Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

“ D uchess Penelope, at last! I have been watching and waiting all afternoon for a single moment I could speak to you alone,” the unexpected arrival announced with rather breathless excitement.

It was the silver-haired woman, Lady Silverbrook, her purposeful smile and overly interested eyes somehow not quite right in her shy, thin face. Despite her proactive hunting down of Penelope, there was something of a frightened animal about this woman. Still, scared and wounded animals could be the most dangerous of all.

“I didn’t know anyone was behind me!” Penelope excused her initial reaction brusquely, picking up a hand towel and drying her face, not wishing to show just how much the intrusion had disconcerted her. “You came in very quietly.”

The woman made no apologies and gave no explanation for her behavior but instead launched into a series of baffling questions and statements.

“That man never leaves you alone, does he? You poor woman. Everywhere you turn, he is always there. Even when you walk away, I can see his eyes following you. Always. It’s all just as Henry said.”

“What?!” replied Penelope, disturbed and confused by such odd speech and keen to escape it. “I must return to my husband. Good afternoon, Lady Silverbrook.”

“That man won’t miss you for a few more minutes,” said the woman, putting a rather limp and cold hand on Penelope’s wrist.

Penelope shook the woman off violently, finding her touch repulsive, as though it stemmed from Henry himself.

“Don’t be afraid, Your Grace,” said Lady Silverbrook eagerly. “I mean you no harm. Henry said that you were very ill-used and might be skittish but I understand. My son protects me from the world, just as my husband did before him, but I know it to be a very wicked place. Oh, you poor girl…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Penelope declared starkly, wondering whether the woman was actually mad, and this was why she did not normally go about in society. “Please step out of my way.”

If Lady Silverbrook was not in her right mind, perhaps there was even a taint of hereditary insanity in the family? That would make some sense of Lord Silverbrook’s behavior, too.

“Henry wants only to help you, Your Grace. My son would do anything for you. Anything! He asked me only to give you this. The outpourings of a loving heart.”

The dowager viscountess thrust a letter into Penelope’s hand and stepped back before she could refuse it, smiling happily at having completed her designated task.

“I barely know your son, Lady Silverbrook,” Penelope said, speaking now with cold civility. “I do not think it proper that he should send me unsolicited correspondence. I shall mention this matter to Lady Franton too. I believe that you may not understand the implications of your actions.”

She tried to return the folded paper several times, but the older lady made no move to accept it, her hands now behind her back.

“Henry told me that he fell in love with you the first time that he saw you, dearest Penelope. That’s when he knew you were the only woman in the world for him. All the others were only ever a distraction from you. He says that most ladies of the ton are only whores at heart but you are his dream…”

Penelope shuddered, now convinced that this woman was mad and that Lord Silverbrook’s entire family was likely warped in some way. She wanted only to get away from this pitiful and disturbing creature.

“I repeat, Lady Silverbrook, I barely know your son, and what I do know, I do not like. Speak no more of him to me and move aside.”

Still, the dowager appeared not to hear Penelope’s words, her face unnaturally dreamy and disconnected from reality as she continued to talk. She held out her hands towards Penelope as though pleading with her and forcing her to take several steps back to avoid contact.

“Henry always wanted to know you properly but your brother refused to help him. By the time poor Henry got the chance to declare his feelings, it was too late and you were committed to that upstart Walden. Love cannot be commanded, however, and still my Henry can’t forget you, even though you’re now another man’s wife. Henry said he would take you regardless of that…”

“Ugh! I refuse to listen to any more of this improper and ill-mannered madness,” Penelope shouted, finally pushing forcibly past the woman and making her escape back into the gardens.

There, she realized that she still was still holding the unwelcome letter in her hand. It might have been better if she had screwed it up and thrown it back at Lady Silverbrook, but without knowing its contents, it seemed unwise to leave such a letter lying about where other guests might find it.

Shaking with anger, revulsion, and hurt, Penelope stepped behind some bushes and reluctantly unfolded the page. She soon wished that she had not. Despite sending the missive with his own mother, the pages Henry Atwood had written were a morass of obscenities, threats, and unhinged pleading.

In reaction, Penelope’s stomach heaved, and she found herself retching into the bushes, losing any of the food that she had managed to take that afternoon.

That was the undignified position in which Maxwell found her a few minutes later: sick, disordered, and tearful on the grass behind the bushes, with that godawful letter scrunched up in her hand.

“There you are, Penelope. I’ve been looking for you. Lady Colville has invited us to dinner next Friday and we should…Penelope?”

“Leave me alone,” she protested at first, turning away. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Penelope,” the duke said gently, coming to kneel beside her and dab her tear and sweat-damp face with his handkerchief. “You’re ill. I shall get a physician.”

“I am not ill,” Penelope objected despite the unarguable evidence to the contrary. “ I do not need a physician.”

Unable to explain fully, she held out the letter to him and then did her best to rectify her disorderly appearance while he read before anyone else might come along.

The Duke of Walden’s face quickly turned as black as a thunderstorm as he grasped the nature of the note.

“Is he here? I shall wring his neck if he has trespassed on my estate. He has certainly trespassed on my wife’s peace. That rake has had warnings enough.”

“No,” Penelope stopped her husband’s mounting anger with a hand on his forearm. “He is not here. He merely tricked his mother into bringing it. She’s Lady Franton’s cousin and I believe she’s weak-minded from what I’ve seen of her. They will leave soon enough and there is nothing more to be done, other than for me to pay more attention to final guest lists in future.”

She made an attempt to rise to her feet but stumbled with a fresh wave of unanticipated dizziness.

“What is wrong with me?!” Penelope exclaimed as she found herself held up by Maxwell. “I have never fainted in my life.”

“That letter would shock anyone,” Maxwell muttered, passing an arm about her waist and looking around in indecision over which path to take. “If we didn’t need to keep it as evidence, I would burn it.”

“What he said about telling Frederick unless I…ugh! I cannot even say the words aloud. But I must tell Frederick myself. I see that now. There is no other way.”

“We can tell Frederick together, if that is what you wish,” her husband offered soberly. “But I think you are right and this might go on forever if we do not end it on our own terms. We can talk of this tomorrow. Now, we must get you inside.”

“But I can’t leave,” Penelope said plaintively. “The party won’t be over for hours yet and there are still several guests I wanted you to meet with me.”

“You have done enough,” Maxwell insisted. “More than enough. Now, my Duchess of Walden, if you don’t stop struggling and come quietly, I shall pick you up and carry you inside in front of everyone.”

These words were spoken with a smile and good intention but still Penelope suspected that he meant what he said. The thought of his care warmed her yet again.

Presently unable to do much else, she let him lead her through the kitchen garden and the door to the kitchens themselves, passing quickly by the busy maids and footmen, and along the corridor towards the main house.

An open door showed Mrs. Kenton counting and folding away some unused tablecloths in a linen cupboard.

“Mrs. Kenton?” Maxwell called, instantly gaining the startled woman’s attention. “Duchess Penelope is indisposed. Please could you arrange for one of the more discreet maids to run a warm bath and look after my wife until I’ve seen off the final guests later?”

“There is no need to fuss,” Penelope protested again. “I might only have eaten something that disagreed with me. I should change my dress and go back outside with you, Maxwell.”

“The duke is right, Your Grace, if you’ll allow me,” said the plain-speaking older woman, taking in the sight of Penelope with a knowledgeable eye. “You’ve done your part today and you can’t be too careful with your health, even when you’re young and strong. I’ll run the bath myself and put some lavender salts in. You’ll rest all the better and feel right as rain in the morning.”

The duke nodded to these suggestions, his arms folded and expression kindly but implacable. There was no point in arguing with this united front.

“Very well,” Penelope sighed, accepting that Maxwell was not going to let her return outside in her present condition and glad to be relieved of the possibility of seeing Lady Silverbrook again. “Thank you Mrs. Kenton.”

“I will come upstairs as soon as I can,” the duke assured both of them, his tone and expression once more almost convincing Penelope that he really cared for her.

Sometimes, that would be so easy to believe, but she knew it couldn’t be true. They had a business arrangement, not a love match. She was presumably as much a valuable asset as a person to Maxwell Crawford, somewhere between a racehorse and a favored dog. Still, he was the kind of man who was always good to animals and children.

Penelope decided it would be easier to be with Mrs. Kenton, who was only doing a job, than with Maxwell, whose motivations only confused her.

Penelope drifted back to wakefulness some hours later at the faint sound of footsteps on the carpet of her room.

“It’s only me,” said Maxwell’s voice as soon as she stirred in the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I only wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m much better,” she said with a yawn as he approached her bedside and set a small lamp down on the table there. “What time is it? Already after ten o’clock! I didn’t realize how tired I was until I got out of that bath. Perhaps I am ill.”

“I suspect you only needed rest,” Maxwell said. “But we should be careful with you for a while. Mrs. Kenton said that she has a good tonic for women and will send some up tomorrow if you wish.”

Handsome, good, and solicitous of her health – Penelope’s heart pricked again with longing and then hurt as he sat on the edge of her bed. It really wasn’t fair that he should come to her like this and then just walk away. It left her wondering what was real and what actually mattered to Maxwell Crawford.

Suddenly raw again as all the soothing softness of sleep fell away from her, Penelope sat up in bed and looked harder at Maxwell in the candlelight. She had already been blunt with her older brother once today and was now moving towards the same approach with her husband.

“Do you even like me, Maxwell?” she asked abruptly. “Or are you only here out of duty or propriety?”

He looked confused, and Penelope’s irritation at his cluelessness stepped up several more levels.

“I don’t understand,” Maxwell answered cautiously. “Do you want me to go?”

Did she? Rather than stand there, adding to her sadness and frustration at the uncrossable distance between them, yes, she did want him to go. But there was something she wanted even more, and this felt like the last chance she could give him.

“Kiss me,” Penelope demanded, hearing how the words sounded like a challenge. “If you want to be here with me right now, Maxwell, then kiss me.”

Kneeling up on the bed in her nightgown, she put her hands on his shoulders and found his lips with her own, questing and then exploring lightly in search of the response she needed so badly. It was not long before Maxwell’s arms came around her lightly-clad body, and his mouth moved hungrily on hers.

“Now take me, Maxwell,” she ordered him, even while part of her was shaking at her own temerity in making such a demand.

Were wives meant to do this? How could Penelope know? The duke hesitated, even though his breathing had become louder and harder, indicating that her approach was not unwelcome, even if inappropriate in some way.

Penelope decided that if he left her now, she would never invite him again ever, no matter how much she might wish to. He kissed her again lightly and caressed her face.

“Penelope, you’ve been unwell. Are you sure…? I’m trying very hard not to…”

“Well, stop trying not to! I’m your wife, Maxwell,” Penelope said frustratedly, lifting her nightgown over her head and dropping it on the floor. “You must take me, or I don’t know what will become of us.”

“God, you beautiful woman!” he exclaimed, voice suddenly thickened with lust and excitement as he seized her again in his arms and gave his hands and mouth free rein.

“Yes!” Penelope gasped as he finally wrestled her to the bed, kissing her mouth passionately as he grappled with his own clothing and then spread her legs.

Then, Maxwell’s manhood was at her entrance and surging into her slick depths, more than ready for him after weeks of frustration despite the suddenness of their coupling tonight.

Penelope wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out her pleasure at the rhythm and heat of his body in hers. Her hands pulled blindly at his clothes, finding their way beneath his shirt. She needed him so badly, needed this deep and intimate union of their bodies, and refused to be denied any longer.

Tonight, Maxwell found and caressed her small button of pleasure while holding his rod full inside her, sending Penelope over the edge and into ecstasy while he was still in control of himself. Then he spun her over onto her hands and knees, pushing back into her soft, wet passage and thrusting deeper than she had ever felt before.

Their congress was now animal and instinctive, Penelope grinding her hips into him at each thrust, moaning and whimpering for more. She really did feel like some female animal with her mate, overwhelmed by biological needs and temporarily blind to anything beyond her body and his.

When Maxwell drove her to a second irresistible peak, Penelope seized handfuls of the sheets in her fists as the waves of sensation washed through her, and his organ throbbed as his seed found its home once more. Yes! He was hers, and she was his, and all would be well…

Finally satisfied, with her husband curled around her body and breathing next to her ear, Penelope fell back into another deep sleep.