Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

“ I had no idea,” Frederick said for the hundredth time as Penelope told the full story of Henry Atwood’s unwelcome and increasingly unhinged pursuit of her. “How could I be so blind?”

They sat together on the grass near the shrubbery, drinking two glasses of champagne Frederick had acquired from a footman at the front of the house. Thankfully, due to the shrubbery's isolation and the band's playing, none of the other guests or staff seemed to have noticed the violent altercations that had taken place.

“Your mind was always on other things,” Penelope sighed. “But it wasn’t your fault, Frederick. No decent man could imagine his friend would behave as Lord Silverbrook did. Your lack of suspicion reflects only your own virtue.”

“Virtue,” repeated Frederick, laughing humorlessly. “Pursuit of the ton’s elegant widows while one’s sister is fending off a madman is not virtue, Penelope. It’s the attitude of a callous ignoramus. I am the one who put you, the family’s name, and reputation at risk, too, after all my lectures on the subject. I am the head of our family, and I should have known.”

“Stop it, Frederick,” insisted Penelope. “Let us place the blame only where it belongs – on the head of Lord Silverbrook and nowhere else. Anyway, thanks to Maxwell, no permanent harm was done, either at Huntingdon Manor or here today. I have been frightened but not harmed. The deal the Duke of Walden offered me has proven a wise one.”

“But why do you keep referring to your marriage as a deal?” Frederick asked, confused.

“Because that’s what it is,” she explained with deliberate calm, although not without sadness. “Maxwell needed a wife, I needed protection, and he knew it, so he offered me a deal. He is a good man and I don’t regret my decision, but we did not marry for love, and I have accepted that I will never have that..”

Frederick’s face remained puzzled as he listened to her explanation, although it was also unusually patient and understanding.

“This can’t be a complete surprise to you,” she added.

“But if you didn’t marry for love, and you’ve accepted that, then why are you crying, Penelope?” Frederick asked.

“Crying?” she echoed, raising a hand to her cheek and finding that unexpected tears were indeed trickling silently from her eyes. “Oh! It must have been the shock. I was terrified but then Maxwell came and saved me. The funny thing is, after such heroics, he’s probably gone to visit the House of Lords now, or to clinch some business deal. He’s likely forgotten I exist again already.”

Although she tried to speak lightly and make a joke of them, these thoughts only seemed to make the tears fall faster and harder. Frederick passed her his handkerchief.

“It seems unlikely to me that Maxwell ever forgets you,” her brother said slowly. "You did not see your husband’s face when he was looking for you or how fast he moved when he realized you were in danger. I was too far behind to see exactly what was happening until Maxwell knocked Silverbrook across that shrubbery but I did see the way he looked at you.”

“What do you mean?” Penelope asked, trying to wipe her eyes but continually thwarted by further tears.

“Maxwell Crawford looks at you like you’re the only woman on earth, Penelope,” Frederick explained simply. “He looks at you like any man looks at the woman he loves. He always has. Whatever you’ve been telling yourselves is beside the point. This is no business deal, it’s a marriage, between two people who love one another. Any fool can see that, and I’m certainly a fool.”

At these straightforward statements, Penelope broke down completely and let Frederick put an arm around her shoulders. Her feelings for Maxwell were like great waves crashing over her after the breaking of a sea wall, and she no longer had any resources to hold them back.

“I love him so much, Frederick,” she admitted as she cried. “I don’t know how it happened or when, but I do and I can’t bear it. Not if Maxwell doesn’t love me too.”

“Then tell him,” Frederick urged. “You must. What if Maxwell has just walked away from here thinking that you don’t love him? He didn’t look at all happy at how you explained your marriage to me.”

Penelope closed her eyes at the thought that Maxwell might be feeling the same distress as her. She wished she could spare them both her present pain.

“When did you get so wise, Frederick?” she said with a small laugh, her tears finally subsiding.

“Wise? Hardly. I’m the man who almost pushed my sister into the clutches of a deviant blackguard, remember,” her brother replied ruefully. “I have many good points, I’m sure, but wisdom cannot yet be counted among them.”

“Understanding, then. When did you become so understanding?”

“Am I not always?” he asked with genuine surprise, which only increased as Penelope shook her head.

“You’re not always easy to talk to,” she told him without rancor. “For example, I wanted to tell you about Henry several times but I just couldn’t. You’ve never seemed to want to listen before when I tried to talk of personal or serious matters. Or you just started lecturing me instead. We’ve barely ever talked properly, as we’re talking now, have we?”

“No, we haven’t,” her brother admitted soberly. “That likely is my fault and you must let me own it now. I do deserve your condemnation on this point.”

“I’ve always hated the distance between us, Frederick,” Penelope stated. “But I’ve never blamed you for withdrawing after Father died. I only wanted my big brother to notice me and spend time with me.”

“Ah, little Penny,” he said with sad reflection, using the childhood nickname she hadn’t heard for so long. “I do owe you an apology, and Stepmother too. Neither of you ever deserved my turning my back as I did.”

“Mother expects no apology. You must know that. Father’s death hurt all of us, including you, and Mother knows you were only a boy grieving for his father. Your being here today for the Heartwick Hall open house is likely the best gift you could give her.”

“I may have a been a boy once but I’ve been a man for a long time since,” Frederick said, declining to take the easy way out that Penelope offered. “I’m nine-and-twenty and should have put things right between us all a long time ago. I promise I will do better. I’m the Duke of Heartwick and I’m going to behave like it. Please forgive me, Penelope.”

His face was as earnest as his voice, and Penelope felt real hope for their family’s future. She kissed her brother’s cheek affectionately.

“You’re always forgiven, Frederick. You’re the only brother I have. I wish I could show you how much you matter to me, but there’s no gift I can give you that has sufficient value.”

“Find me a woman who looks at me the same way that you look at Maxwell,” he joked, although his eyes were still serious. “That would be a gift of true value. Now, go seek him out, and make things right.”

Penelope let herself smile at the humor and encouragement in her brother’s words, allowing him to take her glass and help her up from the ground. She had smoothed and re-pinned her hair as best she could without a mirror as they talked. Her white dress bore a few grass stains from her struggle with Lord Silverbrook but hopefully no one would notice.

“If I did find you such a woman, she might not be able to make it through that crowd of elegant widows you always seem to draw, Frederick,” Penelope jested pertly, no longer worried about irritating her brother with such teasing gibes.

He only shrugged with a self-conscious smile.

“I’m a gentleman. How can I send them all away? I suppose my ideal woman will have to wait her turn.”

“She might not like that,” Penelope admonished him, although still with humor. “But it will be her job to make that clear to you, not mine. Now, as you say, I must deal with my own husband.”

Setting her shoulders squarely and hoping that Maxwell had not gone far, she set out in search of the man she loved.

“Mother, have you seen Maxwell?” Penelope asked, touching the dowager duchess’s shoulder lightly to attract her attention from the group of women she had been talking to.

She noticed that her mother’s face was happy and smiling, some of the lines and furrows smoothed under the faded gold and silver hair. Playing hostess again suited her.

“Gracious, child! What have you done to your dress?” the Dowager Duchess of Heartwick remarked under her breath, stepping aside to speak to her daughter.

“I’ve been sitting on the grass talking to Frederick,” Penelope said, crossing her fingers automatically as she told this half-truth. “But now I need to find Maxwell.”

“Ah, so that’s where Frederick has vanished to,” her mother laughed, unperturbed at having been left alone to manage the guests for this time. “Still, he did his job in the reception line with me earlier and all is well. I’m glad the two of you have spent some time together, even at the expense of such a lovely gown. Shall I ask Maisie to get those stains out?”

“Maxwell, Mother. Please,” Penelope said again, trying and failing to get her mother to focus on the key issue at hand.

“You could borrow one of my gowns for the rest of the afternoon and you’ll be changing into an evening gown later anyway. I’m sure it can be rescued.”

“Mother?”

Penelope now took both of her mother’s hands in her own and looked her in the eye.

“Do you know where Maxwell is? I must find him.”

“Oh, I think he’s still in the library, dear. He had some urgent correspondence, but these great men always do. Still, I’m sure he won’t mind your disturbing him.”

With a brief and heartfelt word of thanks, Penelope sped away, the dowager duchess quickly reclaimed by the company of society matrons around her.

Pushing open the library door, Penelope’s heart swelled as she saw Maxwell’s tall form at one of the desks near the windows. Absorbed in thought, his hand dipped the quill in the ink pot and moved fast across the paper in front of him.

For a long minute, she only watched him. A sunbeam through the glass lit up the Duke of Walden’s golden brown hair, highlighting the chiseled shape of his jaw and brow. Penelope longed for this man, gazing at his strong hands and firm mouth and his sheer physical presence in the chair.

When he finally paused and lay down the quill, she cleared her throat and stepped fully into the room.

“Maxwell,” Penelope said softly, cautious but still strengthened by Frederick’s encouragement. “If you’ve finished your letters, we need to talk.”

With a small start, he turned to her from the chair, surprise, desire, and pleasure all briefly visible in his steady blue eyes.

“Penelope,” Maxwell spoke her name with feeling and then looked down, seeming to compose and steady himself. “Are you well? I have already written and dispatched the necessary letters to ensure Lord Silverbrook’s immediate departure from the country. Now I am ensuring that he makes suitable provision for his mother. She has relatives in London and it is not as urgent.”

Penelope’s heart and mind felt like they were already melting in the warmth of this man’s strong affection and principled behavior. He had saved her, removed Lord Silverbrook, and now still took care of a vulnerable widow who had caused trouble to them both, if only as a pawn of her own son. Maxwell Crawford would always do what was right, and she loved him for it.

“I am well,” she assured him, coming to his side and then hesitating there. “I only wanted to…to be near you, and to tell you…”

Maxwell looked at her with such strange and silent hope in his eyes that Penelope’s voice dried up, and for a few moments, she could only gaze back at him. Reaching out with her hand, she stroked the slightly rough skin of his jaw, the slight contact generating small flames of desire already in her belly.

“I wanted to tell you that I love you,” she said finally.

After all, these were the only words that mattered. Penelope scarcely dared to breathe after they were spoken. Maxwell looked stunned upon hearing them, but his actions soon reassured her that she had done the right thing.

“My Penelope,” he breathed as he drew her down onto his lap and embraced her in his strong arms. “My love.”

“Love was never in our deal, was it?” Penelope commented, twining her arms about his neck and inhaling the now-familiar and always arousing scent of his skin.

“It is now,” her husband replied with a smile. “I insist upon it.”

Then, as Maxwell’s lips found hers, the whole world seemed to assume its proper form and focus, the sunlight from the window now illuminating them both in vivid color.