it was the best she could do. She certainly wouldn’t have passed her mother’s inspections – and certainly not if her mother knew she was to dine with the Duke.
But her mother wasn’t here. She knew nothing of the Duke, and he did not know that she was Lady Penelope Strachan or that she knew what was expected in the company of a Duke –and was simply unable to meet that standard with such limited tools and no lady’s maid.
She had no idea of the time, but when she opened the bedroom door and listened, she could hear the noise of people downstairs and thought it acceptable to venture out.
The great hall was set for breakfast in a rather formal fashion, and Penelope presumed the seat at the far end of the table, where she had sat the night before, was intended for her. She didn’t wish to appear rude, though, by sitting before the Duke had arrived, and so instead she wandered over to the large bay window and looked out across the estate.
The early morning sunshine glittered on the lake, and in the distance, she could just about see the sea, looking calm and inviting after it had so nearly brought her to her death in the days that had preceded this.
It was a beautiful castle, and she rather thought she would like to spend the day exploring the grounds, as well as getting to know its sole, rather grumpy inhabitant.
For now that she had decided to test his mettle and see what sort of man he was – and what it was like to converse with a gentleman without society’s expectations hanging over them – she was rather excited by the prospect.
In fact, she couldn’t wait to get started.
At the sound of a throat being cleared, Penelope turned and realised that the Duke was standing there, watching her. She quickly bobbed a curtsy, feeling her face flush at being so unaware of his presence, as well as being caught daydreaming.
"Good morning, Your Grace," she said, tearing her eyes from the quizzical look upon his face and walking over to the table.
He had not forgotten about her presence, but even so, he found himself rather surprised by her when he walked into the great hall. Had he expected her just to stay hidden in her room?He was not sure. There was hardly any protocol for a situation such as this: alone in a Duke’s house with no memory of who you were.
Really, she should not have been alone in a Duke’s house at all. He planned to remedy that as soon as she remembered who she was and where she needed to go.
"Good morning," he replied, taking his seat at the head of the table. She looked fairly well put-together in his sister’s dress, but not quite as impeccable as most ladies out in society. When he thought on that, though, he realised that she was quite probably used to a lady’s maid and had been forced to ready herself that morning without any help.
She was pretty, though. He knew he probably shouldn’t be thinking this as they sat across the table from one another, but her auburn locks set off her pale skin so that she rather looked like a porcelain doll; a perfect English rose.
He wondered again whether she was married. It didn’t really make sense for her not to be, since she was pretty, knew how to make conversation, and comported herself well in society.
She had said she didn’t feel married, but he wasn’t sure that one could feel married. She wore no wedding ring, that he had ascertained – but he supposed she could have lost it when her boat was nearly shipwrecked.
Perhaps she had some scandal attached to her name, he mused, as the footman brought in a selection of fruit and rounds of toast. Perhaps when she remembered who she was and where she came from, she would find it was somewhere she did not particularly wish to return to.
