Sins of a Wicked Duke (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #1)(10)

After tonight’s debacle, Mrs. Harrison at the agency would never consider referring her again. And the only work she could find would be of the variety no respectable woman would contemplate.

Oh,Da ,you never thought I’d sink this low ,did you? Too bad I wasn’t born a man. Surviving would be a spot easier.

As a man, she would be someone who could go about their day and perform their duties without being forced to defend their person. Someone whose presence would not make the women of the household uncomfortable simply by breathing and occupying the same space. Someone who Mrs. Harrison would not turn away.

With a sharp breath, she shot up straight on the bed. Suddenly, the world righted itself. Everything became clear. The impossible so…possible. If she only possessed the temerity to see it through.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, she stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her eyes stared back, wider than usual, glowing with alarm and…excitement. The amber brown glowed with a hope she had not felt in some years. Not since the first time she was unjustly sacked.

Her father’s voice whispered through her mind again.



Ah,Fallon ,lass. You’ve your father’s mettle.

“Yes, Da. I do,” she whispered, sliding her legs to the floor and moving to the vanity, so accustomed to talking to her father, even all these years after his death, it did not strike her as odd.

Sinking onto the stool, she spread her hair out over her shoulders. So like her mother’s, Da always said. And part of the reason, she suspected, that she attracted such unsolicited attention. Master Brocklehurst had certainly found fault with it, calling it wanton and sinful. As if she could help the unusual color of her hair—neither red, blond, or brown, but a mélange of all three.

Seized with impulse, she fumbled through the drawers, searching, a grim smile curving her lips. Her fingers landed on a pair of scissors.

She clutched them in her hand for a while, simply staring at them, the cold steel injecting a sharp bite of reality to the moment.Do you really want to do this? Yes. Her hair had caused her enough grief over the years. She lifted her gaze back to her reflection. But perhaps she could help with that.

Inhaling, she lifted a heavy lock of her hair off her shoulder and began to cut.




“Heavens, what have youdone ?”

Fallon ran a hand through her short-cropped hair and rotated on the stool to face Evie. Her bare toes brushed the silken tendrils scattered about the floor. Her once waist-length hair now stopped at the back of her neck, just above her shoulders. She shook her head, unaccustomed to the lightness.

“Your beautiful hair,” Evie moaned, touching her own honey brown hair as if it were in similar jeopardy.

“I cut it,” she unnecessarily explained, placing both hands on her knees and hoping that would still their shaking. She still could not quite believe what she had done…or what she yet intended to do.

Evie shook her head and pressed a palm to her temples, her long, elegant fingers jutting from her head. “How did this happen? I only just stepped from the room.”

“You know me. When I make up my mind…” Her voice faded and she shrugged.

Evie motioned to the hair strewn about the floor. “But…why?”

Fallon moistened her lips. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have half so many problems keeping a position if I were a man.”



Evie’s brows winged high. Silence hung between them for some moments. Her lips, almost too full for her thin face, worked. “You cannot mean…”

“Why not? Men are paid a better wage. I could save toward a nest egg. It wouldn’t be permanent.”

“You cannot possibly expect anybody to confuse you for a man.”

“I’m tall enough.”

Evie stared pointedly at her chest. “And what about those?”

She glanced down at herself. “The rest of me may be big, but these are not.” One small thing for which to be thankful. “I suppose I can bind them to be safe.”

“You’re still a woman. The way you walk, gesture—”

“People see what they want to see. And when it comes to servants, nobs don’t look too closely. No one gives footmen or grooms special notice. The problem before was that I could never blend in.” She ran a hand through her shorn hair. “Now I can.”

Evie squinted at her hair. “It looks…brown.”

Reaching behind her, Fallon held up a small vial of skin cream. “I used this. It makes my hair look darker. It will do for now. Until I purchase pomade.”

Evie sank down on the end of the bed, her slim hand circling one of the posts, knuckles white. “You really mean to do this.” There was admiration in her eyes as she uttered this, but also alarm…fear. The latter drove home just how mad this scheme actually was—it could be Fallon’s salvation or ruin. But what choice remained? Bleak alternatives rose up in her mind, and she shoved them all away.Never . She could never resort to that.

Chin high, she pasted the most encouraging smile she could manage on her face. “Tomorrow morning I shall present myself to Mrs. Harrison at the agency. All will be well. You may depart for your adventure with no concern for me.”

With a sigh, Evie stood. “If you’re to do this, let’s see it done right.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Evie first tidied up Fallon’s efforts with her hair and then left, returning shortly with garments bought from the hotel porter. After minor adjustments with needle and thread, Fallon was appropriately attired.