Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(11)

“It is all right, Mathers,” Penelope said quickly, then wondered if everything really was all right. “Please take Prince Damien to the drawing room and serve him tea. I will fetch Lady Trask.”

Without waiting for reply, Penelope turned away, heart pounding, and hurried toward the staircase.

She felt Damien’s gaze on her as she ascended. His eyes held caution, but they were also filled with warmth. He looked at her because he wanted to look at her. It made Penelope uncertain and unsteady on her feet.

She reached the top of the staircase without falling and hastened down the hall to her mother’s chamber.

The corridor outside Lady Trask’s bedchamber was deserted. Penelope put her hand on the door handle and silently opened the door a crack. She saw Michael Tavistock, naked, the sun shining on his dark red hair and muscular back as he faced the bed.

Swiftly, Penelope closed the door, her cheeks flaming. From inside, she heard Michael’s voice. “I love you, Simone.”

Penelope stopped, frozen, as his hoarse words caught her.

I love you.

Michael Tavistock truly did love her mother, Penelope knew that. She saw it in Michael’s eyes whenever he gazed upon her, particularly when Lady Trask wasn’t looking at him. For his own reasons, the gentle, forty-five-year-old man had become enchanted with Penelope’s rather featherheaded mother.

Penelope was glad for her mother’s sake as well as for her own, because she very much liked Meagan’s father. Michael was a kind man and looked upon Penelope with as much protection and benevolence as he did his own daughter.

Now Penelope felt a strange pain in her heart. Damien had kissed Penelope, had told her, with that same catch in his voice, that he’d fallen in love with her.

But what Damien had said could not be real. None of this could be real.

Penelope quietly returned to the landing, counted to twenty, then walked toward her mother’s bedchamber again, making as much noise as she could.

When she reached the door, all was quiet within. She knocked and said brightly, “Mama? Are you awake?”

After a time, the door opened a few inches. Michael stood behind it, in trousers and half-laced shirt, his hair mussed. “What do you need, Penelope?”

Michael had brown eyes that held a strength and quietness that Penelope admired. His dark red hair had started graying at the temples but was thick and full. His face was not handsome like Damien’s, but square and plain, the face of a man who knew what he looked like and was not bothered by it.

Michael had a commonsense wisdom that counteracted Penelope’s mother’s flightiness, and Penelope looked forward to the day he would become her stepfather. He and her mother had not mentioned marriage to either of the girls, but Penelope and Meagan had already decided upon the outcome of their affaire de coeur.

“We have visitors,” Penelope said, her mouth dry. “From Nvengaria.”

Michael raised his brows.

“I know,” Penelope said. “But I think it’s true. And you will scarce believe this …”



* * *



The drawing room was simply decorated and a bit drafty. Damien waited with Sasha as three people entered the room.

The first was Penelope. Damien’s chest felt like lead when he beheld her—his need for her had not been feigned, but something that had seized him and wouldn’t let him go. He’d never before believed in love at first sight, but he had converted between one heartbeat and the next. The fact that it had never happened to him before did not mean such things did not exist.

Behind Penelope came a woman of about fifty years but of unmarred beauty, whom he guessed was Lady Trask.

They were followed by a man slightly younger than Lady Trask who had auburn hair and an air of wise authority about him. Before the butler could close the door, the younger girl who had been with Penelope on the road dashed into the room, her face eager.

“Papa, you will never guess what happened.” She stopped when she saw Damien and Sasha. “Or perhaps you would. Good morning, again.” She dropped a quick curtsy.

The butler, looking harassed, stood stiffly in the doorway. “Milady, there is a great lot of men and carts arriving. Was milady expecting visitors?”

“Ah,” Sasha cried. “It is the prince’s entourage and baggage, at last.”

Sasha was never happy unless Damien surrounded himself with at least a dozen servants and six trunks full of belongings. If Sasha knew that Damien had once survived in the mountains of Nvengaria without a change of shirt or even any food and water, he’d faint dead away.

“What entourage?” Lady Trask asked, looking interested.

“What prince?” the man next to her demanded.

The younger girl, Penelope’s friend, went to stand next to them. The four faced Damien, a unit, together. The younger girl had the same brown eyes, red hair, and thoughtful expression as the man. Father and daughter.

The older woman and Penelope shared wide green eyes, golden hair, and a certain set to their features. Mother and daughter.

Damien said to Sasha in Nvengarian, “No one told me the princess had a daughter.”

Sasha spread his hands. “Nothing mentioned a daughter, Highness. The ring passed to Lady Trask, no further.”

4The butler cleared his throat. “Milady, what shall I do with the, erm, entourage?”