Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“ W e must not!” Penelope gasped with a supreme effort of will and turned her face away from his against the wall. “Please, release me!”

The Duke of Walden instantly relinquished his hold on her hands and stepped back slightly, looking away with a slight frown that she could not interpret. She found herself panting as though she had run a race.

“As you will, Lady Penelope. I await your invitation to resume this conversation after we announce our marriage on the night of the ball.”

“What more is there to say, Your Grace?”

“Conversations are not only the words we speak but also the actions that accompany them,” said Duke Maxwell. “There is more to be said between us, but you are right that this is not the best moment. Your brother might return from his nighttime perambulations at an inconvenient moment and overhear us.”

Penelope covered her physical and mental disarray as best she could with slow and deliberate breathing. He had so nearly kissed her, and she had wanted it so badly that it almost hurt. It horrified her that the duke could have so great an effect on her equilibrium and self-control.

“You wish to announce our marriage on Thursday evening?” she asked, taking refuge in logistical questions. “The day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, that makes the most sense, unless Lord Silverbrook gives us reason to do so earlier. I will announce it immediately rather than see you censured or shamed. Have no fear on that account, Lady Penelope. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

His consideration only made Penelope’s internal confusion and conflict worse. She was shivering now even though the spring weather was unseasonably warm this week. Her future husband picked up her blue shawl from the floor where it had fallen and wrapped it around her bare arms and shoulders.

“You must call me Maxwell, at least privately, now that we are to be wed.”

“Maxwell,” she said experimentally, even saying his name gave her another small thrill of sensation. “I must go now. As you said, my brother might return.”

The duke nodded and opened the door, looking out into the corridor before beckoning to Penelope. She felt his eyes following her until she was safely back inside her room.

“Physically, Henry appears in good condition, but his mind is not yet fully restored,” Frederick reported to Duke Charles and Duchess Madeline as they sat together on the terrace overlooking the garden.

Penelope listened carefully while holding out her hands to assist Lady Kebleford in winding her embroidery silks. On the top lawn nearby, Annabelle, Viscount Parkinson, Duke Charles’s sister, Cecilia, and several other younger guests were playing pall mall as their elders sipped lemonade in garden chairs along the sidelines. The Duke of Walden was nowhere to be seen.

“How so?” queried Duke Charles with slight impatience. “Is Silverbrook awake or not?”

“Henry was awake for most of an hour this morning and even managed some gruel and tea, but then became most agitated,” explained Frederick. “Mr. Jones has given him another sedative, and he’s sleeping again now. His life is not at risk, but it seems doubtful that he will be fit again in time for the ball if anything else.”

“Never mind the ball or anything else. We’re glad he’s out of danger,” commented Duchess Madeline, putting a hand on her husband’s knee. “Once he’s well enough to travel, we’ll arrange a carriage to take him home to his mother and sister. I wrote to them this morning.”

“Of course, we’re glad the wretched man is not at death’s door, but this does muddle various dinner and seating plans, doesn’t it, Madeline?” grumbled the Duke of Huntingdon, his sympathy for Lord Silverbrook evidently still very limited. “Can everything be altered accordingly?”

“It’s hardly any bother,” said his wife drily. “Don’t fuss, Charles. I’ve rearranged the table plan for tonight, and no one should be put out. You can take Annabelle into dinner instead of Lady Gordney, can’t you, Frederick? The Duke of Walden can escort Penelope, and Cecilia will be with our neighbor, Lord Radley. Viscount Parkinson can take Lady Radley as she’s an old friend of his grandmother.”

Frederick hid any disappointment at being parted from his present paramour with a courteous nod and bow to his host and hostess. No one but Lady Kebleford had noticed Penelope tense and jerk at Duchess Madeline’s pronouncement, accidentally dropping a quantity of red silk to the flagstones.

“Oh dear,” tutted the old lady. “We shall have to wind the scarlet thread all over again now. You really should cultivate more serenity, my dear. In my day, young ladies were always calm and unruffled. There was none of this rushing about with mallets and balls or dancing waltzes with young men. We certainly did not take strong drink…”

Forcing a smile, Penelope retrieved the silk from the ground and passed it back to the white-haired woman, who was soon deeply engaged in stories of her youth and the alleged superiority of the past to the present in every way.

After last night, the sight, sound, and scent of Maxwell Crawford were all seared so deeply into Penelope’s memory that it seemed the slightest reference to him could throw her off balance.

Now, from Duchess Madeline’s few words a moment ago, Penelope gathered that in a few hours, she must walk to the dining room on the Duke of Walden’s arm and then sit beside him at dinner as though nothing had happened between them.

She must make conversation with him as though she had not been practically in his arms last night, against the bare expanse of his muscular chest. As though his lips had not come close enough to kiss her own if she had not turned away.

Penelope took up a fan and fanned herself as though she could waft away the rising heat in her body. For the millionth time, she wished herself back at Heartwick Hall with her mother. Why had she ever come here and opened herself to such chaotic experiences? Meanwhile, Lady Kebleford shook her head with further disapproval, some comment indicating that even fans weren’t what they used to be.

The pall-mall players had also finished their game now and come up to join the party on the terrace.

“I have to sit with Frederick?” queried Annabelle’s voice, sounding slightly petulant but too polite to complain outright. “I thought he was escorting Lady Gordney.”

“Your company will be an equal joy to me, dear Lady Annabelle,” said Penelope’s brother with a martyred grin. “I haven’t forgotten that time you and Penelope invited me to a tea party in the garden and fed me a cup full of muddy water after assuring me it was special chocolate from Mexico. Beware of asking me to pass you the salt tonight. You might end up sugaring your potatoes.”

“I was eight years old!” Annabelle protested, now looking mortified even though everyone else was smiling at Frederick’s teasing revelation.

“They even warmed it up!” Frederick added dramatically. “I could have died!”

The group laughed, apart from Annabelle and Lady Kebleford, who stated that such tricks were never played in her youth. As the group drifted into disparate conversations, Frederick took a seat beside Penelope, offering his own hands to Lady Kebleford in lieu of his sister’s.

“I don’t mind escorting Annabelle tonight, of course. I’ve known her forever. But are you content to be placed with Walden? He’s still such a stranger to both of us. I could ask our hosts to swap him with Sir Arthur Melford.”

A stranger? It might well be true, but Penelope was betrothed to the man and could say nothing of this. She only dropped her eyes.

“I will do as Duchess Madeline thinks best, Frederick,” she answered. “Henry’s accident has already given her extra work. Let us be the best of guests and support her.”

Her brother nodded slowly.

“Yes, you’re right. We will leave the matter in her hands. Where is Duke Maxwell anyway? I don’t believe I’ve seen him since breakfast.”

He looked around with a frown, his last question deliberately spoken loudly enough for others nearby to hear. He received no answers, although Annabelle’s ears pricked up.

“Maxwell had some important correspondence to deal with today,” said Duke Charles. “I understand there is a business matter that required his immediate attention. He will join us for dinner, but I don’t expect to see him before then. Speaking of correspondence, I must also finish a letter this afternoon.”

Rising, he kissed his wife and left the group.

“Well, since the Duke of Walden isn’t here,” said Annabelle, looking around as though to check that he hadn’t magically appeared in the last five seconds, “shall I tell you what my brother said about the Crawfords in his letter this morning.”

“I doubt we could stop you,” said Frederick teasingly, earning him another glare from Annabelle.

“Stephen says Maxwell Crawford has built up one of the most generous dowries in England for Victoria, even though she has declared she will never marry,” began Annabelle. “If she still feels the same by five-and-twenty, the Duke plans to put the full amount entirely into her hands to use as she sees fit!”

Lady Kebleford tutted disapprovingly yet again as she wound her silks, although Penelope could not tell whether this was at the idea of a young woman choosing not to marry or of her being responsible for her own money.

“She must be a target for all the worst rogues and bounders in London, especially now that her brother is a duke,” commented Frederick.

“They’re all too scared of her brother, apparently. He makes every would-be suitor a fool in front of Victoria, and that’s why she doesn’t want to marry.”

“If they weren’t fools to begin with, Maxwell couldn’t make them so,” said Duchess Madeline, now joining the conversation with an indulgent smile at Annabelle. “Don’t you see that?”

“I suppose so,” said Annabelle thoughtfully, not having considered this previously and instead swallowing her brother’s stories whole as they were presented.

“Victoria may yet meet the right man,” added their hostess. “There is no great hurry at one-and-twenty in my opinion. I did not marry Duke Charles until I was five-and-twenty. It would have been a great shame to have married a fool for want of waiting.”

“Why did you marry Duke Charles?” Penelope asked hesitantly, remembering that the ton had originally been surprised that either Madeline or Charles had married at all, given their characters and temperaments.

“Because he was a good man of high rank and sound principle, and I trusted him,” said Duchess Madeline without hesitation.

“Not for love?” romantic Annabelle queried with surprise.

“That came later,” laughed their hostess, stroking her belly. “I promise you, young ladies, that if you choose the right man, it is worth waiting for.”

“Very sensible advice,” sniffed Lady Kebleford. “Marry for principles, not love, and marry as high in rank as you can.”

“Sometimes you get all three,” said Madeline with a twinkle in her rich brown eyes. “Principles, rank, and love. Do not assume you must choose.”

“Stephen said that rank wasn’t everything and that Maxwell and Victoria might struggle to marry well because they’re from trade and don’t even try to hide it.”

“Why should they?” flared Penelope, suddenly irritated by Annabelle’s childish gossiping. “Their grandfather seems to have been a very impressive man who did more for his family and country than many men with generations of breeding. I don’t see why his grandchildren should be expected to hide anything of their origins.”

Duchess Madeline nodded her agreement.

“Maxwell is very proud of his grandfather, and I understand why,” she said. “I am sure Maxwell will marry well in time, regardless of where his family came from.”

“I had no idea my sister was such a champion of egalitarian thinking,” chuckled Frederick. “You really are quite determined that the new Duke of Walden should get a fair hearing from all, aren’t you?”

For an instant, Penelope froze at this remark, but then she nodded slowly. It was better that she give some inkling of liking for Maxwell Crawford now so that the imminent announcement of their marriage would be less of a shock and more believable.

“Yes, I am, Frederick. Everything I have heard of the duke tells me that he is a man of principle and worth. Frankly, I admire him, and I look forward to meeting Victoria, regardless of whatever London tattle Stephen is passing on in his letters to Annabelle.”

“Oh,” said Annabelle, looking slightly crestfallen. “I have upset you. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I just thought you all might be interested in what was being said since the Duke of Waldon is so new in society.”

Duchess Madeline put an arm about her young guest.

“Do not be downcast, Annabelle,” she said with kindness. “Only think a little more carefully about the subjects of your stories and the feelings of those listening. Stephen has one view, but Penelope and I clearly have quite another. I doubt Maxwell himself gives two figs what anyone thinks of him, except perhaps Victoria.”

“I believe Maxwell Crawford to be a good man,” said Penelope, hoping that saying the words aloud would somehow make them true.

Only time would tell whether the Duke of Walden was really a good man and what sort of husband he would be. For now, she only knew that despite all her fears and doubts, the thought of him made her heart race and her blood burn with strange passion.