Page 43 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

She glanced at the clock.

Ten minutes to seven. She smiled,I still have plenty of time.

Penelope made her way to the morning room, where the only person who it wasn’t awkward for her to converse with now sat.

“Good morning, pet!” greeted the dowager duchess.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Penelope smiled, taking her usual chair. “Is there anything of note in today’s paper?”

The dowager duchess shook her head. “Not this morning, I’m afraid. Except for how Magliozzi’s understudy had to take over for her last night and surprised everyone with how well she did.”

“Is that so?” Penelope acknowledged, spreading butter on her toast. “Well enough to possibly star in her own opera soon?”

“The Herald certainly thinks so.” The dowager duchess nodded to the paper. “After all, there is no way Magliozzi’s loyal supporters would ever allow her to be ousted as such.”

“I don’t think anyone would ever wish for Magliozzi to retire,” Penelope answered, biting into her toast with a satisfying crunch. “I still remember the first time I ever saw her perfor-”

Penelope’s voice caught in her throat when, to her dismay, the Duke of Blackmoore waltzed through the door—despite it being about forty minutes earlier than when he usually took his breakfast.

“Good morning,” he greeted the room.

“Good morning, darling!” cooed his mother. “Are you in a rush today?”

“Not really.” He smiled, taking his place at the head of the table. “Just thought it would be nice to get an early start to my day.”

Penelope let out an annoyed sigh as she bit into her toast once again.

Up until this point, she had been successfully running into him at breakfast by arriving early and finishing her food as quickly as possible.

But now that he was here, she couldn’t simply get up and leave.

“Sorry, my pet, what were you saying earlier about Magliozzi?” asked the dowager duchess.

“Oh, it wasn’t anything important, Your Grace,” Penelope answered sheepishly, “I was merely recalling the first time I caught one of her performances.”

“Poor Magliozzi,” tutted the duke. “They say she collapsed in her dressing room last night.”

“Good heavens! The paper said that she couldn’t perform, but not that she had collapsed!” exclaimed Her Grace. “What happened?”

“No cause has been confirmed as yet,” shrugged His Grace. “I myself only heard it from Harlington, who in turn heard it from a friend of one of the understudies. But perhaps London’s favorite opera angel has been pushing herself too hard.”

As he kept talking, Penelope seized the chance to finish the last of her toast and polish off her tea.

By the time the dowager duchess had begun warning her son about the dangers of working himself too hard, Penelope was ready to excuse herself.

“Finished already?” gasped Her Grace.

Penelope grinned. “His Grace has inspired me to also endeavor to get an early start to my day.”

As she turned to leave, the duke casually called after her, “Be sure you don’t strain yourself, Lady Pen. We wouldn’t want you falling asleep on your plate at tonight’s dinner party.”

His reminder stopped her in her tracks. “Dinner party…?”

The duke clicked his tongue, “Did you forget? Surely Rowley must have reminded you at some point yesterday.”

Penelope let out a gasp in realization, Ah… so that’s what he was talking about.

To clear her head of the embarrassment that haunted her since the drawing room incident, Penelope had been pouring herself into her paintings.