Penelope winced. “Was that a good gasp or a bad one?”
“See for yourself.” Mrs. Renton gestured to the gold-gilt mirror.
Stepping in front of her reflection was like peeping into a different world—an imaginary world. Penelope didn’t recognize the woman in the glass. The crimson velvet emphasized her lips’ deep red, her cheeks’ subtle flush, her hair’s highlights, and her dark eyes’ contrast. The effect was striking. And the white, tasseled braid served its purpose—a tribute to Chev.
“Lord Cheverley would be speechless if he could see.”
Penelope’s heart panged, and she turned away from her likeness.
Mrs. Renton held out white gloves of the finest kid leather. “Your gloves.”
They weren’thergloves at all. All of this—the room, the fabric, the gloves, even the pins in her hair—belonged to the late duchess. She was, for the night, in borrowed clothes, on borrowed time.
She looked like a duchess. She felt like a fraud.
At Pensteague, she was the proprietress of a haven. In this world, she was nothing without Cheverley. But that wasn’t the reason she ached.
She’d no doubt Chev would have been speechless if he could see her now—and desperately attempting to get her out of the clothes Mrs. Renton had taken such pains to get her into.
Then again, Chev had been complimentary of everything she’d worn—from her simple laborer’s clothes to the breeches she’d borrowed when she’d helped him plane their bed.
Especially the breeches.
Mrs. Rentontskedas she withdrew jewels from the bag on the dresser. “If only you’d let me do something equally dramatic with your hair. A loose twist would be so much more attractive. Are you sure you won’t change your usual style?”
“Yes.” A tight, serviceable knot would do. She had to draw a line.
Mrs. Renton clasped the duchess’s pearls around Penelope’s neck. The beads rested against her skin, heavy and yet soft.
“Oh, my lady, they look as if they were made for you. Mr. Anthony’s sure to burst in fury.”
That had been the idea. “He’s been intent on my discomfort. Acting in kind is only fair.” And perhaps, in his anger, he would reveal something he did not mean to reveal.
“I know you don’t wish to be at Ithwick at all.” Mrs. Renton’s eyes misted. “But having you preside over an Ithwick gathering...well, it is therightestthing that’s happened in a long time. If only—”
“Let us not indulge fancy.” She interrupted with a pat to Mrs. Renton’s arm. “Tonight, I must be on my guard.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Renton sniffed. “Yes, of course.”
Penelope returned to the window.
Dusk made black paper cut-outs of the trees, completely hiding the path to Pensteague, but the un-doused carriage lamps glowed, creating peek-a-boo pockets of day.
She spotted Thaddeus by the stables and exhaled. Then, her gaze fell on his companion—the new sailor. The captain.
He was tall and thin with untied hair that cascaded down his back. Despite his slender frame, he moved with dangerous grace, untamed—predatory, even—as if he were aware of all things seen and unseen.
His shadowed face tilted up toward the window.
Penelope stepped back, touching the pearls at her throat. Was it fear that had soaked her with watered ice?
She shook her head. Clearly, the pending confrontation with her adversaries disturbed her usual calm.
“Thaddeus is on his way to the kitchen gardens. Will you go down and greet him? And will you thank the captain for ensuring his safe return?” Her own examination of the man would have to wait.
Mrs. Renton nodded.
She kissed Mrs. Renton’s cheek, catching a whiff of lavender-scented talc. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Mrs. Renton.”
