Chapter 26
Charlotte had protested. She was Pen’s chaperone, and she would take her home to Berkeley Square.
Alworth protested. Pen was not to be taken anywhere at all. She was under his protection. Besides, Pen could very well decide on her own what she wanted.
Marcus nursed his eye. He weakly repeated that he would take care of Pen. He was the guardian, after all. But everyone ignored his protest.
Lucy, however, had wordlessly taken Pen’s arm and walked her firmly out of the ballroom. Then she’d whisked her straight to her mansion in Grosvenor Square.
“I don’t care what anyone says. But, Pen! In men’s clothes? Really?” Lucy clucked her tongue. “And did you have to smash your fist into his face in front of everyone? Mind you, not that he didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t have done it better and now I feel rather tempted to return right away to blacken his other eye. That blackguard!”
Lucy bundled up her hand to a fist and hit the air. “Except, now you can never show your face in polite society again. And you know I do not care a tuppence about anyone’s reputation.” Lucy groaned. “Really, Pen. Why, why,whydidn’t you come to me to begin with?”
Why indeed?
Pen was back in petticoats again. They were sitting in the blue drawing room with its delicate Italian furniture, which Pen might’ve admired, if she hadn’t felt so miserable. She crumpled up the handkerchief Lucy had given her. She’d not needed it.
“Of all the people, why does that terrible man have to be your guardian? Pen, I'm so sorry!”
“I did not know about his identity myself until recently.” Pen felt exhausted.
The Duke of Ashmore leaned against the mantlepiece of the fireplace, still dressed in his evening clothes. “My love, I can certainly not complain that going out for a mere ball is ever a bland affair. One never knows what adventure one is to expect.” He took a pinch of snuff. “Let me see if I can correctly interpret the events of the last hour. She is Penelope Reid. A friend from the seminary in Bath. Who, for some kind of reason that eludes me entirely, has been parading about as a man.”
“I am certain she has her reasons, Henry,” Lucy interceded.
The duke stared at Pen through his quizzing glass. “She is the ward of the scoundrel Rochford. How on earth did you come to have him as a guardian?” He tipped his quizzing glass against his finger. “There is something else. I seem to remember...She is also that friend of yours who jumped into that wishing well, nearly drowning my sister. She’s the one who started the entire story, did she not?”
“I beg your pardon.” Pen sat up stiffly. “But it was your sister who’d started the entire affair. If she hadn’t thrown those coins into the well, I wouldn’t have felt inclined to jump after them.”
“Do you do that often? Jump into wells, dress up as a man…I even heard about that infamous gambling match in the Perpignol.” The duke looked at her, fascinated. “I might have been tempted to place a wager myself—”
“Henry!” Lucy exclaimed.
He lifted his hands.
Pen glared at him. “To answer your question: Yes, I tend to do that often. I would do it again, any time. Because I would have you know the match was solely to defend Lucy’s honour.”
Lucy blinked. “My honour? What do you mean?”
Pen told them about the incident with Blackstone.
“It looks like I need to call him out.” Ashmore frowned.
“Nonsense, no one is calling anyone out.” Lucy jumped up to pour some tea. “Sit down and have some tea. It will calm us all down. Then we can discuss what to do with Pen, for it is a most vexing situation.”
“Thank you, my dear, but I will leave you to discuss the issue. I have a certain matter to look into regarding Blackstone.” He strolled out of the drawing-room.
“I love him to bits, but sometimes he can be obstinate,” Lucy confided to Pen. “It’s that dukely streak in him. Honour, responsibility, and all that. But now,” she set down her teacup, “tell me the entire story from the moment you left the seminary.”
Pen did so, leaving out the incident with the kiss with Alworth.
Lucy sighed. “What are we to do now? Your reputation is in tatters. It doesn’t help that Rochford is your guardian. On the contrary, this is probably the true scandal. It turns out that the wicked duke has a beautiful ward, who’s even a princess with a mysterious past, and he’s kept it a secret all those years. Why would that be? The printing press will run out of ink printing this scandal sheet.”
“You don’t really think so, do you?” Pen pulled on her lower lip.
Lucy groaned. “I can see the headlines: ‘Indian Princess Masquerading as a Boy Reveals Herself to be the Ward of London’s Wicked Duke’.” She giggled. “After she’s infiltrated White’s, called out a lord to a duel, and won against a hardened gamester in a match of cards. Well done, Pen! I am proud of you, truly.”
Pen smiled weakly.
