Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“ C ome,” said Maxwell Crawford crisply, fastening his second cufflink and turning towards the bedroom door where a hesitant hand had just rapped.

The clock had struck half-past-six only a short time ago, and the duke was dressing for dinner, planning to have a conversation with Duke Charles before the rest of the guests came downstairs. He was not expecting company.

He guessed it would not be Lady Penelope at this hour, despite her previous unexpected visit to his room. The storm of desire unleashed when Maxwell found her gazing speechlessly at his semi-naked body last night had been harder to quell than he could have anticipated.

It was lucky for his somewhat naive bride-to-be that she had been fully dressed. If she had come to him in her nightgown and looked at him with such physical longing, there would have been little chance of her maidenhead lasting until the wedding night.

Both thankfully and disappointingly, when the door opened, it was not Lady Penelope standing hesitantly in the doorway.

“Mr. Jones to see you, Your Grace,” said a young footman without stepping into the room.

Behind the youth, a portly man of middling height and years stood peering at Maxwell over the top of his silver-rimmed spectacles.

“Very good. Do come in, Mr. Jones. Thank you, Waring.”

Slipping a coin to the footman, the duke closed the door and ushered the physician to a chair on the far side of the large bedroom. He himself leaned against the desk nearby.

“I believe your patient is likely to be bed-bound a little longer yet,” he said to the physician. “I heard that you are still giving him sedatives to reduce his agitation."

“Yes. As I told you on my first visit, it seems the concussion was likely exacerbated by the quantity of drink the young man had imbibed. From physical signs, as well as certain accoutrements that his friend the Duke of Heartwick removed surreptitiously from the chamber when he thought others distracted, there’s a good chance that Lord Silverbrook also ingested certain other, ahem… substances before his fall.”

“Substances? Drugs, you mean?” asked Maxwell grimly, his view of Lord Silverbrook falling even further than he would have thought possible.

“In confidence, yes. I’ve found signs of opiate use and potentially a stimulant compound too. I’m told that that such things are common among the fast young men of the ton when alcohol alone is no longer adventure enough. It is not surprising that they then have such accidents in these circumstances.”

The duke acknowledged the physician’s words with an expression of disapproval and disdain.

“What a waste of life and opportunity,” he commented, more to himself than to the other man, but then he focused again. “So, what happens now?”

“Tonight and tomorrow, I anticipate little change. Lord Silverbrook is still not fully lucid on the occasions when he wakes although I believe the brain inflammation is subsiding. Another day of partial sedation will hopefully be rest enough to bring him fully to his senses. After three days with only light opiates, it might also be that any habitual craving for the stuff will be lessened.”

“Let us hope so,” commented Maxwell, extracting a note from a money clip in the desk drawer and passing it to the physician without comment. “Now, you must tell Duke Charles everything that you have told me tonight, but I still want to be the first to know of any change. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” nodded the physician, speedily pocketing the money under Maxwell’s watchful eye.

Mr. Jones did not strike him as a corrupt or grasping man, but he was a country physician in a district with only a handful of nobility and gentry, most of whom were as hale and hearty as Madeline and Charles. As on the first night he arrived, he was only too eager to take Maxwell’s money in return for performing what seemed a harmless service of information.

This information now communicated, Mr. Jones rose with his thumbs in the pocket of his well-filled waistcoat.

“Lord Silverbrook is lucky to have older and wiser friends so solicitous of his welfare,” he said. “The Duke of Heartwick might mean well in his actions, but by hiding his friend’s habits and problems from others, he does him no favors.”

“Indeed,” Maxwell replied, concealing his distaste at being considered a friend of the injured man he held in such low esteem. “Remember, there are important reasons why I must be the first to know when Lord Silverbrook awakens, even before the Duke and Duchess of Huntingdon and certainly before the Duke of Heartwick. Send young Waring or one of the maids to fetch me.”

“I understand. I will speak to Duke Charles before dinner as you advise.”

“He will likely be in his suite. Let me ring for someone to show you the way.”

With the physician dispatched to Charles, Maxwell strolled back to his room to finalize his dress. In managing affairs in the sick room, he was keeping his end of the bargain and hoped that Lady Penelope would have sufficient nerve and good sense to keep hers.

It was a good deal he had made, but he would not fully celebrate it until he had Lady Penelope Hayward at the altar with his ring on her finger and her vows witnessed by all those in the church.

“What a damned nuisance that Silverbrook has been!” exclaimed Duke Charles moodily as he poured out two measures of sherry from the small drinks tray in the library. “I barely knew him before this week, and now, I wish I’d never met the dolt at all.”

Duke Maxwell nodded his agreement and then took a comfortable leather seat beside his old friend. Both tall, strong, and athletic, they had bonded at school over sports and have been fast friends ever since despite the initial disparity in their rank.

Maxwell was glad that this social distinction was now removed with his entry into the peerage. It had not mattered to either of them that Charles was always destined to become Duke of Huntingdon while Maxwell was a tradesman’s grandson, but the whispers and glances of others had been an irritant neither of them relished.

“Drink, drugs, and self-inflicted injuries…” listed Charles crossly. “My wife is due to give birth to our first son or daughter next month. This is not what I wanted for our last show of hospitality before the child arrives. I only invited Silverbrook to keep Frederick company. Now, it seems I have done Frederick no favors in encouraging such an association.”

“That is not your responsibility,” Maxwell assured him, leaning forward in his seat. “Duke Frederick must choose his own friends, even if in this case he has chosen poorly. He himself does not seem a vicious man to me, only a little too… attentive to the fairer sex.”

“True. Still, bringing Silverbrook here to make problems and stress for Madeline was my doing and no one else’s. The sooner he is out from under my roof, the better. But enough of my problems. Did you manage to finish your correspondence this afternoon? It seems to have taken you away from us for the entire day.”

“Yes, I had to write a number of letters to my lawyers, my agents, and my sister,” said Maxwell laconically and then stopped to sip at his sherry while his friend regarded him expectantly.

“You’re trying to intrigue me, aren’t you?” Charles commented, his face slipping into a wry smile. “Or at least distract me from that useless fool taking up one of our bedrooms and all of Mr. Jones’s time.”

Maxwell laughed a little and lowered his drink.

“I am. I admit it. I expect to be able to give you some good news very shortly but do not press me. Tonight, I shall tell you nothing more, old friend.”

“I know you like to have everything in place before you reveal your hand,” acknowledged Charles. “I shall expect a new business adventure. Or perhaps a new property? A little bolt hole for Victoria, perhaps?”

Now Maxwell grinned and swilled his sherry around in its glass before shaking his head.

“Overseas… something overseas… I know how much you and Victoria have enjoyed your tours of Italy and Greece in recent years. Am I on the right track?”

“Not even close. I shall tell you and Madeline when I am ready and not before. Is my distraction working well, Charles?”

“Too well!” conceded Charles, sipping his own sherry with a smile.

They bantered a while longer over Maxwell’s mysterious plans without Charles learning anything but seeming to relax in their friendly wrangling after his earlier annoyance.

They were laughing happily together when the library doors opened without warning, and Duchess Madeline entered the room between a solicitous Duke Frederick and Lady Penelope.

“I am perfectly well, I tell you,” Duchess Madeline said to her escorts. “Honestly, Charles, I was only sitting down on the stairs for a moment because this little one was kicking so hard that I thought they were doing a dance. These two good people, however, have determined that I must be delivered to my husband immediately for safekeeping.”

“Madeline!” exclaimed Charles, jumping up and coming to her side before escorting her to a chair that Maxwell had already pulled out. “Should we call Mr. Jones down here?”

“Not at all, my dear,” she protested with laughter and took his hand, placing it on her stomach. “There, feel that. Your child is like a young elephant, Duke Charles. Wouldn’t you want to rest a moment if someone were kicking your insides like that?”

Maxwell saw both wonder and concern on Charles’ face as he detected the movements that Madeline described.

“I can get Mr. Jones,” volunteered Duke Frederick, and Charles nodded swiftly even while Madeline rolled her eyes again.

“Indulge me, my love,” said the Duke of Huntington to his wife. “I have never had a wife with child before and would be easier with a medical opinion.”

“Oh, very well,” she laughed at him, and Duke Frederick strode away on his errand. “But I cannot imagine how much you will fuss once the child is here if you are already like this now.”

Then Duchess Madeline’s attention turned to the others still present in the library.

“Maxwell, do take Lady Penelope into the drawing room for a drink. It seems I must stay here and soothe my husband’s nerves with Mr. Jones, but there is no need for the two of you to be caught up in all this fussing.”

For the first time in this encounter, Maxwell allowed his eyes to stray to Lady Penelope in her evening gown of soft champagne silk, her blonde tresses held back with golden combs and pins. Small but perfectly formed, with elegant curves at the breast and hip and an unworldly aura, she again put him in mind of a fairy princess.

Catching his eye only briefly, she looked away shyly, a gesture that only spiked his lust. Overall, the sight of Lady Penelope tonight was like a feast to a hungry man, and Maxwell drew in his breath carefully before offering his arm. He must not be distracted or drawn off course by her beauty. Loss of control could mean mutual failure. Neither of them was seeking love.

“Of course, Duchess Madeline. We shall give you both some privacy in here. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the drawing room, Lady Penelope?”

“Yes,” said his wife-to-be in a small, clear voice. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The pressure of her hand on his arm was only light, but still, he felt the sensation. It sparked deep in his stomach and then all the way down to his groin. The intensity surprised him. He had certainly been around beautiful women before, often sophisticated, intelligent, and worldly women who made their interest in him very clear. But none had affected him quite like this.

“Thank you, Duchess Madeline, for putting the loveliest woman in England on my arm tonight,” he said with a polite bow towards their hosts before heading for the door.

As Maxwell had intended, Madeline and Charles looked at one another knowingly while Lady Penelope blushed.

Let them begin thinking of possible romance, Maxwell thought. Given the announcement he would be making tomorrow, it was as well to begin laying the ground.

“And what is your view, Duke Maxwell?” asked the elderly Lady Kebleford. “Do you believe that women are the equals of men?”

“No,” said Maxwell with a grin, conscious of the surprised expressions on the faces of Duke Frederick, Lady Cecilia, and Lord Parkinson and the absolutely appalled expression on Lady Penelope’s features.

The younger contingent at the table had been arguing in favor of more legal rights for women. In contrast, Lady Kebleford, Lord, and Lady Radley argued for maintaining traditions and the distinction between male and female roles in family and society.

“Then you agree with me, that a woman’s place is in her home, tending to her family, and submitting to her husband’s superior judgement.”

“No,” said Maxwell again and enjoyed the bafflement on the querulous old woman’s face.

“But you said…”

“You asked me if I thought women were the equals of men, and I said no. That is because in many cases, I judge them superior.”

Looking at Lady Penelope on his right-hand side, he raised his glass towards her and then towards their hostess, a gesture that drew attention from a number of guests and a sharp look from Duke Frederick.

“Bravo, Duke Maxwell,” called out Madeline as Lady Cecilia laughed and clapped her hands.

Lady Penelope was lost for words, but Maxwell could read the relief on her features as well as self-consciousness in being singled out for so public a compliment. He enjoyed teasing her, he realized.

“Are you saying that you do not believe in the natural authority of a husband over his wife, Duke Maxwell?” put in Lady Kebleford. “You would not wish your own wife to obey you?”

Maxwell closed his eyes and laughed to himself before looking straight at Lady Penelope again, taking in the red flush he could see on her cheeks, her throat, and even the exposed portion of her bosom in that silken evening dress.

“We all have our own natural domains. In domains where I have mastery, I expect to be obeyed. Where I do not, I seek no false obeisance from anyone, least of all a wife. If I marry a woman for her good judgement, I should be a fool to ignore or overrule her advice in domains where her knowledge and understanding are superior to mine.”

“Here, here,” said Duke Charles, raising his glass to this remark, having previously stayed out of his guests’ debate.

“The world is changing, Grandmother,” said Lord Parkinson to his grandmother, not unkindly. “We must all change with it.”

The older woman only sighed mournfully and shook her head.

“I suppose you’re right, Cyril, but I can’t say I like change. Wasn’t the world a simpler and better place when we were young, Lady Radley?”

Seated close to one another, the elderly guests wandered together into a nostalgic discussion of times past, viewed through distinctly rose-tinted glasses.

“Must you keep doing this?” Lady Penelope whispered to Maxwell. “Everyone keeps looking at us when you make such remarks and gestures.”

“Yes, I think I must,” he said, resisting an urge to put his hand on hers. “It will give our company some warning. But I admit that even without that justification, I might shower you with compliments simply because I like seeing the expression on your face.”

“You are making me blush, Duke Maxwell. People will think something is wrong.”

“They will think something is right, Lady Penelope. They will think that I have an interest in making you the next Duchess of Walden, and I do.”

“But not like that!” she insisted, even as her eyes widened and held fast to his.

Maxwell reflected that he could happily drown in the green of those eyes, filled as they were with confused desire and conflicted emotion. He imagined their expression as he kissed and caressed her naked body and then claimed her entirely as his own. Again, he added a cautionary note to himself to avoid distraction. Lady Penelope would be his to claim soon enough, but not if he lost focus.

“Exactly like that,” Maxwell told her, lust putting an unintended edge on his voice. “You must simply play along with me, Lady Penelope. I know what I am doing. Have no fear.”

Tomorrow evening, their betrothal would be official. In a matter of weeks, he was sure he could make all the necessary arrangements for the marriage contract and wedding. One way or another, she would soon be his, and he was determined not to lose control in the meantime.

When the ladies rose from the table to leave the gentlemen to their port, Lady Penelope began to excuse herself, pleading tiredness and telling Duchess Madeline and Lady Annabelle that she would go straight to bed.

“Before you go, Lady Penelope, can I invite you to take a walk with me tomorrow?” asked Maxwell, causing several sudden silences and raised eyebrows around the room.

Even Duke Frederick’s attention was momentarily drawn away from Lady Gordney’s rich figure swaying towards the door in a green silk evening gown.

“A walk?” Lady Penelope echoed, stopped in her tracks. “Tomorrow?”

“With your brother, of course, and Lady Annabelle if she enjoys the outdoors,” Maxwell added, well aware of the thunderous look beginning to form on Duke Frederick’s face as though he expected some importunity.

“Why, of course,” Lady Penelope answered once she had found her voice again. “If the weather is good, we should all certainly walk together, Your Grace.”

Once the door closed behind the ladies, Maxwell avoided Charles’s curious eyes and turned to Lady Penelope’s brother.

“That’s not a problem for you, is it, Duke Frederick?”

“Of course not,” Frederick said, his face regaining its usual youthful smoothness. “I generally ride before breakfast and had promised to show Lady Gordney the old folly before lunch, but I suppose there are plenty of other hours in the day.”

“Then our walk will not disrupt your plans,” nodded Maxwell decisively, passing the port to his unknowing future brother-in-law. “Excellent.”

“What are you about, Maxwell?” asked Charles in a low voice as he passed behind his friend to fetch a box of Havana cigars from the sideboard.

In reply, Maxwell only smiled. Despite his attempts at strict self-control, the dominating image in his head was one of Lady Penelope held fast by his hands to the rear wall of the old folly or the kitchen garden wall, her eyes demanding something she didn’t yet fully understand even while her words pleaded for release.