Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

M axwell Crawford regarded the beautiful young woman across the table with interest, sympathy, and deep curiosity. So, she was Lady Penelope Hayward. He had assumed as much from what he knew of the guest list for Charles and Madeline’s house party, but it was good to have definite confirmation.

He had seen Lady Penelope briefly last night, of course, but that had been in dim candlelight, and the drama of the moment had been a distraction. Now that he had the chance to see her again at close quarters, he found that she was every bit as lovely as that midnight glimpse had promised, with clear green eyes and creamy skin framed by loosely bound waves of blonde hair.

With her sharp but delicate features, she actually looked a little like a pixie, the duke decided, a veritable princess of the fairy-folk, if one currently under great pressure.

“The weather looks to be good today, doesn’t it, Your Grace?” she offered hesitantly, the smile on her face belying the distress that he could see lurking beneath the surface she was presenting so carefully.

Whatever act she was putting on this morning, Lady Penelope was very scared, and Maxwell was hardly surprised. He knew already that she was a spirited and courageous creature, but such qualities were not always admired by the ton, especially in young ladies. He could see that she feared the consequences of her actions, and rightly so.

“It is indeed a beautiful day,” he answered, taking her in in her entirety. “More beautiful than I had imagined.”

This morning, Lady Penelope wore a plain and modest dress of white muslin with a green satin sash, and there was little of her figure visible while they were seated. But last night, in her pale silk evening dress, he had seen enough of the delicate curves of her body and the energy of her movements to light a fire in his breast.

The duke knew now that it would take very little to blow those initial flames to a fuller and more physical blaze. He took a sip of coffee to dampen his suddenly surging ardor. It was not the time for such fantasies, even if his thoughts were undeniably moving in a very specific direction already with regard to Lady Penelope Hayward. He must focus on substance first, not appearances.

Maxwell Crawford had a goal for this season, and this young lady might well be the very person he needed by his side to achieve it. He was not a man to act rashly or without due planning. That was why he rarely failed when he had decided what he wanted. Right now, he was very close to such a decision.

“Did you not wish to check on Lord Silverbrook with your friends?” he asked pleasantly, wanting to see how the young woman would react to such inquiry.

The initial flash of fear in her eyes made him almost regret his question and want to reach out a reassuring hand, but she quickly mastered herself and shook her head calmly.

“No, I did not,” she said with dignity. “By all accounts, including yours, Lord Silverbrook took far more brandy than was good for him last night and must now reap the consequences.”

The duke nodded his agreement.

“I concur,” he said. “As does Duke Charles. It’s never pleasant to see a grown man allow himself to get into such a state.”

Maxwell was thinking of his father’s weakness for the bottle. William’s drinking had inspired a lifelong dislike in his son for those who abused alcohol, especially when that led to drinkers abusing the people around them, too. Last night, he had been very tempted to step over Lord Silverbrook and leave him lying there on the floor at the bottom of the east wing’s second-floor staircase.

However, Charles Wraith was a good friend, and whatever the character of the drunken man, he was a guest in the Duke of Huntingdon’s house. After examining the fallen man and rousing him back to some semblance of consciousness, Maxwell had rung for assistance and instructed the footman on night duty to get him back to his bedroom without waking the rest of the household.

“How was he when you found him, Your Grace?” Lady Penelope asked casually now. “Lord Silverbrook, I mean. Was he conscious? Talking?”

Aha, despite the fear she couldn’t adequately hide, she was probing to determine how much he had observed of the scene that had played out directly before Lord Silverbrook’s fall. Again, Maxwell felt his compassion roused for this young woman, as well as admiration for her bravery. How had no one else noticed her distress yet this morning? It was written in every line of her face.

“I know what happened last night, Lady Penelope,” Maxwell said forthrightly, not wanting to draw out her suspense unnecessarily. “Silverbrook did not need to say anything to me. I saw it all with my own eyes.”

Penelope’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp of shock, and for a moment, he expected her to burst into tears. Instead, she forced her trembling hand back down to her lap and steeled her face. It was peculiarly endearing to see such strength and determination imposed on such sweetly elfin features.

“In that case, you must understand why I did what I did,” she said with something of a plea in her eyes, knowing that she required his silence, if not his help.

“I understand entirely, Lady Penelope. But I fear that others may not. Duke Frederick for example. Would he understand? Lord Silverbrook is his good friend, and I’ve heard that your brother can be somewhat mercurial in his reactions.”

“Frederick apparently prefers Henry’s company to mine,” Penelope confirmed sadly. “I do fear he will blame me, regardless of the truth. When Henry tells him, or if the story gets abroad in the ton, I cannot predict what he might do.”

“May I suggest that I speak to Duke Frederick?” Maxwell put in. “I do not know your brother yet, but I believe my word carries some weight."

“Would you?” Penelope responded eagerly but then shook her head as though coming to her senses. “But why should you wish to assist me? We’ve never even met, Your Grace. You don’t even know me.”

She turned over a silver teaspoon in her hands as she puzzled over his suggestion. This young woman was no simpleton to be petted and complimented into compliance. The duke decided the best strategy would be to lay his cards on the table. If he were right about Lady Penelope’s bravery, resourcefulness, and sharp mind, this conversation should be swiftly concluded to both of their advantage.

“You’re no fool, Lady Penelope,” the duke stated. “I admire that. If I tell you that you are in a position to help me just as much as I could help you, I imagine my interest will be easier to understand.”

She blinked once, and her face hardened slightly, maybe wondering whether he was about to make some improper proposition. Maxwell sighed silently to himself, regretting that other men’s behavior had made this woman so suspicious of his entirely proper, if distinctly unromantic, intentions.

“I’ve seen and heard enough of you to offer you my hand in marriage,” he said now without any further varnishing or veiling of this proposal. “That way, you would be entirely under my protection. It could all be arranged in a matter of weeks so that the new Duke and Duchess of Walden could conquer the ton together this very season.”

The silver teaspoon fell, clattering from her fingers onto Penelope’s plate. She stared at him in amazement across the table, unable to believe what she had just heard.

“Is this some kind of joke, Your Grace? Are you a man who toys with defenseless women for his own amusement?”

In another situation, from another woman’s mouth, that last question could have been an insult. But coming from Lady Penelope at this moment, it was an admission of vulnerability and a cry for help. That touched Maxwell but also encouraged him, giving him the leverage he needed to close this deal.

“I am not. I am an honorable man who genuinely wishes to marry you, Lady Penelope. I believe you are at least one-and-twenty and free to marry me, if you will. Accept my suit, and we will both gain substantially from such a convenient marriage.”

Maxwell could see that she was shaking slightly now, but something in her eyes also told him that she was not so very far from accepting his offer.

“But I still don’t see why you should wish to marry me, Duke Maxwell. If you want a bride, surely you could have any young lady of the ton with your fortune, your looks, and your title.”

“You flatter me, Lady Penelope,” he chuckled. “Certainly, my title and my fortune will be draws for some young ladies and even more so for their parents. My blood, however, is not so blue as it might be, and I do not have the free hand you might imagine in the marriage mart. I come from trade, and I am not ashamed of that.”

“Still,” she pressed him, wavering and open to persuasion but not yet sufficiently convinced to seize at the rope he was throwing to her, “why me ?”

Why indeed? There was little in Lady Penelope Hayward that fit the model of the dutiful and obedient wife he might have described in theory if asked a day or two earlier to describe his requirements in a bride. Only her physical attractiveness would have conformed to any traditional ideal.

“I want you for your wits, your blood, and your interest in contracting a speedy marriage. You also have a strength of character that the Duchess of Walden will doubtless need given my temperament and ambitions. Your undeniable beauty is merely a bonus to me, Lady Penelope. I won’t insult either of us by citing what any red-blooded man would see and desire.”

“So, you’re offering me a business deal,” she said slowly, thinking aloud. “This is business for you, isn’t it? You make no pretense at personal affection.”

Maxwell shrugged, unbothered by this idea and glad that they could be so honest with one another. He had told her the truth, and Lady Penelope had quickly put her finger on the heart of his motivation. Her delectable body and engaging personality might have provided the final fillip that decided his proposal, but he would never have made it if it had not been advantageous.

“I have met no woman who could be a better duchess, and there is nothing wrong with a business deal,” he observed. “Many of the ton’s strongest marriages are based on such understandings. You must know that as Duchess of Walden, you would have every advantage, freedom, and protection. Meanwhile, I would almost instantly acquire the ideal society wife. It would suit both of us perfectly.”

Lady Penelope said nothing, but she was evidently deep in thought, her hands resting lightly on the table. The sound of footsteps and muffled voices in the hallway made them both turn to the doorway.

“It sounds like we will soon have company again,” Maxwell said in a low voice. “I hear Duchess Madeline and other guests out there. Let us finish this conversation now before we are interrupted. Think about what I have said and what I have offered you. I do not require an immediate answer.”

The young woman nodded slowly, the tension having returned to her body with the sound of her brother’s voice nearby. Instinctively, Maxwell reached across the table and caressed her jaw lightly before he placed his larger hand over her smaller one.

“But think quickly, Lady Penelope,” he said, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “We may not have much time before Lord Silverbrook is fully conscious and talking sensibly again.”

Lady Penelope took a deep breath at this physical contact and looked up at him silently but did not attempt to withdraw her hand.

“I will give you my answer as soon as I can,” she told him equally softly.

A moment later, the breakfast room door opened again, and Maxwell turned his gesture into an innocent reaching for the salt cellar, his features revealing nothing of the nature of the conversation or moment of intimacy they had just shared.

“How is the patient, Duchess Madeline?” he asked as their hostess resumed her seat at the table.

“Drunk or concussed. Likely both,” Madeline opined. “Charles will stay with him until the physician arrives. Likely he needs only rest and recuperation, but he is our guest. I’m sorry to have abandoned you both here for so long with so little introduction.”

“We have made our own introductions,” Maxwell assured the duchess quickly. “I hope that Lady Penelope is going to be kind enough to help me find my way in society.”

Across the table, Penelope gave a smile that was all at once uncertain, longing, and fearful. Maxwell glanced at her, wishing he could silently communicate that it was in her power to put an end to such fears merely by accepting his proposal. As Duchess of Walden, she would be safe and free.

“Wonderful!” Madeline declared. “I’m very pleased to hear that. You could not have a better guide, Maxwell. I’m only sorry that your sister could not be here to meet Lady Penelope too. Now, let me tell you who I’m expecting at our ball later this week…”

“… Lord Paterson often speaks in the Lords on the importance of building English industry. He’s a reformer by nature, unlike his father…”

Penelope’s mind drifted wildly as Duchess Madeline sketched out the attendees at the ball scheduled for later that week at Huntingdon Manor, drawing attention to those in whom she thought that the Duke of Walden should take an interest.

Maxwell Crawford, the Duke of Walden, wished to marry her!? How could this be? The idea was simultaneously desperately attractive and also faintly repellent. In some ways, she felt like a sailor catching sight of an unknown and risky harbor with a major storm about to break on the horizon.

Penelope did not know Maxwell Crawford at all. All she could be sure of was that the Duke of Walden’s rank, influence, fortune, and physical size all considerably outweighed Lord Silverbrook’s. If he chose to, as her husband, he would be able to protect her from Henry, Frederick, and anyone else.

It did not seem likely that the duke was an immoral man, given the obvious friendship and regard given to him by the Duke and Duchess of Huntingdon, both known around the ton for their own high principles and good character.

But what if he were simply very clever and had deceived them? What if he turned out to be an even greater danger than those Penelope currently faced? She would be entirely helpless. And how could she be sure of anything until it was too late?

She could not, and in dread of the tempest that could destroy her, Penelope would still be forced to take her chances and make for the harbor the Duke of Walden offered. She recalled again that brief and reassuring touch of his hand a few minutes earlier.

“Don’t you agree, Penelope?” Duchess Madeline asked her, and Penelope paused, trying to recall whatever the question had been.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was distracted by the thought of another slice of that excellent fruit cake. Could you say that again?”

The duchess smiled and nodded.

“I was just asking whether you thought we should introduce Maxwell to Lord and Lady Statton, or wait for an occasion when his sister is with him. They have two daughters of similar age and interest to Victoria — very learned young ladies. But I wouldn’t want them to think I was trying to matchmake for Maxwell. Unless you wish that, Maxwell?”

“I require no assistance in that regard,” answered the duke with a knowing smile, offering Penelope the plate of fruitcake.

She blushed slightly as she thanked him and took a piece of cake to her plate without meeting those steadfast blue eyes, overfull of promises, self-assurance, and disturbing interest. She had seen men leering before and felt nothing but distaste and contempt. The Duke of Walden’s eyes held something of the same hunger but were unashamed and without disrespect.

The thought that he found her physically pleasing both unnerved and intrigued Penelope, calling forth an unfamiliar answering longing from her depths. Such feelings were dangerous, Penelope told herself, and she tried to resist them.

It was hard to think clearly in the face of present threats. The currents this man was stirring inside her were certainly not helping, but where else could she turn for help?

“Are you sure, Maxwell?” Madeline commented. “You did tell us last time we met that finding a bride was high on your list of priorities. There is no need for reticence before Lady Penelope. She has been out for four seasons now and knows very well that men of high station require suitable wives.”

“It is very much a priority for me, but I hope I can accomplish it without inconveniencing my friends,” the Duke of Walden said easily, his face not betraying even a hint of the fact that he had proposed to Penelope not ten minutes earlier. “When I am ready, I shall tell you and Charles my thoughts before anyone else, Duchess. Now, the question of Lord and Lady Statton…”

“Why not introduce His Grace to Lord Statton while he is alone?” Penelope suggested, gazing at her plate as if in thought. “That would not be misconstrued. I am sure Lady Statton will take several tours of the ballroom with her daughters, and her husband does not care for dancing. He will likely be in the supper room or conservatory for much of the night.”

“Absolutely,” Madeline concurred. “You see, Maxwell. I told you that Lady Penelope would be the perfect social guide for you. You will find no one with better judgement in such matters.”

“I fully believe that, Duchess Madeline,” said the Duke of Walden with a respectful inclination of his head to both ladies. “I am in your hands, Lady Penelope."

When Penelope did now raise her eyes to his, the warmth and assurance of his handsome blue-eyed smile made her feel almost lightheaded. Surely, they were both aware of the irony of his words. Knowing her secret meant that her whole life was in his hands, one way or another.

All too soon, she must give Maxwell Crawford an answer to his proposal. While accepting his hand felt like the biggest risk she had ever taken, she realized with dismay that she might find it impossible to say no…