How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

It took agesto get out of the Culpepper manor house and ages more to be settled into Pendleton House.

First, Persephone had to navigate a swath of entirely insincere congratulations. Had the engagement announcement been made earlier, she would not have put it past some of the mothers to have pushed the urn onto her. Conall was in high demand and she was…not. The whole thing was ridiculous. She gave it hours before it fell apart all around them. She’d have to put every moment of those hours to good use.

First, she helped her grandmother pack while Conall stood in the hallway and interrogated everyone he could get his hands on. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Lady Culpepper was both affronted and pleased to have such drama at her house party. Her grandmother was proud as punch. “Why, Percy, you sly thing,” she teased as Sarah hurried to fold dresses into trunks lined with lavender bundles. “You only asked about Northwyck a couple of days ago.”

Persephone caught Conall’s eye when he turned to glance at her through the doorway. An eyebrow raised. As if the man’s ego needed to know she’d been asking about him.

She turned to her grandmother and forced a smile. She wasn’t sure if she ought to lie to her about the betrothal. It would go easier on her when the inevitable parting came to be, but if Conall was right, she might be in danger. She wouldn’t trade Henry’s safety for her grandmother, nor the other way around. She’d just have to save them both.

And her grandmother would worry. She’d make herself ill over it. Add to that, she would do the cause more good if she truly believed Persephone and Conall were going to be married. She would chatter and plan and generally fuss, drawing attention away from more serious matters. It was settled, then, Persephone told her uncertain belly. She pressed a hand to it, trying to calm her nerves.

“We’ll have to go home first,” her grandmother was saying. “I haven’t packed for a visit with a duke.”

Conall shook his head slightly. The footman he had been interviewing scurried away, eyes glistening suspiciously. Persephone returned his forbidding expression with one of her own. He couldn’t go around making the household staff cry. The lot of them had enough to be getting on with, between the party and Lady Culpepper being, well, Lady Culpepper.

“I believe the duke is expecting us, Grandmaman,” Persephone turned back to her grandmother. “We can send Sarah to gather the rest of your belongings.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She turned to Sarah, narrowing one eye. “Mind you bring the pink satin.”

Sarah’s shoulders drooped slightly. It was difficult to get a name for yourself as a lady’s maid when your lady’s favorite ballgown made her look like a frilly grapefruit. But a happy grapefruit. Sarah curtsied. “Yes, your ladyship.”

After that they took their leave of the party, endured another round of sympathy and felicitations, and climbed into the pony cart as Lady Blackwell flatly refused to ride inside a carriage unless there was rain or ice or the four horsemen of the apocalypse on the horizon. The very near horizon.

The duke welcomed them with surprise but true happiness, making Persephone feel guilty all over again. Grandmaman went to lie down, and Persephone hovered until she threatened to throw a shoe at her granddaughter. When Conall sent a footman to stand guard outside the door, Persephone finally allowed herself to leave.

She stole a moment to herself in her guest chamber. It was decorated in shades of plum and pink, with silk paper on the walls and peonies and grapes painted over the ceiling. There were roses on every table, offset with mint to freshen the air. A maid had already unpacked her dresses and was working on her dancing slippers. Persephone felt her smile slip its mooring, but she forced it back in place. “I can manage from here, thank you.” She paused.

“Bethany, my lady,” the maid supplied helpfully.

“Bethany, thank you.”

“Yes, my lady. Would you like a tray? Tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“I can have a bath drawn.”

She swallowed. “No, thank you. I just need a moment.” Her voice was tighter than she’d have liked, but still not as strained as she’d feared. Bethany finally curtsied and left the room.

Persephone sank onto the edge of the bed and gave into the tremors that had been gathering in her hands and shoulders. She’d have liked another sip of Conall’s brandy but never mind. She only had a moment to get a hold of herself. She wasn’t entirely sure how one was supposed to feel after escaping death and being launched into a make-believe engagement with a man one found entirely too tempting. Usually, she’d have talked to Henry about it. They’d have found a way to make light of it, somehow; they always did.

She didn’t think Conall would approve if she told the Cinderellas the truth, either. More pressing, it might not be safe. She struggled to slow her breathing. Being overset was perfectly reasonable under the circumstances but it would incite more questions, more stares, more attention. She took a long deep breath, then another. The trembling in her fingers eased. Mostly.

The knock at the door undid it all. She yelped with a sudden jump that was not only undignified but also violent enough to topple her onto the floor.

“Persephone Blackwell,” Tamsin announced from the doorway. “You are a sneak.” She tilted her head. “What are you doing on the ground?”

“Nothing.” She scrambled to her feet as Meg followed Tamsin inside.

Tamsin closed the door firmly. “Tell us everything,” she demanded. “Immediately.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar.”

Meg pinched her. “Give her a chance.”

“Where’s Priya?”