Loving a Fearless Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Book(51)

It began to rain, so Penelope and Helen put up their umbrellas, and he turned around. They walked by Henry as if he weren’t there.

“Yes, it would be a shame if something bad happened, and you got sick or died. I would find that distressing. You’ve had a narrow escape before, and you were lucky you made it out. I hope your luck doesn’t run out.”

Penelope and Helen walked up the stairs, and the door of the townhouse opened. Coleman helped her with her coat. She went to her bedchamber with Helen and changed into a dry gown.

“I’ll be in the library at my writing desk,” she told Helen.

Nash entered the library and smiled at Penelope. “Hello. What are you doing there?”

Penelope lifted her head and smiled. “Just correspondence. It was a quiet day, so I thought I’d try to accomplish something.”

Nash nodded. “You’ve got the wedding jitters.”

Penelope laughed. “I do not.”

Nash smiled. “You do. It’s perfectly normal although you already know what you’re getting into. Don’t forget. We want them to see you go down the aisle.”

“Yes, but I still need to make the trip.”

“And what a happy trip it will be. I’ll see you at dinner, my dear.”

“Cecilia and Edward will be here.”

“Even better.”

Penelope slumped at her writing desk when Nash shut the door behind him. She didn’t want him to know anything about Henry’s harassment. If he knew she was documenting it, he’d know it was serious, and he’d get involved.

Penelope sat and took a long breath before beginning to write. She spent the better part of two hours writing, explaining every one-sided conversation she and Henry had. And she explained why she didn’t tell Nash.

When she finished three copies of the letter, she folded each one, and sealed them with her seal. She rose and went to Coleman.

“Have my carriage brought around, and let Helen know we are going out.”

The first stop was the office of the London Times newspaper.

“Hello, may I help you?” the clerk at the desk inside the door asked.

Penelope stood straight and summoned her most commanding voice. “Yes, Penelope Finch, Duchess of Norfolk to see the editor.”

The clerk rose to his feet and bowed. “Your Grace. This way.”

Penelope followed the clerk all the way to the back of the building, passing desks of workers with papers piled high in a haphazard fashion that made Penelope nervous the stacks would fall over at any minute. Paper littered the floor, and the wastebaskets were full of more paper, some crumpled up. Penelope couldn’t imagine working in this chaos.

“Mr Tomlinson, may I present the Duchess of Norfolk,” the clerk said then left, closing the office door behind him. Mr Tomlinson did not wear his suit coat and had pushed up his sleeves a few inches to keep the fabric out of the way of ink. His hair was mussed from having dragged his hand through it. Penelope guessed he did so very often given the state of his hair. Penelope did not think Mr Tomlinson shaved this morning. His face was a field of stubble.

Mr Tomlinson stood and bowed. “Your Grace.” He gestured to a chair. “Please, have a seat.

“May I offer you tea?”

“Thank you, Mr Tomlinson, but no. I have a rather unusual request of you. I would like to give you a document,” Penelope did not attempt to retrieve the document from her reticule, “to be published in the case of my death. Is that something you can do?”

Mr Tomlinson sat forward and put his arms on his desk. “That depends, Your Grace. What is the nature of this document?”

“This conversation is confidential, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“I am being threatened. The man who threatens me follows me through London’s streets. His threats began as small nuisances and inconveniences. They escalated and now include bodily harm and death.

“I want the information I give you to be under lock and key and to be used upon my death. What you publish will cause Scotland Yard to investigate and ultimately convict the murderer. Is this possible Mr Tomlinson?”

Mr Tomlinson sat back in his seat. “Your Grace. This is possible unless the man you name in the document is your husband. Under those circumstances, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to fulfill your wishes.”

Penelope smiled. “No, it is not my husband.”

Mr Tomlinson turned away then looked at Penelope. “Your Grace, may I ask why the Duke has not come, given the seriousness of the circumstances?”

Penelope sat straight in her chair. “My husband becomes very emotional to threats against me. When he is highly emotional, things have a way of becoming unpredictable.” She would not tell Mr Tomlinson that she believed she could handle this on her own, without the help of a man.

Mr Tomlinson stood and went to his safe, turning the wheel right, left, and right. Penelope heard the click and saw him grab the arm and push it down before pulling it out.

“Your Grace?” Tomlinson said as he walked to her. She pulled the sealed letter out of her reticule and handed it over.

Mr Tomlinson walked back to the safe, placed the letter in an area in the back, then shut the door and rolled the dial.

Penelope rose. “Thank you, Mr Tomlinson.”

He bowed. “Your Grace.”