Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

“ G ood morning, Duchess Penelope,” Maxwell said cheerfully as the door to the breakfast room tentatively opened, and Penelope appeared, clad in cream muslin and a green sash. “Did you sleep well?”

At this question, his new wife blushed a very fetching shade of crimson, struggling to meet his eyes. Maxwell had half expected this after their first adventure in his bedroom last night. He enjoyed her blushes this morning just as much as he had enjoyed her sighs and moans under his tonguing last night. He had no doubt that her eventual deflowering would be equally mutually satisfying.

Maxwell had risen very early and taken a gallop around the estate’s woodland this morning before putting himself into a cold bath. He had not wished to stretch his self-control too far when Penelope awoke beside him and found him all too ready to pick up where they left off the previous night.

Not only would he run the risk of claiming her too soon, before her awakening desire had completely routed all maidenly modesty and apprehension, he also suspected that if he began again, he could lose an entire day to exploring his wife’s delectable body. That would not do at all at such a crucial time. It was better to wait and set clear boundaries for both of them.

“I did sleep well, Maxwell,” Penelope said once she found her tongue again and took a seat at the table. “But did I do something wrong last night? You weren’t there when I awoke, and I didn’t know what to think. I’m sorry, this is all so new to me.”

She blushed again and occupied herself in pouring coffee from the pot on the table. The duke had to think quickly before he answered. His uncertain young wife must be handled gently but not encouraged to distract him from today’s tasks or to develop unreasonable expectations of the time he might give her.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Maxwell reassured her. “I don’t think either of us should be anything less than happy with how yesterday turned out from start to finish. Do you?”

“I suppose not,” she laughed uncertainly, her expression reflective.

Maxwell could not help recalling the sight of her face last night, damp and flushed, turning restively on the pillow as his eyes glanced up from between her thighs. He had enjoyed bringing Penelope sexual release almost as much as he would have enjoyed achieving it himself.

“But still, let us not lose sight of our immediate work. As we discussed yesterday, I do require your thoughts on how we approach the season’s events. Then, the rest of the day is your own as I will have related correspondence and other matters to attend to.”

He kept his tone polite and businesslike despite the erotic images rolling unbidden through his head.

“You will be out?” Penelope said, looking a little taken aback at this realization, although Maxwell could not tell whether she welcomed it.

“Yes, I am likely to be gone from the house for much of the day, so you may do as you wish this afternoon. There are carriages if you wish to go to town or explore the nearby villages.”

“Might I invite a few friends over for tea this afternoon?” Penelope asked after a short hesitation. “I had so little time to speak with Annabelle yesterday, and she is also one of the ton’s best sources of social intelligence.”

“Gossip, you mean?” Maxwell suggested, and Penelope smiled in response.

“Sometimes, yes. But I would also like to consult her on some of this season’s events and most influential social figures so that I can give you better advice. Annabelle knows such things better than anyone.”

“Of course, you may. This is your home. Let Mrs. Kenton and Soames know who you wish to invite and what you require, and she will arrange everything. Only do not expect me to join your little party. I’m seeing a lawyer friend of mine this afternoon and may be some time.”

“Thank you, Maxwell,” she said shyly, meeting his eyes for the first time that morning.

“Now, you must have some of this seed cake. The Walden Towers cook is excellent, and even simple dishes are remarkable.”

So far, the boundaries seemed to be holding despite the straining of his imagination against the leash of his will. Maxwell wondered with slight concern how long these self-set limits could withstand the pressure of living under the same roof as Penelope.

“I tell you that some women are literally weeping that you’ve vanished from the marriage market before the season had properly begun,” said Adam Finch, pouring both of them a measure of good brandy from the decanter in his office. “Lady Hoyden had apparently been briefing her three daughters on your biography for months, Hoyden House being much in need of repairs and Lord Hoyden penniless, of course.”

“You flatter me, Adam,” Maxwell laughed, raising his glass. “There must be other wealthy upstarts out there to take my place surely. Lady Hoyden and her three daughters will find their own way, I am convinced.”

“Upstart? Don’t make me laugh, Maxwell. You’re a real, legitimate duke with a fortune few can match and a face that turns heads. If you hadn’t settled so quickly on the Hayward daughter, the ladies of the ton would have been throwing themselves at your feet this season.”

“I’m happy to pass that indignity to someone else,” Maxwell commented, sipping his drink. “It would make it very hard to walk around the streets if I were constantly stepping over mooning women.”

Adam laughed at this notion and took a seat near Maxwell. Their business for the day was finished, and now, they could relax. They had known one another for a long time, ever since Adam — then the youngest lawyer in the firm — had helped Maxwell wrest control of the Crawford fortune from his father’s drunken hands.

“There’s no need to pass up any opportunities. I’ll simply assure all our admirers that marriage is not going to dent your reputation for getting what you want. They must simply throw themselves at your feet more discreetly now.”

The lawyer winked at Maxwell with quick brown eyes, his intelligent face full of knowing laughter. But the duke held up a hand to stop any further remarks in the same vein, his face smiling but determined in its set.

“No, do not even joke, Adam. I am married to Duchess Penelope now and want no admirers, discreet or otherwise. I take our marriage very seriously.”

“I didn’t mean that you should do anything that might get back to your wife or hurt her. I only meant that… well, most men of the ton do have a mistress or two and occasional adventures in less salubrious areas of town also if I’m not mistaken.”

“I am not most men, Adam,” Maxwell underlined firmly. “Duke or not, from now on, I lie with one woman only, and that woman is Duchess Penelope.”

“Do you love her?” Adam asked, half joking and half in consternation at Maxwell’s attitude.

“Love?!” Maxwell laughed in response. “What has love to do with the social and economic contract that is marriage, old friend? It is my honor that keeps me from the beds of other women, not sentimental fairy stories for little girls and old women. I refuse to be distracted from my life’s goals by sordid and trivial intrigues.”

Adam nodded his understanding, the confusion on his brow clearing.

“Ah, duty, honor, and ambition. That’s the Maxwell Crawford I know. If you’d claimed to be besotted by anyone, I would have thought you’d hit your head or been replaced by an imposter while at Huntingdon Hall.”

“You have never seen me lose my head over a woman, Adam, and you never will,” the Duke of Walden stated firmly, meaning every word.

Walking through the Walden Towers hallway, Maxwell heard the unfamiliar sound of young women’s laughter and smiled to himself. Victoria normally lived with him, of course, but she and her friends were more likely to gather in the library and discuss books and ideas than to simply laugh together over tea in the drawing room.

He glanced at the clock in the hallway, which showed the time as a little after six o’clock. Surely, Penelope’s friends should be leaving shortly. It could take the best part of an hour to get back to the fashionable areas of London from Highgate, and they would still need time to dress for dinner.

Maxwell realized that he had hoped to find his wife alone and perhaps lay the foundations for the next stage in her seduction. This idea foiled, he decided that he might as well introduce himself and hopefully prompt their departure.

As the duke approached the door of the drawing room, he clearly heard his name and paused there, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I must say that I think Annabelle has a point. I still don’t understand why the Duke of Walden should be out with his friends the very day after your wedding,” said one young woman.

“Oh, Eveline,” Penelope answered, “I’ve already said that I do not wish to discuss this any further.”

“Stephen says that the Duke of Walden has not led the life of a monk,” Lady Annabelle’s excitable voice spoke up even as the first speaker fell quiet. “He also says that your duke is so well-respected in the demimonde that he can only assume that Maxwell Crawford has friends there, likely among the ladies as well as the gentlemen. You must be very careful, Penelope…”

“They are not ladies in the demimonde ,” said a third voice in something like a stage whisper. “They are fallen women!”

The other girls made appropriately horrified noises at this idea, and outside the door, Maxwell had to try hard not to laugh.

It was all perfectly true, of course, although these innocent young ladies could have no real understanding of what they spoke. He did indeed have friends and acquaintances in the more shadowy strata of society, just as in the political world and the world of trade and commerce in which his grandfather’s name still opened doors.

The naifs presently taking an extended tea in his drawing room would likely have a fainting fit if introduced to a former gangster turned club owner like Martie Balfour, the betting supremo, Albert Ginster, or the elegant hostess of popular but disreputable soirées for the artistic and literary world, Lady Savernak.

Beatrice Savernak had scandalously abandoned her husband a decade earlier, famously leaving a note informing him that he was “too dull to bear any longer and not only in the bedroom.” Maxwell grinned as he remembered her vociferous objection when someone had publicly referred to her as a fallen woman: “But I did not fall, darling, I jumped!”

Yes, he did count Beatrice Savernak as a friend, among other similar women of intelligence, taste, and unconventional morals. The judgmental Stephen Elkins was certainly right that Maxwell had not led the life of a monk, and his bed had seen its share of discreet widows, artists’ models, and female intellectuals for whom sexual freedom for women was as important — and distant — a goal as the vote.

But now, he was married and had promised himself to Penelope, body and soul. Maxwell Crawford always kept his promises, just as his grandfather had done.

“Your word is your bond, Maxwell, both as a gentleman and a businessman. Never forget that its value is only as high as your principles and reputation.”

The old man’s serious words to him as a boy echoed down the years in Maxwell’s memory. He would never betray the vows he had taken yesterday in that church. His only qualm about the conversation in the drawing room was that Penelope might give some credence to what these foolish girls were implying about him. Her own voice had been relatively silent.

“Enough!” Penelope suddenly spoke up crisply. “I will not hear any more of this nonsense. My husband may go where he pleases and associate with whomever he judges fit as may I. We have been married only a day, but I already believe him to be one of the best and kindest gentlemen in England. You will not say such things of him before me again. Is that understood?”

Her tone was measured but firm, giving the impression of an adult speaking to children. Maxwell felt his heart surge both at his wife’s defense of him and her innate understanding of human life despite her own relative inexperience. Penelope could never have been as ignorant and childish as her friends, he suspected.

Not wishing to eavesdrop any longer in his own home, Maxwell opened the drawing-room door and went to Penelope’s side, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she stood with a surprised expression.

“Thank you for defending me, Duchess,” he laughed good-naturedly before turning an amiable but knowing smile on the three frozen young ladies occupying chairs and sofas around the room. “I’m afraid I could not help but overhear a little of your conversation as I approached. You were audible from the hallway.”

While Penelope allowed him to take her arm, her companions looked mortified, Annabelle most of all. That young woman’s plump and doll-like face was almost beet-red with embarrassment. The two other ladies appeared to have been struck dumb by his entrance, but Annabelle stood and made a shame-faced curtsy to him.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. The Duchess of Huntingdon says that my mouth runs away with me at times, and I fear it has done so today.”

“Duchess Madeline also says that you heart is good, and you mean well, Lady Annabelle,” Maxwell replied. “You are forgiven. But you must understand that I will take good care of your friend, and you need not worry about Penelope or warn her about me. I assure you that my duchess is safe here at Walden Towers. I want Penelope to be happy too.”

Lady Annabelle nodded rather miserably.

“I am so sorry to have offended you,” she said.

“I am not offended,” Maxwell clarified. “It is only natural that you should care for your friend and that you should have questions about her new husband. But you could always simply ask Penelope or me those questions, rather than accepting lurid tales from unreliable sources. I promise, I do not bite.”

This last jesting comment drew a self-conscious smile from Lady Annabelle, even though the other two ladies were still too embarrassed to say or do anything. Glancing at Penelope beside him, he thought he saw something like pride on her face, and he felt an unexpectedly warm glow at her approval of his handling of the situation.

“So, have you been visiting your friends in the demimonde today?” Lady Annabelle piped up.

“Annabelle!” protested Penelope at her friend’s immediate apparent reversion to form, but Maxwell laughed again.

“No, it is a valid question, Duchess Penelope, and one that I invited Lady Annabelle to ask. The answer is no, incidentally. I have spent the day with my old friend, Adam Finch. While Mr. Finch holds no title or rank in society, he is an eminently respectable lawyer from an established London firm. I’m afraid that my afternoon was far less exciting than your imagination.”

He sat down now on the sofa with Penelope, indicating that Lady Annabelle should sit too.

“That does sound rather dull,” Lady Annabelle reflected with a small smile, evidently now more comfortable in his presence. “Although I suppose if you are with friends, the time passes quickly anyway. It always does when I’m with Penelope, even if we talk of the dullest things in the world.”

“True. Any more questions?” Maxwell asked Lady Annabelle and the room in general.

“Oh yes,” said Lady Annabelle swiftly, leaning forward eagerly in her chair. “Is it true that Lady Savernak left that message when she abandoned Lord Savernak?”

Half an hour later, Maxwell and Penelope stood arm in arm together on the top step as the carriage with the Duke of Colborne’s crest rolled away, bearing Penelope’s friends back to London.

Lady Annabelle waved merrily to them from a window while her two companions seemed happy to finally shrink back into the seats of the coach and away from Maxwell’s acute, even if friendly, gaze.

“See you in London for Lady Finch’s ball!” the tiny young woman with strawberry blond hair called out. “Oh, but don’t wear your new blue silk, Penelope, because I’ll be wearing mine and…”

Penelope laughed as her friend’s words died away with the coach’s distance. When she turned to face Maxwell, her pretty little pixie face was soft and warm.

“Thank you, Maxwell,” she said. “I would have lost patience with them entirely if you had not come in when you did. You handled that so much better than I could have done.”

“Well, I’m not sure Miss Eveline de Vere will ever come back here again but I did my best,” he laughed.

“Oh, never mind Eveline. It’s Annabelle I care about. She can be so silly, but she’s not a bad person, and once she knows you as I do, I expect she will become your greatest defender.”

“She will never know me as you do,” Maxwell responded, taking the opportunity to draw Penelope into his arms and kiss her lightly on the lips. “No woman will ever know me as you do ever again. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Penelope breathed softly. “I do.”

Her green eyes were very clear and bright before she closed them and laid her head against his chest. Maxwell shut his eyes, too, enjoying this moment of uncomplicated harmony for as long as he could allow himself. He must keep to his self-set boundaries and not lose sight of his goals.

“Did Annabelle give you some useful advice?” he asked her. “You didn’t forget to ask her about our plans for the season did you?”

Penelope’s body tensed in his arms, and her expression was briefly bewildered, but then she straightened up, stepped back, and even produced a folded piece of paper from her pocket.

“Naturally, I didn’t forget,” she said somewhat reproachfully before her tone became businesslike. “Here are the points I judged important. Pay particular attention to the two short lists of names on the right. The first are to be courted, and the second politely avoided. When you have time, I can explain both.”

“Excellent,” Maxwell said, taking the paper and glancing over its contents.

He was pleased that Penelope did seem to understand so well the shape and limits of the deal that was their marriage. However, he also felt a faint disappointment that he pushed deep down in his mind. She had sprung startlingly quickly and apparently easily from nestling in his arms to discussing the influencers of the ton.

“Thank you, Duchess Penelope. You can explain this to me over dinner,” he suggested with a smile, waving the paper.

“Very well. But now, I should go and dress. Unless you require anything else?”

Maxwell shook his head and let her go. He repeated to himself what he had told Adam. Marriage was a social and economic contract, albeit one with distinct sexual benefits and distractions. As long as they both kept their sides of the deal, disappointment had no more place than love.