Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

“ L ook!” Penelope whispered to Maxwell and when he saw her eyes shining, his heart lifted on its own accord, as though they were shining for him. “I’ve never seen them together like this before.”

Following her sea-green gaze, he saw that she was looking at her brother and stepmother in the hallway, greeting guests together once servants had taken hats and cloaks. The guests were then directed to proceed through the garden drawing room, where the large French windows led out onto the lawns of Heartwick Hall, smaller than the Walden Towers estate but well-designed and neatly kept.

“You’d never guess that they didn’t do this all the time,” the duke returned with a smile, unable to really be cross with Penelope despite the intractable ache in his heart. “Frederick certainly knows how to turn on the charm, doesn’t he?”

Penelope’s vague smile of acknowledgment was maddening. But how could she know that he had really wanted her to rail at him and refuse to let him go when he had talked of separate living arrangements? Maxwell had not fully known it himself until the words were spoken and had done their damage on both sides. Too late.

“The Earl of Neston is here,” Penelope commented, her expression changing as she squeezed his arm to draw his attention to a man she knew that Maxwell particularly wanted to meet today, and then pointed him in the direction of their target. “Lady Neston, how wonderful to see you here…”

Forcing himself to focus, Maxwell shook hands with Lord Neston and quickly steered the conversation toward a parliamentary bill in which he had an interest. He hoped to join Lord Neston’s group of allies in the House of Lords.

“Excellent, it will be good to have another right-thinking peer on our bench. Too many in the Lords see taxes only as a source of income the government can draw on for its wars without returning benefits to the population. If enough of us press for improved housing, food, sewage systems and so on, we could make the English standard of living the envy of the world.”

While giving appropriate and encouraging responses to Lord Neston, and arranging to meet with him and his group of like-minded peers, Maxwell’s mind was partly still on Penelope. He realized that Lady Neston had already moved on, out into the gardens, likely uninterested in her husband’s political life.

Penelope’s eyes, meanwhile, were staring back toward her mother and brother in the hallway again. This time, with an expression of something like dread.

The Duke of Weldon could see nothing in view that might explain such a reaction, but perhaps his wife was worried about some clash or even only minor disharmony between her two relatives. He knew well enough of the distance between Frederick and his stepmother since the old Duke of Heartwick’s death. Such a chasm could not be closed in a single afternoon despite Penelope’s earlier optimism.

But reflecting at length on Penelope’s family issues was all too distracting, and he had to concentrate on what Lord Neston was saying to him. As a newcomer to the House of Lords, he would need allies of substance and experience in order to make any impact and avoid pitfalls.

“Why don’t you go and join your mother and Frederick?” Maxwell suggested to his wife a few minutes later. “Lord Neston and I have business to discuss and I don’t want to hold you back. Annabelle is likely waiting for you in the gardens.”

Lord Neston guffawed and nodded his balding and good-natured grey head in agreement.

“Lady Neston has already made it clear how dull our conversation is, Your Grace. No lady should be expected to endure the ins and outs of building political alliances in the House of Lords. I would take no offense at Duchess Penelope’s desertion, even though it deprives our small group of her undoubted radiance.”

While she retained her polite expression towards Lord Neston, Maxwell could see that Penelope was unhappy to be sent away from him. Still, he did not know why. For a moment, it seemed that she might object, but then she made her face blank once again.

“I shall go outside and take some air,” she announced and made a civil farewell to Lord Neston before marching briskly towards the gardens.

Looking again into the hallway, Maxwell saw only Frederick and the Dowager Duchess of Heartwick still occupied with the same slight and silvery-haired woman, clearly a rather voluble guest slightly holding up the receiving line. Mystified, he shook his head and returned his attention to his intended ally in the Lords.

“Women, eh?” chuckled the older peer. “A wonderful mystery to us all.”

Maxwell concurred and turned the discussion back towards political plans for the next session of parliament.

“Penelope! How marvelous it is to see Heartwick Hall like this. Those rocking horses and wooden swinging boats for the children are perfect, too. Frederick said I was smaller than some of the children and threatened to set me on one but I am not in the right gown and he must not. I am going to hide here with Stephen so that he won’t dare…”

“Later, Annabelle,” Penelope replied briefly, putting her friend off without stopping. “Do excuse me, Stephen.”

Taking deep breaths of air, the duchess walked swiftly through the growing crowds of people on the top lawn of Heartwick Hall. While she smiled politely at faces she recognized and took a glass from a tray in order that no one should offer to fetch one, she did not stop to talk. Instead, she tried to look purposeful enough that no one would detain her.

How on earth was that woman here? She was sure that her mother had no relationship with Lady Silverbrook, and Penelope again did not remember seeing her name, nor that of her son, on the guest list. It was not her party, of course, but Frederick had shared the list of acceptances at her request, and Lady Silverbrook’s name had not appeared.

Likely, the old beldame had simply come again as a relative or friend’s last-minute guest, and there was nothing Penelope could do about that at all. Nothing but tell Frederick herself exactly what manner of man his friend was and what he had done to her so that the name Silverbrook could be banned as firmly here as it was at Walden Towers.

“Damn it all!” she said under her breath, both frightened and vexed by the indirect harassment that she was sure Henry Atwood was deliberately inflicting on her by sending his mother out to places he knew Penelope would be present.

If he had given his mother another of those disgusting letters, Penelope determined that she would make the older woman read it and learn what kind of unwelcome things her son was writing to married ladies. Should she show it to Lady Franton, too?

Unfortunately, spreading the knowledge of Henry Atwood’s behavior raised the possibility of scandal for Penelope as much as shame for him. She would prefer it if she could avoid Lady Silverbrook entirely. At least, knowing the grounds of her childhood home, she had a better chance of doing that here than anywhere else.

With this idea in mind, Penelope made her way to the shrubbery where she and Maxwell had conversed earlier. The grounds were quiet on that side of the house, guests largely proceeding through the front door, out through the garden drawing room and down along the main paths to the rear gardens. Only family or staff would likely take the side paths to such a secluded area…

…or those who wished to watch without being seen.

“Damn, everything!” Penelope now said aloud, confident that no one could hear her cursing among the bushes and shrubs where she had once played hide and seek. “Damn Frederick, damn Walden Towers, and damn Maxwell Crawford!”

“Is it really that bad?” said a man’s voice with what sounded like mocking laughter. “You really have confirmed everything I ever suspected about you Duchess Penelope.”

While the voice itself prompted faint nausea and goosebumps, for a moment, Penelope did not see its owner. Then Henry Atwood jumped out from among the foliage, his sandy hair rather tousled and a devilish expression on his smug face.

Rooted to the spot with shock and fright, Penelope could not immediately react, her throat clenching and heart pounding wildly. It would be insane to insult or attack her a third time, with her husband and brother both somewhere on the grounds, especially after Maxwell’s previous threats. Then she remembered that Henry Atwood quite possibly was out of his mind and knew she was in real danger.

“Get out of here. You were not invited,” she managed to say at last, as sternly as she could, but with a tremor she could not hide.

Surreptitiously, she looked around for some weapon to defend herself but saw nothing. She would have only her own wits, and against this particular foe, that might not be enough.

“I was invited,” Lord Silverbrook insisted. “I’m one of your brother’s best friends, remember. Of course I was invited. I simply declined so that you would have no chance to veto me from the guest list. Oh yes, I know all your little games, Penelope… Then I turned up anyway - look, you may inspect my invitation card.”

He gave a wild and disturbing giggle as he waved it at her, the card signed by the Duke and Dowager Duchess of Heartwick explaining how he had got past the footmen at the front gate.

“There is something wrong with you, Lord Silverbrook,” Penelope declared. “To disturb Frederick’s party like this is not the act of a civilized man, and certainly not that of the friend you claim to be to him. Your mind is in need of physick and I believe you should consult a physician without delay.”

“And I believe you’re a little whore who is still pretending she doesn’t want me!” Henry Atwood retorted with gleeful fury. “That ends today, Penelope. I mean to have you, and when I’m done, Walden will be forced to divorce you. Remember what I wrote to you –”

Penelope threw the contents of her glass into his face before he could complete this sentence and then cried out as Henry caught hold of her wrist, the empty wineglass dropping to the grass.

“Let go of me!” she demanded, angry and frightened, not knowing whether she should scream or whether bringing a crowd of onlookers would only make the situation worse than it already was.

Further down the garden, a band began to play trumpets, clarinets, and string instruments, introducing a merry summer air at odds with Penelope’s present danger. Why had she wandered off on her own? She railed desperately at herself. It was because she had assumed she would be safe here of all places. Unfortunately, she had assumed wrongly.

“I know everything, you sweet little trollop,” Lord Silverbrook hissed. “I heard you and your duke talking together an hour ago on this very spot. It’s a fake marriage, isn’t it? No matter. When you leave with me and I send a message to Walden to say I have you, there’ll be the biggest society scandal in years. No one else will want you. You’ll be all mine.”

“I’m going nowhere with you, you scoundrel. Get your hands off me!” Penelope stormed as Lord Silverbrook pulled her closer to him and seized her around the waist.

She twisted violently to avoid the mouth with which he was attempting to kiss her, but he was too strong for her to escape his grasp completely. She could also smell alcohol on his breath and remembered what Maxwell had told her about Lord Silverwood’s misuse of medications. Henry Atwood was likely drunk and drugged as well as mad.

“Once I’ve had you, you’ll sing a very different tune, I’m sure,” he gloated. “Is it because it’s a fake marriage that you’re all dressed up in white like a virgin today? Or is that only to tempt me further? Of course, I don’t believe for a moment that you might still have your maidenhead. But I’m going to enjoy making sure of it…”

Now Penelope knew she had to scream regardless of the consequences, only hoping that the sound would be audible above the strains of the music. Unfortunately, it was too late; one of Henry Atwood’s hands was already coming down to cover her mouth.

“I saw Penelope go out into the garden and take a glass of champagne a few minutes ago. Then she vanished,” said Annabelle with an expression of puzzlement. “I tried to talk to her but she looked busy and I assumed she had to speak to someone but now I can’t see her anywhere. Can you Stephen?”

“Duchess Penelope looked distressed to me, rather than busy,” remarked Lord Emberly, shaking his head in answer to his sister’s query. “Had something upset her, Your Grace? Is there anything I might assist with?”

Maxwell swallowed, cursing his earlier self-absorption at a critical moment. He had not known that the silver-haired little woman in the hallway was Lady Silverbrook until he noticed her staring malevolently at him. He had asked Lord Neston for her identity.

“That’s the Dowager Viscountess of Silverbrook,” the older man had chortled. "Mad as a March Hare by all accounts, but harmless enough. I’m surprised to see her out, frankly. I thought her son kept her at home for her own good. I wonder what she’s doing here without him?”

Lord Neston did not notice Maxwell blanch and stiffen at this uncontentious news.

“Excuse me, Lord Neston. I must find my wife.”

“Absolutely, Your Grace. I must find my own and tell her that Lady Silverbrook is here. She’ll be tickled, I know. I’ll see you in the Lords…”

Without waiting even for the man to finish speaking, Maxwell walked away to advise the Dowager Duchess of Heartwick that Henry Atwood’s mother should be removed discreetly to a private sitting room for the sake of her health while the servants located her cousin.

Then he went in search of Penelope. Presumably, she was shaken up and afraid of receiving another of those vile letters. Aside from telling Frederick, it was becoming clear to Maxwell that stronger measures would be needed to make Viscount Silverbrook and his mother desist from this harassment. Well, he was ready and willing to take them.

Spotting Annabelle and Stephen, he had hoped they would at least be able to point him in the right direction to locate Penelope. But it seemed not.

“You may be right, Lord Emberly,” Maxwell admitted. “Penelope has been a little unwell this week and the party might be overwhelming today in this heat.. If you see her, do tell her I am looking for her.”

“We shall look for Penelope too, if she is unwell, shan’t we, Stephen? I know she would look for me.”

“Naturally,” her brother answered with his usual stiff bow. “We will take the lower lawns as you are searching up here, Duke Maxwell.”

As they moved off, Frederick appeared from the drawing room doors into the garden, evidently having finished or abandoned the receiving line in the hallway. He, too, was casting his eyes around the garden as though in search of someone or something. Likely some woman or other, Maxwell thought to himself with irritation.

Catching one another’s eye, they approached each other and began speaking at the same time.

“Have you seen…”

It was the blond-haired Duke of Heartwick who completed his sentence first, making Maxwell’s eyes open wide.

“…Lord Silverbrook?”

“Silverbrook?!” the Duke of Walden almost snarled, his original assumptions dashed and immediately forgotten at the mention of this accursed name. “Is that villain here at Heartwick Hall?”

“Steady on, man!” said his brother-in-law, evidently taken aback and confused at this extremely strong response. “It’s news to me, but his mother seems to think he’s here somewhere. He declined the invitation so I wasn’t expecting him. Has Henry done something to offend you? I know he disgraced himself at Huntingdon Manor and you’re Charles’s friend, but Henry admits he has problems…”

“Offend me? Silverbrook has done something to offend all of us,” Maxwell snapped, hearing his voice become something close to a growl. “He’s an outrage to all decent people. But I really must find Penelope if he is here.”

“What?”

Part of him wanted to stop and finally reveal all to the still-unknowing Duke of Heartwick, but he was all too aware that if Henry Atwood was present, then Penelope was not safe for a single minute. Maxwell Crawford had made a solemn promise that he would protect her, and he always kept his promises.

Leaving an astonished-looking Frederick behind him, the Duke of Walden stalked away, racking his brains. Would Penelope have come back inside? No, either Annabelle or Maxwell would have seen her. If she had gone down to the lower lawns, she would be surrounded by the people now milling there, enjoying the food and drink, and likely safe in their company.

Remembering the route they had taken around the side of the house on arrival, he walked quickly back in the same direction, following little more than a hunch. He could not say exactly what, but something disturbed him at the thought of Penelope being alone in that spot.

Maxwell also remembered the rustling from the shrubbery and the sense of being watched, which he had attributed to the cat. But what had made that cat screech and run away so fast? Had there been someone in those bushes?

Putting two and two together, Maxwell broke into a run and reached the shrubbery within seconds, the sight of the two figures struggling on the ground spurring him on to run faster than he’d known he could.

“You’d bite me, would you, you little bitch?” Lord Silverbrook was saying angrily as the Duke of Walden came within earshot, holding up a hand that had been across Penelope’s mouth a moment earlier. “If you want it rough, you can have it rough…”

“Penelope!” Maxwell shouted as Henry Atwood raised his hand to strike the helpless woman struggling beneath him.

Before Lord Silverbrook could fulfill any further physical threat, the duke was there, wrenching the attacker from his wife and driving his fist into the other man’s jaw with a force that sent him flying into a bush.

“Maxwell!” Penelope sobbed, pulling herself up and rushing to him. “Oh God, Maxwell.”

“I’m here,” he said, holding her close as she burrowed her head into his chest and wept with fear and relief. “You’re safe now. Did he hurt you? I’ll break his vile neck if he did anything more than I saw.”

Penelope shook her golden head.

“You came in time,” she said. “He meant to dishonor me and then take me away with him by force. He wanted to disgrace me and make you divorce me.”

“That would never happen,” Maxwell said wrathfully, stroking her hair and glaring at the still but moaning figure on the ground near the shrubbery. “You are my wife, Penelope. Forever.”

“She was the one who approached me,” Lord Silverbrook suddenly said, attempting to pull himself up from the ground and gingerly examining his jaw with his fingers. “It’s not the first time either. She was all over me at Huntingdon Hall.”

“That’s not what I saw,” retorted the Duke of Walden acidly at this absurd assertion. “As you should well know, I seem to have had a ringside view of your behavior on both occasions.”

It was then that Maxwell realized that Henry Atwood was not addressing him. The man’s eyes focused on someone else behind them, standing in stunned silence. Turning his head, he saw Frederick, the younger man’s face horrified by the scene before him.

“How long have you been there?” Maxwell questioned.

“Long enough to know I’ve been taken for a fool,” Frederick snapped, clearly having grasped the meaning of what had unfolded in that spot in recent minutes.

Action was not long in following speech. Rushing across the grass, the Duke of Heartwick hauled Lord Silverbrook up by the neck and punched him in the face.

“Penelope set out to seduce me from the first moment I saw her,” Henry Atwood pleaded thickly, blood now running down his face from a broken nose and split lip.

In his arms, Penelope looked up at Maxwell with mute horror of her own, evidently still fearful of whom her brother might believe. The duke nodded, ready to tell Frederick the whole story, including what he had witnessed at Huntingdon Manor. But it seemed that she need have no fear after all. The Duke of Heartwick was too irate to even listen to Silverbrook’s lies.

“How dare you lay hands on my sister and speak to her in such a way! How dare you!”

Enraged, Frederick had pulled his former friend to his feet and then knocked him down again.

“Get to your feet, damn you, and take what’s coming to you like a man!” he exploded, certainly no pretty-faced playboy now. “I should kill you for this insult!”

“He must not!” Penelope gasped and broke from Maxwell’s arms to rush towards her brother. “Oh God! Please, Frederick, he is not worth it. You must not hang for such a creature.”

In his frenzy, the Duke of Heartwick seemed not to hear her, but Maxwell had. Heeding the warning, he quickly crossed the space and seized the squirming and bloodied Lord Silverbrook from Frederick’s hands, holding him up above the ground with handfuls of his clothing.

“No one is going to kill this piece of rubbish. Silverbrook will be leaving the country this very day.”

“Why would I do that, over the claims of a worthless whore?” Henry Atwood wheezed foolishly, causing Maxwell’s hands to tighten on him and Frederick to advance menacingly once more.

“You will leave the country because if you don’t, I will have you certified as insane by three physicians and put away. My witness, Duke Frederick’s, and that deranged and improper letter you wrote to Duchess Penelope should be sufficient grounds, although it seems that your family’s reputation for mental instability can only help. Is that how you want to live out the rest of your natural life?”

“But I’ve never been out of England,” Lord Silverbrook continued to protest as Maxwell lowered his feet to the ground but continued to keep a tight hold. “I don’t know how to leave.”

“A lawyer I know will make all the arrangements and see you to a ship on the coast leaving on the next tide. Go to your house now and pack a bag. If you are not there when a man called Adam Finch calls for you later today, I will immediately begin proceedings to have you declared insane.”

“But Frederick, I’m your friend,” the wretched man now said, turning his bleeding face to the Duke of Heartwick in a grotesque attempt at a smile. “Surely that must count for something. Remember all the good times we’ve had.”

“It will be as Duke Maxwell says. Now, get out of my sight,” Frederick answered tersely, barely able to look at the man.

As Maxwell released him, Henry Atwood stumbled and almost fell before running off unevenly towards the front of the house and, hopefully, to the carriage that would take him out of their lives forever.

“I’m sorry, Frederick, I’m so sorry,” Penelope said now, going to her brother’s side and following his bleak and silent gaze on Lord Silverbrook’s flight from Heartwick Hall.

“It was not Penelope’s fault,” Maxwell spoke up swiftly to remove any possible grounds for misunderstanding between the siblings. “I saw what happened at Huntingdon Manor too. Lord Silverbrook is a dangerous predator, and I believe he always has been. He seems to have had a perverse fixation with your sister for some time. This is the third time he has physically attacked her.”

Frederick said nothing at first to either of them. Then, his tightly composed face seemed to crumple in unbearable distress.

“I will never forgive myself,” he choked. “I brought him into your life, Penelope. It was because of me that he was at Huntingdon Manor. I never even realized why he was so desperate to accompany me there. I should have noticed there was something wrong with him. If it wasn’t for Duke Maxwell, we would both have been destroyed. How can I ever repay him?”

Penelope put an arm around her brother, although still shaking from her own recent traumatic experience.

“We’re both very thankful to Maxwell. He has saved me, and by doing that he has saved you too. But you don’t owe him anything. We have a deal between us, Maxwell and I. He has kept his end of the bargain and I have kept mine. That is all, isn’t it, Maxwell?”

All? With these words, Maxwell felt that he himself had been punched in the face or maybe the gut. He had seen his woman in danger, rushed to protect her, and then vanquished a despised foe. When Penelope had run into his arms in the immediate aftermath that had felt right and was all the reward he had needed or wanted.

But now his wife was saying that his protection was only part of the deal they had made? Was that really what she thought or felt? The idea was so painful that he could not speak.

“I’ll leave you two alone to talk. There’s a great deal that Frederick ought to hear from you directly,” he said gruffly after a long pause. He then turned his back on his sister and brother and walked back towards the party.

Whatever Penelope might think of him or feel for him, the Duke of Walden knew his own duty and sought refuge in action. He must send word immediately to Adam Finch in order to make sure Lord Silverbrook left the country. He must also have his agents discover and consult any other relatives; provision must be made for the vulnerable Dowager Viscountess Silverbrook after her son’s departure.

Composing his face, Maxwell found Penelope’s mother and requested the use of a writing desk and the dispatch of several express messages. His heart might ache as though it were breaking, but the world still turned, regardless.