wrong, your ladyship.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Penelope said resentfully. “You’re as much a part of it as the rest of them.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I’ve been warned,” she cried. “Downstairs. I’ve been told the true nature of the man I am to marry, and what he has in store for me. I’m nothing more than a foil for his appetites, a lamb skipping down the path to her own demise! He intends to ruin me! Isn’t that the truth?”
But the maid shook her head. “No. Even I thought that once, but I’ve seen how he looks at you, m’lady. No man looks at a woman like that unless he loves and respects her.”
“Or unless he’s a cunning predator who only shows his true nature once his victim is trapped entirely.” Penelope walked over to the wardrobe, threw it open, and began pulling out her things.
“What are you doing?” Betsy asked.
“What does it look like? I’m leaving! I need you to help me out of my gown. I can get into my traveling clothes on my own. I’m going back to the convent.”
Betsy reached out and took hold of her mistress’ arm. “You’re leaving? Just like that because of some bit of slander? Who would say such a thing?”
“Lady Caroline Whitfield,” Penelope said miserably.
“Lady Whitfield?” Betsy took hold of Penelope’s upper arms. “That was the woman I was telling you about, the one his lordship stopped seeing. You’re taking the bitter words of a former lover over the character of the man who wants to marry you?”
Penelope flushed, defensive now, and angry. “I’ll thank you not to question me,” she snapped, pulling away. “Remember who is the maid and who is the lady.”
“Perhaps it is not Betsy who needs to be reminded who is in authority here.”
Both suddenly turned to see Lord Westcott standing in the doorway. How long he’d been there neither could say, but his expression was grim as he approached Penelope. “As I recall, not so long ago you thought yourself beneath the need for your maid’s services. Now you use your station to dismiss her wise counsel. And it is indeed wise, for she is entirely correct. Lady Whitfield’s words are bitter lies. And you should be ashamed for believing her.”
“M’lord…” Betsy began, but Alton held up his hand.
“Leave us,” he said, and the maid instantly obeyed, scurrying from the room.
As Betsy shut the door, Penelope found herself alone with her betrothed.
“It seems that I have been the subject of some scurrilous gossip,” he said. “I want you to tell me what was said, Penelope. Tell me everything. I will answer each charge honestly. And then, my dear, you will answer to me.”
Chapter Seven: Lord Westcott’s Correction
It was all Alton could do to keep control of his own emotions. He knew that Penelope thought his anger was directed at her, but he was even angrier with himself. He was a man who knew women, who prided himself on reading them. But on this night, he’d seriously misjudged a former lover’s desire for vengeance.
He’d danced with Lady Whitfield—an act of social civility—and she’d congratulated him on his pending marriage.
“I hope she knows what she’s getting into,” Lady Whitfield had said as the dance ended, and he’d smiled at the comment, seeing it as just a jibe, for he had not known what his former lover had planned.
Later, when he could spot neither woman in the crowded room, he’d felt a sense of foreboding. When the footman he’d dispatched to find Penelope returned to tell him she’d fled, Alton had expected the worst. Now he pressed his betrothed to tell him what had been said.
“I can’t bring myself to repeat her words.” Penelope had dropped her gaze. “They were too horrible, the things she said—the things she said you made her do.”
“But deep down, you want to know the truth. So ask.”
She closed her eyes, and he could see she was struggling. “Did you… did you put your…” Penelope
“You wouldn’t understand,” Penelope said resentfully. “You’re as much a part of it as the rest of them.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I’ve been warned,” she cried. “Downstairs. I’ve been told the true nature of the man I am to marry, and what he has in store for me. I’m nothing more than a foil for his appetites, a lamb skipping down the path to her own demise! He intends to ruin me! Isn’t that the truth?”
But the maid shook her head. “No. Even I thought that once, but I’ve seen how he looks at you, m’lady. No man looks at a woman like that unless he loves and respects her.”
“Or unless he’s a cunning predator who only shows his true nature once his victim is trapped entirely.” Penelope walked over to the wardrobe, threw it open, and began pulling out her things.
“What are you doing?” Betsy asked.
“What does it look like? I’m leaving! I need you to help me out of my gown. I can get into my traveling clothes on my own. I’m going back to the convent.”
Betsy reached out and took hold of her mistress’ arm. “You’re leaving? Just like that because of some bit of slander? Who would say such a thing?”
“Lady Caroline Whitfield,” Penelope said miserably.
“Lady Whitfield?” Betsy took hold of Penelope’s upper arms. “That was the woman I was telling you about, the one his lordship stopped seeing. You’re taking the bitter words of a former lover over the character of the man who wants to marry you?”
Penelope flushed, defensive now, and angry. “I’ll thank you not to question me,” she snapped, pulling away. “Remember who is the maid and who is the lady.”
“Perhaps it is not Betsy who needs to be reminded who is in authority here.”
Both suddenly turned to see Lord Westcott standing in the doorway. How long he’d been there neither could say, but his expression was grim as he approached Penelope. “As I recall, not so long ago you thought yourself beneath the need for your maid’s services. Now you use your station to dismiss her wise counsel. And it is indeed wise, for she is entirely correct. Lady Whitfield’s words are bitter lies. And you should be ashamed for believing her.”
“M’lord…” Betsy began, but Alton held up his hand.
“Leave us,” he said, and the maid instantly obeyed, scurrying from the room.
As Betsy shut the door, Penelope found herself alone with her betrothed.
“It seems that I have been the subject of some scurrilous gossip,” he said. “I want you to tell me what was said, Penelope. Tell me everything. I will answer each charge honestly. And then, my dear, you will answer to me.”
Chapter Seven: Lord Westcott’s Correction
It was all Alton could do to keep control of his own emotions. He knew that Penelope thought his anger was directed at her, but he was even angrier with himself. He was a man who knew women, who prided himself on reading them. But on this night, he’d seriously misjudged a former lover’s desire for vengeance.
He’d danced with Lady Whitfield—an act of social civility—and she’d congratulated him on his pending marriage.
“I hope she knows what she’s getting into,” Lady Whitfield had said as the dance ended, and he’d smiled at the comment, seeing it as just a jibe, for he had not known what his former lover had planned.
Later, when he could spot neither woman in the crowded room, he’d felt a sense of foreboding. When the footman he’d dispatched to find Penelope returned to tell him she’d fled, Alton had expected the worst. Now he pressed his betrothed to tell him what had been said.
“I can’t bring myself to repeat her words.” Penelope had dropped her gaze. “They were too horrible, the things she said—the things she said you made her do.”
“But deep down, you want to know the truth. So ask.”
She closed her eyes, and he could see she was struggling. “Did you… did you put your…” Penelope
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