Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

“ W onderful day for your garden party, Maxwell!” Victoria called out as she came galumphing up the main staircase towards him in a most peculiar outfit that seemed somewhere between a traveling dress, a worker’s overall and a pair of man’s leggings. “The sun is shining and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.”

“It is,” Maxwell agreed, his brows rising as he took in her appearance. “But please tell me you’re not planning to wear that .”

Victoria laughed at this injunction and twirled around.

“You don’t like my self-designed exercise suit for women? I have been testing it out in the woods with a friend. You should see how easy it is to jump a gate in this attire. But no, for your party, I was planning on blue muslin with a cream sash. Unless you require me to demonstrate jumping a gate?”

“I do not,” the duke said firmly but with a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I require you only to be a civilized human being. Go and change. I must find Penelope and check that everything is in order.”

As his sister departed, Maxwell took a final satisfied glance out of the upper landing window at the marquees, tables, games, and other amusements already laid out around the upper grounds of Walden Towers. All seemed to have taken shape as he and Penelope had envisaged and instructed. He must make a note to commend his staff on their efforts.

Today was the first garden party given by the Duke and Duchess of Walden, and in fact, their first act of large-scale hospitality beyond immediate family and old friends.

“All is well, Soames?” he asked the butler as he finally descended the staircase and met the man walking briskly through the hallway.

“Very much so, Your Grace,” nodded Soames. “There were some last minute questions of certain guests bringing additional family members but Mrs. Kenton has resolved all issues with the duchess and everything is running like clockwork.”

“Excellent,” Maxwell said, glad that Penelope had been able to tidy up such minor loose ends while he was busy working on a draft framework for the new Lloyds intelligence network.

The Lloyds of London senior legal officer would be at today’s garden party. There would be much to discuss both with Adam Finch and several well-regarded Merchant Navy figures. Maxwell had appreciated his uninterrupted hours that morning to gather his thoughts.

Naturally intelligent, socially adept, and good at managing the staff, Penelope had more than met his expectations as Duchess of Walden in every respect. His bargain with this young lady had been a shrewd one.

Penelope herself appeared from the drawing room almost as soon as he thought of her, examining a handwritten list with careful concentration. She gave a small and efficient smile when she saw Maxwell and lowered the paper.

“Our final list of house-guests staying tonight after the party – not too many. Your friend Adam Finch, one of your second cousins from Scotland, my mother, and that nice lady mathematician from Italy who is visiting Victoria.”

“Vera Giordano,” Maxwell remembered and gave a little laugh at the thought of his sister and the Italian lady performing their odd exercises out in the woods earlier that day. “Yes, Victoria wishes to introduce her to Sir Nigel Leveson so I do hope he remembers to turn up. He does not have a good memory for social events.”

“His sister has promised to deliver him,” Penelope said. “I exchanged notes with her yesterday and all seems well.”

“You’re a marvel,” Maxwell said appreciatively, instinctively reaching out to touch Penelope but finding that she had unobtrusively already stepped back from him and was making her way toward the gardens.

“The larger food arrangements are being set up now, including the roast meats and whole salmon. I’ll go outside to supervise and make sure Mrs. Kenton is happy,” she called back as she walked away. “She was worried earlier about the number of tablecloths. Then I should dress.”

Maxwell watched Penelope go, still grateful for her efforts but now also forced to acknowledge his sense of puzzlement. His wife had been a little like this all week, friendly but distant – ever since the Highgate Fair.

That day, he felt closer to her than ever, at least for a little while. But as soon as they got back to Walden Towers that night, it was as though someone had blown out a candle and left him in bewildering darkness.

Maybe something had happened even earlier when he had mused over the idea that they might lead separate lives and meet on schedule. Penelope had seemed to react without enthusiasm or objection, as though she had expected it all along. But her feelings had been somehow shut away from him ever since.

The duke realized that he no longer caught his wife looking at him with a wistful longing that mirrored his own. Instead, she seemed eternally busy and focused on other things, always activities and tasks that benefited him and could, therefore, not be valid subjects of complaint.

Nor had Penelope waited for him on the stairs at night as she had in earlier weeks, shyly making it clear that she would welcome him in her bed. Unfortunately, the withdrawal of her obvious interest was as frustrating and distracting to Maxwell as its display had been earlier.

He could not help wondering what he might have done and even whether he might put it right and regain that glowing flame that had animated their first interactions. Should he even try when he had so little time and energy to give her?

With a sigh, he resigned himself to confusion, deciding to go back upstairs to Victoria and let her know in person of Miss Leveson’s commitment to delivering her absent-minded brother.

“Lord and Lady Martin, we’re so glad you could be here. Do have some champagne…”

“Lord and Lady Statton, you are very welcome to Walden Towers. Have you ever visited before..?”

“Sir Thomas, how good of you to make the time. We know that government business does not stop entirely during the parliamentary recess, whatever the schedule might say…”

Penelope was glad when the guests began to arrive and she and Maxwell could make such light and meaningless conversations. It was easier to be with Maxwell with others around, the superficial chatter and goodwill diluting the now-constant ache in her heart.

It was somehow worse that Maxwell was so considerate and principled. To have one's heart broken by an evil man was only to be expected, but how could someone good be the source of such pain?

Anyway, there was no point in dwelling on the matter. Maxwell had made it abundantly clear that their marriage was only a business deal to him and Penelope’s company, only a diversion to be sampled when he was not otherwise engaged. She must learn to live with that, and she would.

“Lady Franton, I’m sorry that your husband was called away on business, but you and your cousin are very welcome.”

Penelope kindly greeted two newly arriving middle-aged ladies, knowing the brusque lady with dark hair, at least slightly from previous seasons, but the smaller, thin, and silver-haired woman not at all.

“So kind,” gushed the unknown woman with peculiar enthusiasm and slightly inappropriate familiarity, her eyes intensely focused on Penelope. “So kind of you to allow Ellen to bring me at such short notice. I’d heard of your immense kindness before but I’m glad to have the chance to see it myself. I do hope we will have the chance to talk today…”

“Let us take some champagne, Susan,” interrupted Lady Franton, to Penelope’s relief, finding herself a little bewildered by the odd little woman who was evidently Lady Franton’s cousin. “Her Grace has other guests to greet. Come along. Remember what Henry always says to you about discretion in company.”

As they passed onward, Lady Franton leaned back and whispered to Penelope.

“Do excuse my cousin Lady Silverbrook, Your Grace. She does not get out very much and I think she is overwhelmed.”

Penelope stared at the departing backs of the two ladies as though one single word dropped by Lady Franton had been an arrow that stopped her in her tracks: Silverbrook. Beside her, Maxwell was still engrossed in some political conversation with Sir Thomas Morley and had noticed nothing of the two ladies.

She remembered that there had been several last-minute additions to the guest list as companions to existing guests, but how could she have missed this name of all names? She would never knowingly have invited Henry Atwood’s mother into their home, regardless of how blameless she might be in herself.

Racking her brains for an explanation, Penelope recalled her surprise at seeing that Lady Stillburgh would be joining the party, that lady being well over eighty and normally resident in the north. Had she simply misread Mrs. Kenton’s handwriting? It seemed likely that she had. How foolish…

With a shiver, Penelope looked around as though Lord Silverbrook might have followed his mother into Walden Towers. No, that could not happen. She knew for a fact that he was well and truly blacklisted here, his name and description given to Soames and the footmen as an individual who was not welcome under any circumstances, ever.

Putting a smile back on her face and taking a deep breath, Penelope turned to greet the next guests. One innocuous, if apparently slightly dotty, older lady could not do any harm, could she?

Despite never having hosted a large event of her own before, Penelope had watched enough hostesses in her time and had enough native tact and good sense to play the role perfectly.

“You’ve performed wonders today,” murmured her mother with a fond kiss for Penelope and a touch of Maxwell’s forearm as they welcomed her to their home for the first time. “How beautiful the grounds look! What a good idea to have those little ponies out for the children! I’m sure the ton will talk of the Duke and Duchess of Walden’s garden party for the rest of the season.”

The remark seemed to please Maxwell, who was naturally aiming to make exactly that kind of a splash. Penelope herself accepted the compliment with a hint of sadness. Already weighed down by the reality of her marriage, her melancholy only increased as she remembered peeping through banisters many years ago at Heartwick Hall to watch her own mother hosting events at her father’s side.

Nowadays, the Dowager Duchess of Heartwick herself hosted little more than afternoon teas for close friends. While not among those ladies who adopted the permanent mourning dress, Penelope’s mother had only ever graduated back to grays, muted browns, and other neutral shades as her widowhood advanced. She was truly a shadow of her former self.

It seemed strange to think of her mother in shimmering gowns and diamond necklaces, laughing beside the former Duke, a heartier and stouter version of Frederick in Penelope’s memory. Today, the dowager duchess wore a finely-cut but plain dove-gray walking suit and pearls, with her hair in a simple twist.

Maxwell was busying himself with some other political gentleman to his right, presently having no need of Penelope and leaving her a few moments with her mother.

“Is Frederick here yet?” her mother asked then, the anxious tone of her voice pulling Penelope out of her reverie. “I must consult him on the final guest list for the Heartwick Hall open house. I did send him a copy as usual but have heard nothing.”

“He’s not here yet, but I shall tell him to find you when he arrives,” Penelope replied. “I’m sure he will not have anything to add and that is the only reason he has not replied yet. He doesn’t usually make any comment, does he? I would not trouble yourself, Mother.”

“I suppose you’re right. Well, I shall leave you and Duke Maxwell to your other guests and explore the gardens until Frederick arrives.”

Penelope sighed as her mother walked away with another widowed friend. She well knew Frederick’s disinterested attitude to the one day of the year that his stepmother opened Heartwick Hall, generally receiving only a small group of older society matrons of long acquaintance. He would likely only roll his eyes and tell Penelope to tell his stepmother to do as she pleased.

Frederick would never, of course, attend anything at Heartwick Hall himself. This meant that other gentlemen stayed away, too, equally uninterested in drinking tea and talking about children and grandchildren with their wives and mothers. The dowager duchess only really consulted him about the annual open house out of propriety, Penelope supposed.

Or perhaps it was still affection, despite Frederick’s self-elected distance from them. Penelope remembered again how her mother had regarded Frederick on her wedding day as he gave his little speech, proud and sad at once. Why did it have to be like this?

“All is well with your mother?” Maxwell asked once the political gentleman had departed.

“Yes, but I must take a few minutes to speak to Frederick when he arrives. Mother has a small open house at Heartwick Hall once each summer with her friends and I want him to be kind and not yawn when she consults him about it. I don’t think he realizes how much his approval means.”

“When is it?”

“The last Thursday of this month. We’re due to attend, but if you have other plans, I could go alone. It is only a family gathering and my mother’s acquaintance is small. There will be little of interest for you, I’m afraid.”

“We shall both be there,” Maxwell announced with the solicitous tone Penelope was learning to be wary of. The warmth it always made her feel was directly proportional to her later sense of bewilderment and disappointment when he inevitably withdrew. “I am your family now.”

Penelope wished so much that he truly meant these words that it hurt. How could he speak them so lightly, and yet they could still crush her with their weight?

Biting her lip, she focused on the line of guests still to welcome and extended a hand and a smile towards the Earl and Countess of Stapworth.