Page 31 of Tamed By a Duke
Silence greeted Charlotte's enquiry and her two friends shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
"Well, I was going to read it, but—"
"I had every intention of starting it last night..."
Charlotte gave a happy sigh; some things never changed. Which was lucky, because when she thought on Penrith, Charlotte had the nervous feeling that her life might change completely, if she allowed the duke to get his way.
When Charlotte had set out that morning, a ceiling of grey cloud had hung over the city. Now, as she peered out the window of the carriage as it wound its way through Mayfair toward Grosvenor Square, Charlotte saw that the benign clouds of earlier had turned almost black.
A storm was coming and, indeed, the vehicle began to sway as the wind picked up outside. The streets were near empty of pedestrians for such a busy time of day, though the traffic was heavier than usual. It took a good half-hour to reach Ashfield House, and by the time that the footman helped her down from the compartment, heavy drops of rain had begun to fall.
Inside, the entrance hall bustled with servants, running this way and that as they attempted to close the shutters, lest any damage be done by the wind.
Helga took Charlotte'spelisseand disappeared; no doubt to steam it over the bath and rid it of any trace of bad influence it might have picked up in Lady Havisham's. Poor Helga abhorred accompanying Charlotte on her trips to Violet's, given that she was forced to wait in the kitchens making small talk with Lady Havisham's eccentric maid Dorothy. Helga was not suited to talk of stuffed animals inhabited by the spirit of their former owners, nor did she approve of the keeping of any animal inside the house—dead or alive. The poor woman thought the residents of Havisham House fit for Bedlam.
Still, owing to the fact that Bianca had declared Ethel completely off-limits, Charlotte had been forced to subject her to the ordeal. At least she knew that Helga would be kept busy for the next few hours, scrubbing away the stains of eccentricity from Charlotte'spelisse, which left Charlotte free to enjoy the coming storm.
As she passed through the entrance hall, the silver-tray which held the calling-cards of any visitors to the house caught her eye. There at the top, lay a plain card of cream stock, bearing the Duke of Penrith's name.
He had called, as he had said he would. And Charlotte had not been "at home" to him.
For a moment, Charlotte felt a pang of regret for her stubbornness. Why was she the type of girl who always did the opposite of what was asked of her? If she had remained at home, as Penrith had assumed she would, would they have spent a pleasant hour together?
You don't want to spend a pleasant hour with the stuffy Duke of Penrith, Charlotte reminded herself, as she raced up the stairs. She took the runners two at a time, in her haste to get to her bedchamber. Once there, she took a heavy cloak from the wardrobe, and made her way back downstairs.
Mercifully, the entrance hall was now empty, allowing Charlotte to slip outside unseen. While she wasn't up to her usual schemes and tricks, she knew that someone would try to stop her if they realised what she was about.
Charlotte escaped through the front door, pulling up the hood of her cloak against the lashing rain, and tripped down the steps and across the road to the park at the centre of the square. The park was typical of most private squares; a simple garden surrounded by black railings, with gentle lawns and a few trees dotted here and there. It was a place where elderly men took their morning perambulations, or where governesses brought their charges to play. Today though it was empty as Charlotte darted along the gravel path toward a towering oak.
Once there, she leaned her back against its knotty trunk, lowered her hood, and turned her face up toward the sky.
Charlotte adored storms; she loved the feel of the rain on her face, the wind whipping her hair, and the sense of her own insignificance when compared to the vastness of the sky. Faraway, thunder rumbled and Charlotte opened her eyes to catch a streak of lightning as it flashed across the sky.
How marvellous. How thrilling. How—
"Miss Drew, might I ask why you are standing under the tallest tree you could find, in the middle of a lightning storm?"
Charlotte startled at the sound of that familiar voice and turned around to find the Duke of Penrith standing a few feet away. The rain had soaked his riding coat and his breeches clung to his thighs in a most scandalous manner. He had also lost his hat—Charlotte presumed to the raging wind—and tendrils of black, damp curls hung over his forehead, concealing his eyes.
"I am enjoying the storm, Your Grace," she replied, hoping to sound tart, but instead finding that her voice had come out sounding rather husky and entirely unlike her.
Penrith arched his eyebrow, in that manner that Charlotte found both infuriating and beguiling. He remained silent, as he watched her, patiently waiting for her to explain herself further.
"I am a pluviophile," Charlotte answered hotly to the arched eyebrow, glad that she sounded a little more like herself.
"Good gracious, is that contagious?"
It took Charlotte a moment to realise that Penrith was teasing her, and in that time he somehow managed to cross the gap between them, so that he was now standing before her, his tall frame blocking Charlotte's view of the storm.
"I called on you, but you were not at home," he said lightly, as he dipped his head to gaze down at her. Raindrops trickled down his forehead and ran the length of his aristocratic nose, but Charlotte paid no mind. Her attention was focused solely on Penrith's eyes, which were now as dark and stormy as the sky above them.
"I was making calls of my own, Your Grace," Charlotte replied, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated.
"You are not a lady who ever does what is expected of her, are you, Miss Drew?"
"N-no," Charlotte stuttered, unsure if her answer was the right one. What did Penrith want from her? He knew from outset that she was no biddable green-girl. Had he honestly expected her to kowtow to his orders and remain pining for him by the window?
"I am not usually a man who enjoys the unexpected," Penrith replied, a smile playing at the corners of his lush lips, "But I have to say, Miss Drew, you have given me a new appreciation for it."
