Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

“ H asn’t the Duchess of Walden done a marvelous job with the house and garden today?” whispered Lady Neston to a female companion, both speaking under cover of their fans, and not realizing that Penelope was nearby, one of several women strolling about the busy middle lawn under cover of a low-tilted parasol.

“She’s done a marvelous job with the Duke of Walden too!” giggled the second woman. “No one would guess that he was new to the peerage, would they? He seems connected to everything and everyone. My brother is very keen indeed to know Walden since his marriage and you know how particular Archibald is in his acquaintance.”

“Well, the raw material was certainly good to begin with in the duke’s case,” added Lady Neston with a raised eyebrow and slightly ribald laugh. “An excellent figure of a man, if not quite top-drawer… Now his wife has entirely refined him. They’re certainly a fine pair to look at, aren’t they? If they were my horses, I would be expecting an equally fine foal.”

Both women laughed at the slightly crude joke and walked away out of earshot. This was only the latest and clearest of the murmurings of gossip that Penelope had heard around the gardens and in the ladies’ retiring rooms.

While such personal utterances made her feel self-conscious and exposed, they also revealed a general wave of goodwill and even admiration towards the new Duchess of Walden and her slightly rough-edged husband. Maxwell would doubtless be pleased when Penelope told him, although she would leave out any indecent humor, presently wary of intimacy as much as careful of morality.

Penelope could tell that Maxwell was already happy with the first hours of the garden party and with his duchess's comportment. For the majority of the afternoon so far, Penelope had remained close to her husband, pointing out good connections, gently flattering gentlemen, and building rapport with ladies.

In addition, the duchess encouraged youngsters to play outdoor games, persuaded elderly ladies to take comfortable seats for musical performances, and ensured that all guests had their fill of good food and drink. She dispatched maids to repair damaged dresses, footmen to return drunks to their carriages, and messenger boys to carry news of late departures and changed plans.

All in all, Penelope should have felt triumphant at the progress of the garden party and its reception by both her husband and guests. Instead, she was still sad and somewhat uneasy, increasingly aware of a slight silver-haired figure hovering on the edge of groups somewhere nearby throughout the afternoon, her eyes seemingly fixed on Penelope.

“Look, there’s Frederick. He must have slipped in late. Do excuse me for a few minutes, Maxwell.”

Finally spotting her brother further down the garden, Penelope took the opportunity to leave the duke’s side and walk briskly away. Moving faster than Lady Silverbrook might follow, she sought to temporarily escape both sources of her present stress.

As usual, Frederick’s handsome blonde face was drawing attention from young ladies around the garden, as well as some not so young. The Duke of Heartwick himself, however, smiled today only at his sister, at Miss Victoria Crawford, and particularly at the striking raven-haired Italian woman at Victoria’s side. Vera Giardino was presumably the latest target of his present charm, although not seemingly responsive to it.

“There you are, Frederick! Excuse me, Victoria, Miss Giardino, I must steal my brother away for a few minutes on family matters.”

Boldly slipping an arm through his, Penelope steered the Duke of Heartwick onto the path towards the orchards. Despite a brief flash of surprise, he did not resist.

“What is to do, little sister?” he asked curiously. “I was enjoying myself. Miss Giardino is in London by herself, I understand?”

If she had chosen to answer the first question entirely openly and honestly, Penelope would not have known where to begin. She still had insufficient confidence in Frederick’s reactions to attempt such a feat.

Even the basic facts were too much to share—she was trying to hide both from Henry Atwood’s weird mother and her own feelings for Maxwell, neither of which Frederick could be expected to understand.

“Oh, I just wanted a private word with you, Frederick. Nothing is wrong. Firstly, I should warn you that Miss Vera Giardino’s principle interests are women’s rights and mathematics, not men…”

“I feared as much,” Frederick laughed at this news. “Although Miss Giardino does have an exquisite smile. Perhaps I might see it again if I can think of an appropriate joke about parallelograms. What do you think?”

“It is not necessary that you flirt with every beautiful woman you meet, is it?” Penelope said with more primness than she really felt.

“No, but it is pleasant to do so,” he replied airily, patting her on the arm. “Married or not, you are no woman of the world, young Penelope. Now, was that all you wished to tell me?”

Penelope sighed and shook her head.

“There is also the question of Mother’s open house day at Heartwick Hall. She wishes to discuss it with you urgently.”

Frederick groaned theatrically, his reaction just as she had predicted earlier.

“Is it that time of year again already? Really, the dowager duchess must do as she sees fit with her old ladies’ tea party. Tell her that. It has nothing to do with me. I don’t consult her on gentleman I drink with at Boodles, do I?”

The unspoken tensions of the day finally got to Penelope, and she turned to her brother angrily, even uncharacteristically stamping her foot on the grass.

“Maybe you should!” she snapped at him, knowing that even without the assaults on Penelope, the Dowager Duchess of Heartwick would not approve of a dissolute man like Henry Atwood.

“What?”

“Never mind that. Frederick, would it really hurt you to spend five minutes showing some interest in the one day that my mother engages with the outside world? She doesn’t ask your opinion merely to bother you, but because she cares what you think, and you are the head of the family.”

“Steady on, Penelope!” the Duke of Heartwick said, his expression one of amazement. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about all this. It never seemed important to you before. Are you quite well?”

“Oh, why must we all be so beastly to one another!” Penelope continued, pushing back the tears that were springing into her eyes. “Why must we play such pointless games of evasion? It helps no one. Look, you’re the Duke of Heartwick and it would mean a lot to Mother if you only talked to her about the open house while you’re both here this afternoon.”

She was aware that her emotions and reactions were absurdly unequal to the subject under the present discussion, but she still saw no easy way to explain their real cause to her bewildered brother.

“Very well,” Frederick said at last, patting her on the back as though she were still a little girl to be soothed from temper so easily. “I shall find Stepmother and talk to her. More than that, I shall come to the open house day myself!”

“You don’t mean that,” Penelope reproached him. “Now you’re teasing me, but I am not naive Annabelle to give you the amusing response you seek. Only talk to Mother and be kind.”

“I mean every word, dear sister. Of course, I shall have to invite some of my friends too or I will be horribly bored. And we must have music and games, or they will be horribly bored in their turn. I shall invite Annabelle for you, of course, or she will be very put out. In the evening, we should hold a dance…”

Penelope looked at him incredulously. It seemed that Frederick was entirely in earnest after all.

“Thank you,” she said before he might change his mind. “I would appreciate whatever you can do. Come, I’ll show you where Mother is sitting with her friends, and you can discuss all this with her yourself.”

Returning along the path from the orchard again, Penelope pointed her brother towards the group of older women watching children ride the ponies around the lower field. Then, just as she was beginning to relax and reflect on how much better she felt for her half-honest conversation with Frederick, her skin began to crawl.

There was Lady Silverbrook yet again, drifting towards her with an expression of disconcerting eagerness. Raising her skirt slightly, Penelope set off instantly towards the buffet area, where she could see Maxwell’s tall form towering among some other gentlemen. Being under constant watch gave a horrible sense of foreboding, as though the woman had been sent to deliberately spy and report back for some future evil purpose.

In reality, Penelope knew this was only paranoia. Lord Silverbrook’s mother had simply accompanied her cousin on a day out, and neither lady likely had any idea of Henry’s awful behavior or Penelope’s antipathy towards him. She supposed that it was something that not even he would come home and boast about to his mother.

Whatever Lady Silverbrook’s reasons for being there and following her about, Penelope wished the woman would just go home or stare at someone else.

Taking Maxwell’s solid arm, she gladly joined his conversation with Lord and Lady Colville and the latter’s brother, who seemed to have something to do with shipping.

“Is something wrong?” Maxwell asked as they walked away from the Colville family a short while later, the discussion between the men apparently satisfactorily concluded. “You seemed a little out of sorts. Why not sit down with your mother? Or did you argue with Frederick? I have several rather dull but necessary conversations to have yet and you need not stay here if you’d rather not.”

When Penelope turned her head, Lady Silverbrook was now in the buffet tent, too, although she showed no sign of seeking refreshment or conversation. Again, her only focus seemed to be the party’s hostess.

“Nothing is wrong, but someone keeps staring at me,” Penelope admitted, wary of making a huge fuss over something so small and silly. “It really doesn’t matter, Maxwell. Let us just carry on as planned.”

“Likely they are simply as ravished as I am at the sight of you in that silk dress,” Maxwell commented gallantly. “How could any man not stare?”

“It isn’t a man,” said Penelope shortly, appreciative of his strength and stability but still unable to listen to remarks of feigned affection from her husband without a sense of despair. “I’m going to visit the retiring room. I won’t be long.”

This time, she slipped through the back of the tent and hurried up to the house along a slightly longer side path hidden by bushes. Hopefully, that would be enough to throw off her spy for a short while, at least.

In one of the smaller retiring rooms, Penelope relieved herself in privacy and then took some minutes to smooth her hair and compose her spirits before returning to the fray. Her reflection in the mirror looked tired and a little pale. Closing her eyes, Penelope splashed cold water on her face and rubbed her cheeks to bring back some color.

When she opened her eyes once more, Penelope jumped and gave a small involuntary cry of fright.

A silent figure stood behind her in the looking glass, its pale gaze trained on the duchess with unnerving intensity and unknown intent.