“Yes,” Phoebe agreed. “That could work, too.”
“Well…” Genevieve prompted. “Then what might happen?”
“The Duke… I mean… the Prince could take the chance of meeting a new person. After being cooped up in the palace with the same daily routine, he would probably enjoy pretending that he is somebody else.”
Softer now, Phoebe added, “Maybe hecravessome sort of anonymity because his world is too clustered and trite. Perhaps he yearns for something new, something different.”
“Oh, I like that idea!” Genevieve said. “And then they both have secrets to keep from one another, and the revelation of Penelope finding out will have a good shock factor.”
Phoebe grinned, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere.
She envisioned the Duke, dressed in the blue uniform that was worn by members of the British Royal Navy. He looked striking, even in her mind’s eye. The jacket he wore was pressed and neat, and the gold buttons on the front gleamed in the bright sunshine.
No… he must meet the heroine at night. The light of the moon must reflect off the buttons of the uniform, and they should speak to each other in quiet, whispered words through a hole in the crate.
She hopped from her bed and grabbed her quill from its ink pot.
“What are you doing?” Genevieve asked as Phoebe plopped down at her desk.
“I’ve got a story to write,” Phoebe replied as she pressed her pen to the journal and poured out the tale that was forming in her head.
“Will the D—Prince fall in love with the stowaway at first sight?” Genevieve bounced on the balls of her feet, then she moved closer. Phoebe knew that her cousin was already reading over her shoulder. “Or… will he treat her with disdain and vow to send her back to her awful father?”
“I do not know,” Phoebe answered honestly. “That part of the story has yet to be written.”
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian walked into the townhouse he secretly owned the day after he had gone to the Green with Vincent. He was hardly a man who worked well with weapons, not when his hands had far different talents, but he was still swift with a pistol.
Firing a few rounds into the practice targets had taken the edge off, and he had left the range feeling much more clear-headed, but now his thoughts felt tangled once again.
He did not bother with hanging up his coat. He would not be there long, but he had to speak with his housekeeper.
Sebastian found her in the ballroom, gently scolding a new member of the staff. While the housekeeper stayed on full-time, to manage matters adeptly in Sebastain’s absence, most of the others were hired exclusively for the parties.
He paused in the open doorway and listened to Mrs. Vale. She was a stout woman with a rounded figure. When she spoke, especially in low, harsh tones as she was now, her chin wobbled and her neck jerked slightly.
“You simply cannot spread such rumors,” she hissed.
“They weren’t rumors, Mrs. Vale,” the young man with close-cropped red hair a dusting of freckles across his cheekbones replied. “I saw the Duke’s carriage parked outside the other night. I heard the driver say he was waiting for His Grace and?—”
“Enough!” Mrs. Vale ordered brusquely. She put both hands on her solid hips and leaned close to the boy. “If you want to work here, in this house, you will learn when to hold your tongue. Do you understand?”
Properly chastised, the young man nodded then dipped his head.
Sebastian was proud of the way Mrs. Vale handled the situation. While he did not know the whole of the problem, he’d heard enough of their discourse to understand that this new hire needed a lesson in discretion.
Thankfully, Mrs. Vale was shrewd as ever and had not failed in performing her most important task: ensuring the secrets of the household remained untold and unspoiled.
He waited in the shadows until the housekeeper dismissed the young man. Some of the staff, like Mrs. Vale, Edwards, Sebastian’s personal valet, and his driver, knew that the Duke of Talwyn was the owner of this home away from home.
Others who had seen him traipsing about might have thought he was just another guest who came and went as he pleased. They knew Lord Spencer to be their master, and there was no need to muddy their thinking by showing himself during the daylight hours.
“Mrs. Vale?” he called out once the coast was clear and he felt they were alone enough that he could enter the ballroom without exciting any needless chatter.
It was strange to see the place in the daylight. The ballroom sparkled. The chandeliers overheard were not lit, but the gold plating glistened, indicating that someone had recently been working hard at polishing the gilding. The parquet tiles, featuring a starkly contrasting white and black checkboard pattern, were waxed to such a high shine that Sebastian could almost catch a glimpse of his reflection when he looked down upon it.
He spent so little time here, that seeing it empty and unused was a bit of a shock.
