Chapter 20
Pen arrived at her lodgings dejected. Her discussion with Alworth hadn’t gone as she intended, but if she asked herself what she’d expected, she couldn’t say, either.
Maybe Alworth was right, and she needed a nap.
The landlady at the Dancing Willow looked up from polishing the glasses when she stepped in. “I let her in,” she said.
“Who?”
“The lady.”
“What lady?” Could she mean one of her friends? Lucy or Arabella? Pen took two steps at a time up the stairs. Her heart hammered in anticipation.
She tore the door open.
She stumbled over her trunk, which stood, packed, by the door.
“What—Who?”
Pen’s eyes flew to the woman who sat in a chair by the window. She got up. A pretty, dainty lady with chestnut brown hair wearing a dark green pelisse. She was a stranger. Disappointment hit her that she wasn’t one of her friends.
“Who are you?” Pen took a step towards her. “And what are you doing in my room?”
“I apologise, Miss Reid. I know it must appear to you to be a gross invasion of your privacy. But the landlady could not tell me when you would return, and she was kind enough to let me wait here.” She lifted a hand. “My name is Mrs Charlotte Wentwood.”
Pen eyed her with mistrust. “I don’t know any Charlotte Wentwood. Why are you here? Did Miss Hilversham send you?” Then it hit her that she’d called her Miss Reid.
“No. Although you are correct that I have been sent by a very good friend we both share. I was asked to offer you hospitality and guidance. I would be your companion and help guide your way back into society.”
Pen felt exhaustion flood through her. “Who exactly sent you? Lucy? I mean, the Duchess of Ashmore?”
Mrs Wentwood hesitated. “The friend requests to remain anonymous. I may reveal he is a male, and he has only the best of intentions towards you. He wishes you to accept with goodwill his sponsorship; however, he insists his identity must, for reasons of propriety, remain hidden.”
Pen’s eyes flew up to meet hers. “Marcus.” It had to be. Fariq had said he’d send someone.
Mrs Wentwood bit on her lips and looked away.
That reaction confirmed Pen’s suspicion. Marcus wasn’t quite the wicked person she’d thought he was. He was making sure she was taken care of. He cared about her reputation. Wanted to help her find her way back into society. Obviously, that couldn’t happen if she was taken under the wing of the Wicked Duke. So, he’d sent her a lady companion. A chaperone.
Relief flushed through her, not because she cared about joining society, but because Marcus had finally done something for her.
“Tell me, does he not want his identity known because of his–his–reputation? Because he is afraid it will rub off on me?”
Mrs Wentwood hesitated. “I am not to talk about your sponsor at all. Know that he is a person of considerable wealth and influence, so certainly, reputation plays a role.”
“What does he want me to do?”
“You are to have a season.”
Pen dropped onto her bed. “A season? But why?”
Mrs Wentwood smiled. “Because that is what young ladies of your age are expected to have. They have a season, so they can find a suitable match to marry.”
Pen crossed her arms. “I don’t want to marry.”
“I have been told your reaction would be thus.” Mrs Wentwood got up and shook out her skirts.
“A season. You mean with balls and the like?” Precisely what Pen did not want.
