Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

O n the following afternoon, the Duke of Walden’s carriage stopped outside the Argyll Rooms in London.

“Ah, there is Frederick,” Penelope said with a smile, raising her hand to her brother on the steps of the venue as the coachman opened the carriage door for her, Maxwell and Victoria remaining inside the coach. “Annabelle and Stephen must be inside already.”

“I hope they found someone to take our tickets,” Victoria sighed. “I do so love Italian chamber music, but Sir Nigel is so busy this week, and we must take this opportunity.”

“Go and win your deal, Maxwell,” Penelope said, turning back to her husband and sister-in-law from the pavement. “If the two of you can’t convince Sir Nigel, then I doubt anyone can.”

Maxwell grinned at her in response, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that his mind was already on the task ahead and not on her. Never mind. Penelope intended to have an enjoyable musical afternoon with her brother and her friend. There would also be refreshments after the music, and she and Annabelle could catch up on gossip.

“We shall see you for dinner at Lord and Lady Wilton’s,” Victoria said. “Enjoy the music for me!”

Taking Frederick’s arm, Penelope waved as the carriage drew away.

“Business before pleasure?” Frederick asked with a sympathetic nod after the vehicle.

“Always,” Penelope sighed. “That’s how they both are, I’m afraid.”

“Well, do not lose heart,” her brother said cheerfully. “Annabelle can talk enough for three companions, and sometimes Stephen seems determined to outdo his sister. My word, if the two of them were to write society columns, every other gossip writer in London would be out of business within a week.”

“Stephen would never take a job,” laughed Penelope. “Especially not something of that sort. He is far too conscious of his status and dignity as the future Duke of Colborne.”

Frederick smiled at this observation.

“I do keep telling him that being a duke is not incompatible with having fun, but I don’t think he believes me.”

“I suppose with his father so ill for so long, it is harder for him to see the fun in life than it is for us.”

A strange expression briefly crossed Frederick’s face.

“At least he will get to say goodbye to his father,” he said quietly but then smiled broadly again as if pulling himself back from the edge of something. “But never mind Earnest Elkins, the rest of our party is far less stuffy…”

“Oh good, you managed to give away Maxwell and Victoria’s tickets.”

“Yes, Captain Jameson is here. You remember the Earl of Granthurst’s younger son, don’t you? When he heard that Lady Elaine Murray was attending, he seized the ticket with both hands. Then, I was very surprised that Silverbrook insisted on having the other.”

“Henry Atwood?” said Penelope in horror, freezing at the entrance door to the large chamber where guests were now taking their seats for the performance.

“The very same. I can see it’s a surprise to you too, but come, we must be seated.” Frederick spoke blithely as he drew his sister along the central aisle between the velvet chairs, unaware of the true depth or reason for Penelope’s halting. “I haven’t been sure about him since Huntingdon Manor as you know. Duke Charles was in a fury.”

“Yes,” Penelope said faintly, wishing she could turn around and flee. “I thought you might not wish to know him after…all that.”

Frederick shrugged.

“I’m not saying I’d invite him to a civilized dinner or anything more personal than this, but it seemed to me that if he’s developing a taste for music rather than… other things, then that should be encouraged. Isn’t it better that he is here with us rather than drinking and smoking himself half to death in some insalubrious bar?”

It was not a question that Penelope could answer. There was neither sufficient time nor privacy available for her to rail against her brother’s kindness of heart towards a thoroughly undeserving man. In addition, she had now spotted Annabelle and Stephen near the front of the room, sitting beside a man in uniform who must be Captain Jameson.

Lord Silverbrook sat at the end of the group, two vacant chairs beside him, presumably for Penelope and Frederick. She felt quite sick at the thought that she was intended to sit beside him since gentlemen normally took the seats at the end of the row.

“I must sit beside the aisle, Frederick,” Penelope spoke up quickly. “I am feeling a little queasy after luncheon. The sauce with our chicken was a little too rich, and the carriage ride too quick. I do not want to cause any disturbance if I must rush to the retiring rooms.”

“Of course,” Frederick acquiesced quickly. “If you feel unwell I could…”

“No, there is no need to do anything. I shall be well presently, but you must sit by Henry.”

Penelope nodded stiffly in greeting to her friends and Captain Jameson as the musicians completed the tuning of their instruments. The unpleasant smile on Henry Atwood’s face made her skin crawl, especially once he understood that she had avoided being beside him, and an aspect of freshly thwarted resentment settled in his eyes.

“How do you find this year’s season, Duchess Penelope?” Lord Silverbrook asked in a low voice, speaking across Frederick and putting a strange emphasis on the word ‘duchess’ as though she were undeserving of such a title.

Thankfully, before her lack of answer might have been noted, the Master of Ceremonies stepped forward to announce the start of the concert, and the room fell quiet.

“There you are, Duchess Penelope,” said Henry Atwood with an exaggerated bow that matched the faint sneer in his voice. “I was beginning to think that you had deserted us already. Of course, we can’t all be as tall, rich, and handsome as the Duke of Walden, can we?”

If Penelope had not already finished her tea, she might have spilled it at this sudden and unwanted appearance.

Half hidden in a corner, behind a pillar and near a door to the servants’ quarters, she hoped to avoid the rest of their party until the interval was over. She had told Annabelle that she intended to remain in the ladies’ retiring room due to her unsettled stomach, the lie about her digestion having gradually come true during the first half of the performance.

“Go away!” she hissed. “Or I shall tell my brother that you are importuning me.”

Lord Silverbrook laughed mockingly as Penelope looked around desperately without catching sight of any friends. Indeed, in her current corner, she was barely visible at all.

“Really? Will you indeed? Well, I shall tell Frederick that you pushed me down the stairs at Huntingdon Manor and tried to kill me after I rejected your advances. I can’t imagine that the Duke of Heartwick would like the idea having a madwoman and a nymphomaniac for a sister although the scandal sheets would certainly make the most of it.”

Penelope lost her tongue at such dreadful threats. Such an accusation really would hurt Frederick and her mother, too. Lord Silverbrook was quite vicious enough to do as he was implying and give the false story to some low-life scandal monger.

“If the papers chew you up enough, the Duke of Walden might lose interest in protecting you too eventually. Mad wives are easily put away and replaced, after all, and he’ll tire of bedding you soon enough, given your pretended prudishness. Or do you play the whore with him? He’ll tire of that too eventually. He’ll see you’re not fit to be a duchess as clearly as I do.”

“You would not dare to speak to me in this indecent way if my husband or brother were here,” Penelope exclaimed, drawing herself up with as much dignity and confidence as she could despite her diminutive size. “You are nothing but a coward, Lord Silverbrook.”

“It’s a little late for formality between us now, Penelope,” the vile man chuckled to himself and took a step towards her. “Come now, you’ve had your little games and won yourself a marriage and title too. There’s a cozy little pantry with a lock just through that door where no one can disturb us. Walden has had his fun, and it’s my turn now.”

As Henry Atwood lurched towards Penelope in an effort to seize her arm and drag her into the servants’ corridor, she brought up one of her feet and slammed the high heel of her elegant shoe down hard on the top of his instep. He yelled loudly, drew up his foot, and tripped onto the floor as Penelope made her escape back into the main refreshment room, where people were looking around in surprise for the source of the yelling.

“Quickly, he is having some sort of fit!” she called out to the other guests and pointed back towards the niche by the pillar. “Through there!”

Several gentlemen and two manservants rushed away in the direction Penelope indicated while she cast around desperately for Frederick or any friendly face. Thankfully, she spied Annabelle and Stephen over by the cake table and hurried to them.

“Penelope! Are you well? You look quite ill.”

“I do not feel at all well,” Penelope confessed, finding that her words were no lie at all. “I cannot stay for the second half of the performance. I will go to meet Maxwell and Victoria in Bloomsbury.”

“Alone?” said Lord Emberly with a frown. “Is that wise? Let me find Frederick to escort you. He seems to have vanished with that blonde Frenchwoman we were talking to earlier. Annabelle, find the duchess a chair, and I’ll seek him out.”

“No, do not trouble yourselves,” Penelope insisted, wanting to be out of the building before Lord Silverbrook might make a recovery and pursue her. “Once I am outside, I am sure I will recover quickly.”

“Then, you must at least take our coach,” Stephen insisted, stiff and proud but actually as good-hearted as his younger sister. “Then we will know you have arrived safely when you send it back.”

“Thank you. That is very kind,” Penelope answered, accepting that any further argument would only lose valuable escape time.

Stephen and Annabelle walked her out to their carriage and instructed the driver before waving her off with troubled expressions. It was only once the vehicle had turned a corner that Penelope felt she could relax. Closing her eyes with a long sigh, she felt her racing heart finally settle back towards its normal rhythm.

When she was at Walden Towers, she could almost forget the existence of Henry Atwood and the risks he posed to her and those she loved, but she could not hide there from him forever.

Aside from her own reluctance to let such a man order her life, Penelope was conscious of her commitment to Maxwell. The Duke of Walden needed a well-placed and competent wife who could steer him through the season and the complexities of society life. That was why he had married her and saved her from Lord Silverbrook. Now, she must fulfill her end of the bargain.

Penelope shuddered briefly with recollection of some of Henry’s awful words. What if he were right, and Maxwell eventually tired of her and wished to put her away? Might he one day separate from her, divorce her, or even have her certified insane, as Lord Silverbrook had suggested?

She did not want to believe it was possible, but the shame of being dragged through the scandal sheets might change the thoughts and feelings of even the most principled gentlemen, especially one as ambitious as Maxwell. Never mind what he might be prepared to do to protect Victoria from scandal.

Penelope closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, reflecting that the last month had brought her greater extremes of joy and misery than she had ever experienced together. How very strange her life had become.

“Russell Square, Your Grace,” announced the coachman as he opened the door for her. “Sir Nigel Leveson’s house is just here.”

Thanking the man, Penelope descended to the street and rang the large, well-polished bell at the front door indicated. She only hoped she would be welcomed.