Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

D uke Maxwell recognized the youth. It was young Waring, who had been running errands for Mr. Jones and keeping an eye on the sick room of Lord Silverbrook.

So, there had been some development with the patient — likely Lord Silverbrook was finally up and talking — and as he had intended, Maxwell was the first to know. It was all going to plan.

“Of course,” he responded with a nod and then turned to his companions. “Excuse me, Duke Frederick, Lady Penelope. I will return shortly.”

The frightened expression on Penelope’s finely sculpted face told Maxwell that she, too, might have guessed the nature of Waring’s message. He smiled at her as reassuringly as he could. Word of their betrothal was already spreading rapidly around the ballroom, and she should be safe now, whatever happened next. He hoped she understood that.

“What news?” Maxwell asked the footman as soon as they were out of the ballroom and into a staff corridor, Waring leading the way.

“Lord Silverbrook is wide awake and making sense again, Your Grace. Mr. Jones said you were to be notified before anyone else because Duke Charles relies on your advice and is busy entertaining. I’ll take you up to them now.”

“Very good. You did well. Thank you, Waring.”

Taking the back stairs, they were soon at Lord Silverbrook’s bedroom, where Maxwell dismissed the footman with another silver coin. Inside, he found Henry Atwood, Viscount Silverbrook, sitting up in bed while Mr. Jones continued to ask him further questions to ascertain his mental state.

“The Prime Minister? Spencer Perceval, of course. Why are you asking me such things, man? I am not a half-wit.”

Lord Silverbrook’s voice was cross and querulous, as though the physician were harassing rather than assisting him.

“And the name of this house, can you tell me that?” the physician probed, receiving only a dismissive huff from his patient.

“Most importantly, do you remember what happened to you, Lord Silverbrook?” Maxwell intervened, coming to stand at the bedside behind Mr. Jones. “Do you remember how you hit your head and came to be in Mr. Jones’s care?”

The sandy-haired man in the bed fell silent now, and Maxwell observed a guilty expression creeping across his face even as Silverbrook fought to hide it. Mr. Jones had moved away and was busying himself with his bag at the dresser, allowing Maxwell time to ask his questions.

“Well, I certainly don’t remember you,” Silverbrook said rather rudely after a long pause, his narrowed brown eyes taking in Maxwell with something close to contempt. “Are you another physician? Or one of Duke Charles’ flunkies in a good suit?”

While Lord Silverbrook was not ill-favored in terms of looks, there was an innately arrogant and self-satisfied air to his speech and expressions. His manner would have instantly lost him favor in Maxwell’s eyes, if the latter had not already lost all respect for the man in the first moments he ever saw him.

“No, I am the Duke of Walden. I was the one who found you on the stairs the night you fell and summoned Mr. Jones to your care.”

Henry Atwood’s brown eyes widened in surprise and then alarm at this news, although he tried hard to hide his fear and his guilt. He swallowed nervously.

“You found me?” he repeated.

“Do you remember how you came to injure yourself on those stairs?” Maxwell pressed him again, meeting Lord Silverbrook’s evasive eyes with his own steely blue gaze.

The man in the bed looked away first, as though knowing his guilt was written in his eyes and thinking to keep it veiled. He was a coward as well as a blackguard. Stepping forward, Maxwell laid one strong hand on Lord Silverbrook’s shoulder.

“Do you remember?” he prompted the man again, squeezing his shoulder hard enough to hint to Silverbrook that he was no friend or sympathizer. “No? Well, given how much you had to drink that night perhaps none of us should be surprised. Duke Charles and others noted your intoxication.”

“I don’t remember,” the other man muttered evasively, still avoiding Maxwell’s eye and trying unsuccessfully to shrug the hand from his shoulder. “Can’t a man even have a drink in this place without getting a lecture? I thought all the puritans went to the Americas.”

Maxwell felt his lip curling at this man’s casual absorption and entitlement. He had been dealt only what he deserved on those stairs.

“Lady Penelope particularly noted your intoxication, I understand,” Maxwell commented meaningfully now, drawing another shocked glance from Henry Atwood.

Good. Let this man be in no doubt that his behavior on the night of his fall was known. Let him fear the consequences. There was also one more bombshell piece of news that Maxwell believed should help keep Lord Silverbrook in check.

“Now that we are betrothed, Lady Penelope tells me everything, you understand. Everything.”

At this announcement, Henry Atwood’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and if Maxwell’s hand had not been so heavy on his shoulder, he likely would have leapt up from the bed.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” asked Maxwell with a final squeeze of Lord Silverbrook’s shoulder, hard enough to make him wince.

“Congratulations,” replied the other man, weakly but with clear resentment, sinking back onto the pillows as soon as Maxwell’s hand was finally withdrawn.

Job done for now, the Duke of Walden stepped away from the bed and headed for the door.

“I’ll let Duke Charles know that you are awake again. Duchess Madeline will want to notify your family.”

With a final nod to Mr. Jones, Maxwell took his leave.

“When will the wedding be..?”

“When did the duke propose..?”

“Why didn’t you tell me..?”

Overwhelmed by all the questions suddenly coming at her thick and fast from friends and acquaintances in the ballroom, Penelope excused herself to the retiring rooms and raced away as speedily as she could without causing any incident.

With Maxwell Crawford beside her, she might have handled the situation better. Similarly, if Frederick had given her his full attention instead of instantly going back to flirting with Lady Gordney once his assent was obtained. Even alone, she could have coped adequately if it had not been for the gnawing fear of Henry’s awakening and what he might say.

The Duke of Walden had promised to protect her, and Penelope did believe him, but the gossip and confrontation might still be unpleasant and hard to weather. She only wished she knew what was happening upstairs.

At this thought, she changed direction, slipping out of a side door and up a staircase. It would be easy enough to go to Lord Silverbrook’s room and listen at the door. If Maxwell were in there, she might hear something of whatever was said inside and know what to prepare for.

Penelope did not know that wing of the house as well as the one where she and Frederick were lodged, and it took her some time to find the right corridor. She was not even entirely sure she had the right room until the door suddenly opened, and Maxwell Crawford appeared in the candlelit corridor.

The thoughtful frown on his handsome face became an expression of surprise as they almost collided and then softened into something else.

“I couldn’t wait down there alone without knowing,” Penelope confessed under her breath. “I had to know. Is he awake?”

“Yes,” Maxwell confirmed with a nod.

“Will he talk?” she asked, shivering with fear.

When the Duke of Walden took another step forward and put his arms around her, she knew she should not allow it, but his strong body was so warm and comforting. When his hand caressed her face and then tilted her chin up to look at him, she did not resist, wanting only to sink into the blue of his eyes.

“Lord Silverbrook is unlikely to talk. He knows now that I witnessed the accident, and cowards like him only ever attack those weaker than themselves. Both by your own actions and your betrothal to me, he knows that you are not defenseless.”

“Then no one need find out that it was me, that I was the one who pushed him…”

“No one,” Maxwell confirmed, his gaze and words almost hypnotic. “I will protect you as I have promised. Penelope…”

She was aware of a faint sound from the bedroom beside them, but at that same moment, Maxwell Crawford lowered his lips to hers once more. As in the rose garden, the rest of the world seemed to fall away. There was only his touch, the warmth of his body against hers, and the rising of an insatiable longing in her veins, suffusing all her most intimate places.

“Come back to bed at once, Lord Silverbrook! I must insist. You are not fit to be up and about."

Only with Mr. Jones’ stern words and the sound of the bedroom door closing firmly did the duke lift his head, and Penelope realized their passionate embrace had doubtless been witnessed.

“Maxwell,” she gasped in horror. “I think he saw us.”

“I know he did,” the Duke of Walden stated with a slight smile on his still-hungry mouth. “Now, Silverbrook can have no doubt at all that you are mine. That is a good thing. But come, we must return to the ball before we are missed.”

Penelope took the arm he offered and set her resolve and expression as firmly as she could as they walked back towards the curious crowds and their million questions. Despite the roiling of her emotions, and acknowledgment of the impropriety of such feelings, she did feel safe with this man and would have followed him anywhere at this moment.

Still, a small voice at the back of her mind warned against such trust. The Duke of Walden was still a stranger, and their marriage was a business contract, based on mutual advantage rather than affection. Forgetting that felt dangerous.

Instead of leading her back to Frederick, Annabelle, and others through one of the side doors, Duke Maxwell instead brought them through the main corridors and along the receiving line where Duke Charles and Duchess Madeline continued to welcome their guests.

As Duke Charles caught his friend’s eye, he stepped slightly to one side to meet their approach, his eyes curiously taking in Penelope’s presence.

“I have two pieces of news you should hear directly from me, Charles,” said Maxwell Crawford with a confident grin that Penelope attempted to echo in her own less-assured smile.

Duke Charles’ face broke into a smile, likely guessing the nature of at least one of his friend’s announcements.

“Firstly, you should know that Lady Penelope has honored me with the promise of her hand, and Duke Frederick has given our union his blessing."

“A wedding!” Duke Charles exclaimed joyfully and loudly enough for others to hear and react. “We have made a marriage here this week, Madeline! Maxwell and Lady Penelope, you have our heartiest congratulations.”

He shook Maxwell’s hand vigorously as he spoke. Madeline also stepped away from the line and kissed Penelope’s cheek.

“Do not be afraid,” the duchess whispered in Penelope’s ear, perceiving her slight trembling and misconstruing its cause. “Maxwell Crawford is a good man, and you and I will talk more of marriage before your wedding.”

“Secondly,” Maxwell added, speaking to Charles again in a quieter voice now, “you should know that Lord Silverbrook is fully awake. I have just been upstairs and spoken both with him and with Mr. Jones. There is no present urgency, but it seems likely Silverbrook is almost fit to be moved.”

“Good,” Duke Charles responded shortly. “The sooner he is gone from under my roof the better for everyone. We shall send an express message to his family.”

As the Duke and Duchess of Huntingdon returned to their receiving line, Maxwell offered Penelope his arm once again, his smile giving her fresh courage. They walked together back into the ballroom, where they were greeted with congratulations on all sides.

While Penelope tried to smile and receive all felicitations graciously, her eye kept straying between Frederick in the doorway of the conservatory in absorbed conversation with Lady Gordney and Maxwell Crawford beside her, easily conversing with curious and excited guests.

Frederick might still discover the truth about Henry Atwood’s accident and hold her responsible. However, after tonight, her older brother was no longer the only male lynchpin in her life.

Penelope had staked her personal safety and entire future on a marriage of convenience to an eligible but intimidatingly driven and successful man. On present evidence, the Duke of Walden seemed determined to keep his end of the bargain, but could she keep hers?