Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

an undercurrent of curiosity in the gossip that stole the thunder from Clarissa’s tales. Bellston rarely entertained. The new duchess might be an eccentric, but no one would dare comment on the fact if it meant losing the duke’s favour and missing a chance to attend an event that would be eagerly anticipated by everyone of importance in London.

      Everyone except the Duchess of Bellston.

      Penny sat at the vanity in her bedroom, which she had transformed, with the help of a strong lamp, into a makeshift writing desk. The work had seemed to fly this evening, with words flowing out of her mind and on to paper as easily as if the text were already in English and she was only copying down what she saw. Perhaps it had been the gift of the book that had inspired her. Adam could be so effortlessly kind that she scolded herself for thinking ill of him earlier in the day.

      Or perhaps the intellectual stimulation of strong tea and good conversation had freed her thoughts.

      That was all it had been, of course. Any stimulation she might have felt, beyond her intellect, was girlish fancy. She had always admired the Duke of Bellston. To see the actual man in front of her, moved by his subject matter until he’d all but forgotten her existence, was more invigorating than she’d imagined. He’d invited her into his study, allowing her past a barrier of intimacy that she had not expected to cross, and for a time she’d felt she was very much in his confidence.

      And then he had kissed her. Thank the Lord that their conversation had been at an end, for she doubted that she would have been able to string two thoughts together after that buss on the cheek.

      She had gone back to her sitting room and curled up on the sofa and opened the book, ready to enjoy his gift, only to have her eyes drawn, again and again, to the kissing couple on the bookshelf. She must have looked as dazed and eager as that when he’d left her.

      And it had not stopped him from going out, she reminded herself, returning to cool logic. Not that there was anything wrong with being apart in the evenings. How would she get any work done if he forced her to accompany him everywhere, like a dog on a leash? She enjoyed her work.

      And she had been quite satisfied with her progress once she left the sitting room, which seemed to attract foolish fantasy like a normal library attracted cobwebs. She could work without fear of interruption in her bedroom.

      Certainly without fear of interruption by her husband. If he preferred to be elsewhere, in the company of others than herself? That had been their plan, had it not? She could hardly blame him for it. An evening of cards at an all-male club was hardly cause for jealousy on her part.

      And if she was not mistaken, he was arriving home; through the open window she heard the sound of a carriage stopping in front of the house, and the faint sound of her husband’s voice as the footman greeted him at the front door. She glanced at the clock. Barely eleven.

      She had not expected him so soon. It had been later than this when they’d returned to the house on the previous evening, and he’d proclaimed it early. Was tonight’s behaviour unusual?

      Not that she should care. She hardly knew the man, and his schedule was his own affair.

      But he had come home. Not to her, precisely. But he was home, all the same. Perhaps it would not be too forward to go downstairs in search of a cup of tea, and pass by the door to his study to see if he remained up. She got out of her chair, reached to tighten the belt of her dressing gown, and, without thinking, straightened her hair. Then she laughed at herself for the vanity of it.

      With her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and listened. But, no. There was no need to seek him. He was climbing the stairs, for she could hear him on the landing, and then he was coming down the hall carpet toward his room. She waited for the sound of his bedroom door, opening and closing.

      It did not come. He had walked past his room, for she had been unconsciously counting the steps and imagining him as he walked.

      And then he stopped, just on the other side of her door.

      She waited for the knock, but none came. Perhaps he would call out to her, to see if she was asleep, though he must know she was not, for the light of her lamp would be visible under the door.

      If she were a brave woman, she would simply open the door and go after the cup of tea she had been imagining. Then she could pretend to be surprised to see him, and inquire what it was that he wanted. She might even step into the hall, and collide with his body, allowing him to reach out a hand to steady her. Perhaps he would laugh, and she would neglect to step away, and she would know if he merely wished to continue their discussion, or if there was some other purpose for his visit.

      But she was not a brave woman, and she was foolish to think such things, since they made no sense at all. There was a perfectly logical explanation for his being there, which he would no doubt tell her in the morning at breakfast. If she waited, she could save herself the embarrassment of making too big a thing out of something so small.

      But all the same, she kissed the palm of her hand, and then silently pressed it to the panel of the door, holding it very near where the cheek of a tall man might be.

      Then she heard his body shift, and his steps retreating down the hall, and the opening and closing of the bedroom door beside her own.

       Chapter Ten

      When she woke the next morning, she found herself listening for sounds from the next room and hoping for a knock on the connecting door. Surely Adam would come to her as soon as he was awake, and explain his behaviour the previous evening?

      But she heard only silence. Perhaps he was a late sleeper, or simply did not wish to be disturbed.

      When she could stand to wait no longer, she called for her maid. She would go downstairs and wait for him at breakfast. But when she arrived in the breakfast room, she was told that his Grace had been up for hours, had had a light meal and gone riding in the park.

      Very well, then. If he had wished to speak to her, it had been nothing of importance. Or perhaps she had only imagined it, for things often sounded different through a closed door. Whatever the case, she would go on with her day as if nothing had happened.

      She gathered her papers from her bedroom and returned them to the sitting room, where the morning light made working easier. And in daylight, with her husband nowhere about, there seemed to be fewer romantic fantasies clouding her mind. But to avoid temptation, she turned the figurine of the lovers to face the wall.

      She had barely opened her books before there was a quiet knock on the door, and a servant announced a visitor, offering a card on a tray.

      Lady Clarissa Colton.

      The card lay there on the tray before her, like a dead snake. What was she to do about it? ‘Tell the lady that Adam is not at home.’

      The servant looked pained. ‘She wished specifically for you, your Grace.’

      ‘Then tell her I am not—’

      ‘Hello.’ Clarissa was calling to her from the hall. She laughed. ‘You must forgive me, darling. I have viewed this as a second home for so long that I quite forget my manners.’

      ‘I see.’ Penny had hoped to load those words with censure. But instead they sounded like understanding and permission to enter, for Clarissa pushed past the servant and came into the sitting room.

      She sat down next to Penny, as though they were confidants. ‘Adam and I are old friends. Particularly close. But I’m sure he must have told you.’ Clarissa was smiling sweetly again, but her eyes were hard and cold. She reached out to take Penny’s hands, giving them a painful squeeze. ‘And when I heard the good news, I simply could not stay away.’

      ‘News?’

      ‘Yes. He told us last night, at the party. Everyone was most excited.’

      ‘Party?’ Obviously, there was much Adam had not told her. And now, she was left to parrot monosyllables back to Clarissa, until the horrible woman made the truth clear.

      ‘Ooo,