Chapter Eight

P enelope awoke knowing exactly who she was, but for a moment with little memory of where she was. She could tell, before she even opened her eyes, that she was not in her own bed at Amblewood, with its green drapes and view out into the grounds.

No, this bed felt different. And when she opened her eyes, the whole room looked different. Then she remembered – the boat, the storm, the Duke.

The lie.

She had slept in only her shift, since she obviously did not have nightclothes. Although the Duke had furnished her with a dress, he did not seem to have thought any further than that.

With her own gown still somewhere below stairs being washed and dried, she had to rely on the borrowed gown, and then set to making her hair look as presentable as possible without any pins other than those she had managed to retain in her hair throughout her adventures.

When she looked at herself in the looking glass, she wasn’t exactly pleased, but it was the best she could do. She certainly wouldn’t have passed her mother’s inspections – and certainly not if her mother knew she was to dine with the Duke.

But her mother wasn’t here. She knew nothing of the Duke, and he did not know that she was Lady Penelope Strachan or that she knew what was expected in the company of a Duke – and was simply unable to meet that standard with such limited tools and no lady’s maid.

She had no idea of the time, but when she opened the bedroom door and listened, she could hear the noise of people downstairs and thought it acceptable to venture out.

The great hall was set for breakfast in a rather formal fashion, and Penelope presumed the seat at the far end of the table, where she had sat the night before, was intended for her. She didn’t wish to appear rude, though, by sitting before the Duke had arrived, and so instead she wandered over to the large bay window and looked out across the estate.

The early morning sunshine glittered on the lake, and in the distance, she could just about see the sea, looking calm and inviting after it had so nearly brought her to her death in the days that had preceded this.

It was a beautiful castle, and she rather thought she would like to spend the day exploring the grounds, as well as getting to know its sole, rather grumpy inhabitant.

For now that she had decided to test his mettle and see what sort of man he was – and what it was like to converse with a gentleman without society’s expectations hanging over them – she was rather excited by the prospect.

In fact, she couldn’t wait to get started.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, Penelope turned and realised that the Duke was standing there, watching her. She quickly bobbed a curtsy, feeling her face flush at being so unaware of his presence, as well as being caught daydreaming.

"Good morning, Your Grace," she said, tearing her eyes from the quizzical look upon his face and walking over to the table.

He had not forgotten about her presence, but even so, he found himself rather surprised by her when he walked into the great hall. Had he expected her just to stay hidden in her room? He was not sure. There was hardly any protocol for a situation such as this: alone in a Duke’s house with no memory of who you were.

Really, she should not have been alone in a Duke’s house at all. He planned to remedy that as soon as she remembered who she was and where she needed to go.

"Good morning," he replied, taking his seat at the head of the table. She looked fairly well put-together in his sister’s dress, but not quite as impeccable as most ladies out in society. When he thought on that, though, he realised that she was quite probably used to a lady’s maid and had been forced to ready herself that morning without any help.

She was pretty, though. He knew he probably shouldn’t be thinking this as they sat across the table from one another, but her auburn locks set off her pale skin so that she rather looked like a porcelain doll; a perfect English rose.

He wondered again whether she was married. It didn’t really make sense for her not to be, since she was pretty, knew how to make conversation, and comported herself well in society.

She had said she didn’t feel married, but he wasn’t sure that one could feel married. She wore no wedding ring, that he had ascertained – but he supposed she could have lost it when her boat was nearly shipwrecked.

Perhaps she had some scandal attached to her name, he mused, as the footman brought in a selection of fruit and rounds of toast. Perhaps when she remembered who she was and where she came from, she would find it was somewhere she did not particularly wish to return to.

But that wasn’t his problem.

"Have your memories returned yet?" he asked, realising that neither of them had spoken in some time.

She shook her head. "I’m afraid not, Your Grace," she said, her eyes cast downwards. "I had hoped they would after such a good night’s sleep."

James nodded. He hadn’t really expected a different answer, for he presumed she would have told him if she had remembered who she was. But it still seemed prudent to check.

"Do you have a busy day ahead?" she asked, and he paused for a moment, unused to being spoken to at breakfast time. He was so often alone, and when his sisters were in residence, they tended to chatter amongst themselves without concerning themselves with what James might be doing unless it directly impacted them or their social calendar.

"I need to speak with some of my tenant farmers this afternoon," he said, thinking through his day’s tasks. "And I have some correspondence to deal with, too."

"You seem very busy, Your Grace," she said, before taking a sip of the tea that had been poured for her.

"There is a lot to do when you are a Duke," he said. "And with three younger sisters, I must look out for their interests, too – ensure they have dowries, good prospects… There always seems to be something more that I could be doing." He took a bite of toast and then realised he probably ought to ask her about her plans.

"And do you have any plans for how you will spend your day? I’m afraid, as I said, I will be absent for much of it." He did not wish for her to think he had the time to entertain her; she would have to pass the time herself.

"I thought I might explore the grounds. The weather seems fine, and I love to be outdoors…"

So she clearly remembered something of her tastes, even if she did not remember her name or home.

"Take a horse from the stables, if you like."

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said with a smile that lit up her whole face. "I think I shall remain on foot…but if I wish to explore further afield, I will certainly do so."

"Just don’t go getting yourself into any trouble," he said after a brief pause. He didn’t know why it mattered to him; she wasn’t his responsibility. And yet she seemed the type to wander into trouble without even realising it.

◆◆◆

"I must go and attend to important paperwork in my study," the Duke said after they had broken their fast, and he had once again asked whether her memories had returned – and she had lied to him again. She felt guilty for doing so, but she comforted herself with the fact that it would not be for long. She just wanted to get to know him.

"When Albert or Simon comes to clear the table, could you please ask them to ensure luncheon is at one, and that they remind me when it’s ready?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Penelope agreed. "I will stroll in the gardens this morning, since the weather is fine. If that is acceptable."

The Duke frowned slightly. "It is of no consequence to me. I am not your guardian."

She was rather taken aback by his rude response; after all, she had planned to go anyway, but thought it courteous to at least inform him.

"Well, good day," he said, pushing back his chair and rising from the table.

It was then that Penelope had the idea for the first of her tests: to see whether this man was good and kind underneath his admittedly prickly exterior.

Albert came in to clear away the plates, bowing to her as he did so.

"Good morning, milady. Can I get you anything else?"

Penelope shook her head and smiled sweetly at the young lad. "No, thank you. But His Grace asked me to request that luncheon be at noon, and that you remind him when it’s ready."

The footman gave a brief nod. "Certainly, milady."

Penelope practically skipped from the room. She would wander the gardens and think on her plan. She just needed to be back inside before noon so she could see how the Duke reacted to the mistake. Of course, she told herself, if the boy got into real trouble, she would step in and admit it had been her mistake, not his. But she was very intrigued to see how he treated his staff in such a situation. After all, was it not better to judge a man by how he treated his inferiors, rather than how he treated his equals or betters

◆◆◆

It was confounding. No matter how many times he checked the figures, the numbers simply didn’t add up. Something was missing. The castle’s outgoings were outstripping its income, when that had never been an issue before.

Dealing with numbers was his least favourite part of his title. Arithmetic had been the bane of his boyhood, often earning him reprimands from both his tutor and his father. He just didn’t have a natural head for figures, try as he might.

He did have men he could ask to handle the work for him, but he was a firm believer in not delegating tasks he didn’t understand himself. If there were errors or if someone was swindling him, how would he ever know?

Now, however, something was definitely amiss in the household accounts – and yet he could not figure out what. He did not think his addition was at fault, having checked it so many times, but it was always a possibility.

Just as he thought he might have pinpointed the issue, there was a knock at the door. He swore under his breath before calling out for whoever it was to enter, his tone sharper than perhaps was necessary.

He was surprised to see Albert, considering he had only recently heard the clock chime midday. Perhaps there was an issue with the confounding girl.

"I just wished to inform you that luncheon is ready, Your Grace."

"Now? But I requested it for one. I have a lot of paperwork to finish."

Albert looked a little flustered. "I’m–I’m sorry, Your Grace. I thought I was told noon. Perhaps… I’m very sorry. I can have Cook take it back."

Either the lad had misunderstood, or the mysterious girl had. James supposed it didn’t matter much either way. He would not ask for the meal to be taken back to the kitchen; surely, in an hour’s time, it would be dry and far less appetising.

Besides, he had been working for hours on the accounts without making much progress.

He sighed. "Very well. There’s no need to send it away, or to look quite so terrified, Albert. I shall eat now. Perhaps in future, I’ll relay the timings directly to Cook."

"I am very sorry," the footman said with a bow before disappearing through the open door.

James watched him go and was sure he saw the girl disappearing out of view in the opposite direction. He frowned. What on earth was she doing there? He’d thought she was exploring the grounds, and yet there she was, lingering near his study.

Perhaps there had been some progress with her memory. He certainly hoped so. She was an extra burden he didn’t need.

Then again, perhaps it wouldn’t be terrible to dine with a companion for a few days. Maybe she would offer more stimulating conversation than his sisters if he tried to engage her in a topic of interest – assuming, of course, she could remember what interested her.