Page 44 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

She had informed the staff ahead of time that she would be taking her tea in her room yesterday. But Rowley happened to deliver her tea at the worst possible moment—right as her frustration boiled over because despite her best efforts, her paints refused to produce the particular shade of ombre she needed.

As a result, when the butler arrived and set the tray down for her, she barely heard a word he said and mumbled a hasty thank you as she continued the battle against her palette.

Now that I think about it, Mr. Rowley did seem perplexed when he left my room yesterday.

“Of course, I didn’t forget,” she chuckled—though her voice sounded a little less convincing than she had hoped.

“Wonderful,” smiled the duke, “because there are quite a few fascinating people who were also invited tonight. Including one or two friends we may have discussed the other day.”

For the first time since he had entered the room—perhaps even since they had parted ways in the drawing room—Penelope met his gaze.

Lord Direpeak?she asked wordlessly.

He also answered wordlessly by means of a smug smile and a shallow nod.

“Oh, are you expecting to see someone you know there?” chirped the dowager duchess. “How lovely.”

“Yes, Lady Pen should have a lovely time indeed,” winked the duke.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously once more before she finally got to leave.

What are you up to this time, Your Grace?

* * *

No sooner had they finished greeting and thanking their hosts—the Marquess and Marchioness of Inglesfield—did the duke nudge Penelope in the side.

She shot him an annoyed look, but instead of his usual mischievous expression, his face appeared quite serious.

He nodded slightly, indicating that they take a few steps away from the small group that was forming around the dowager duchess and their hosts as they fawned over each other’s clothing.

“So, I managed to pull a few strings,” the duke whispered urgently, “and you’ll be seated next to both the Earl of Direpeak and the Marquess of Newshore.”

Penelope’s heart dropped.

The Marquess of Newshore was the third gentleman on the list of practice suitors that the duke had provided her with. But since being reminded about the party this morning, Penelope had poured all her energy into brushing up her knowledge on Lord Direpeak and none of the others.

“Your Grace!” she hissed, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I was looking for a way to let you know during breakfast,” he answered drily, “but you were out the door before I could even smell my tea.”

Penelope wrung her hands in guilt. “But even so! Why did you have them seat both of them next to me? Why not just Lord Direpeak?”

“Think of it as killing two birds with one ston- Good evening,” he said with a forced smile as a guest walked past them. “I didn’t even know Newshore had been invited until yesterday evening when I spoke to Inglesfield.”

Penelope shook out her hands in an attempt to dispel her nerves.

“Don’t worry,” the duke assured her, “I’ll be sitting right across from you. If the conversation starts to get too dry or overwhelming, just touch your nose to let me know I should intervene, and I’ll do my best.”

“Touch my nose?” she furrowed her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t we choose a more subtle signal?”

“No…” His Grace waved a finger, “because a subtler signal would tempt you to call on my help more often than may actually be necessary. This way you’ll be forced to call on me only as a last resort.”

“Oh, darling, look!” Her Grace waved, locking arms with her son. “Lady Wrenslot and her whole family are here. Let all three of us go say hello.”

The next hour proceeded in much of a similar manner, with Her Grace recognizing a familiar face or two and then dragging Penelope—and when he could be found, His Grace—along with her to engage in polite conversation.

Indeed, by calling this a “dinner party”, the Marquess of Inglesfield and his family were being rather modest.

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