Chapter 8

Penelope thought she would forget all about the kiss by the time she woke up. But she was wrong. Just as it was the only thing on her mind when she fell asleep the previous night, it was also the first thing on her mind when she woke up that morning, reluctantly emerging from the depths of sleep.

She could still remember with what passion she kissed him back. She did not hesitate even for a single moment. It was as if a part of her had been expecting that kiss all along and knew exactly how to reciprocate. That realization made her blush and thank heavens that she was alone in her chamber with no one as a witness to her shame.

Refusing to acknowledge the intensity of her feelings, she tried to bury them deep within, determined to maintain the fa?ade of indifference that had shielded her heart for so long.

She had learned this strategy at home. It was easier not to show anyone how hurt she was by their lack of affection, lack of care, not to mention lack of love. She thought she was invisible, so one day, she started acting like she was. She spoke less and less, only acting out when her emotions were unbearable, and she had no idea how to handle them in any other way. But with James, it would be different. She would wait to shield her heart from him until after eventually providing him with what he wanted, and that was an heir. He did not state it specifically, but?—

At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted her troubling flow of thoughts.

"Yes?" she said eagerly, not even certain who she was expecting to see.

Him?

The door opened, and the cheerful face of her lady's maid appeared.

"Lottie!" Penelope greeted, throwing the blanket off of herself and jumping to her feet.

"I was afraid that I would wake Your Grace up, but I see that you are already awake," Charlotte replied, closing the door behind her. "I am here to help you get ready for breakfast. Lord Dunlop said he would be down shortly, wishing to join you for breakfast."

Penelope immediately recognized the name as James' grandfather.

"And the duke?" she inquired, against all better judgment.

"Oh," Charlotte spoke as she walked over to the window, pulled the curtains to the side, and opened it to let in some fresh air. "His Grace never has breakfast. He has tea in his study a bit later on and then an early lunch. That is his habitual morning."

"I see," Penelope nodded.

Charlotte opened the wardrobe in the corner of the room and selected a gown of soft ivory silk, adorned with intricate lace detailing that shimmered in the sunlight.

"Ah, a perfect choice!" she gushed, turning to Penelope to show her the gown.

"Yes," Penelope agreed. "I like that one."

"They were all ordered by the duke himself, you know," Charlotte pointed out, setting the gown nicely on a chair then turning to Penelope.

"Really?" Penelope wondered.

"Yes," Charlotte noted. "He sent for the best tailor in all of London to come to the mansion, and His Grace selected the fabrics himself. He wanted the finest ones and the most beautiful designs for his wife-to-be."

Penelope swallowed heavily. That was still when he thought that he would be marrying Vanessa. A cold talon of fear appeared, grazing gently against the back of her neck. Was he regretting marrying her and not Vanessa?

He could not be. He did not even know her back then, just like he doesn't know her now, she reminded herself of a simple truth. He was ordering it for his wife, whoever she was.

"Well, that's nice," Penelope replied.

"I mentioned it because most other gentlemen would not bother themselves with such things," Charlotte stated, and Penelope knew that to be the truth. "They would just send for a few gowns to be purchased, if even that. But His Grace had really put in the effort." Charlotte looked at Penelope somehow, apologetically. "You know, he is not a bad man, no matter what they say."

Penelope frowned. "What do they say?"

Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise, almost as if she was not expecting to hear those words. "Oh, don't mind me," she urged hastily, grabbing the gown. "Now, let's make you pretty, Your Grace."

With gentle hands, Charlotte helped Penelope into the gown, ensuring that every fold and pleat felt just as it was supposed to. She smoothed the fabric over Penelope's slender frame, her touch light and deft as she fastened the buttons and ties with precision.

"The gown is all done," Charlotte exclaimed joyfully, pulling up a chair for Penelope in front of her vanity table. "Now, please, take a seat, so we can focus on your hair."

Penelope smiled, taking a seat, watching in the reflection of the looking glass as Charlotte proceeded to comb through her locks with a silver brush that glistened as the sunlight from the window fell upon it.

"You really like your master, don't you, Lottie?" Penelope observed, trying to return back to the previous conversation.

"We all do, Your Grace," Charlotte replied although it was obvious that she was focused on her work.

"Is there someone who doesn't like him?" Penelope asked cautiously. It did not escape her attention that Charlotte's hand jerked for a moment then it continued combing again.

"No one is without enemies in this world, Your Grace," Charlotte gave a diplomatic response. "And the duke is no exception to that rule. But like I said, it is wise never to listen to gossip and rumors." She paused for a moment. "You seem to be a very wise young lady, Your Grace. I can tell. You will know truth from lies."

Penelope did not know what to say to that. The truth was that she knew never to trust gossip and rumors. But wise? She never considered herself wise. On the contrary, she had done so many silly, irresponsible things that she did not have enough fingers on both hands to count them all. However, she did know that reality could be very different from the image one was projecting. The entire ton thought her parents were good people who loved their daughters equally without reserve. Needless to say, that was far from the truth.

With each stroke, Charlotte coaxed the tangles free, her fingers working with a quiet grace as she fashioned Penelope's hair into an elegant twist at the nape of her neck, securing it with delicate pins adorned with pearls.

Finally, with a satisfied nod, Charlotte stepped back to admire her handiwork. Penelope had to admit that it was exquisite. She could not remember the last time she felt that lovely, her beauty shining like a beacon in the morning light, her gown and hair perfectly arranged. She was truly a picture of grace and serenity amidst the chaos of the previous several days.

"Thank you, Lottie," Penelope said, getting up from the chair. "It is lovely."

"No," Charlotte replied. "You are lovely, Your Grace."

Penelope had to chuckle. "And you are too sweet."

She walked over to the window, as if drawn by some unseen force, allowing the morning breeze to caress her cheeks. She looked outside, across the garden, and her eyes fell upon the duke, his form silhouetted against the morning light as he engaged in vigorous training in the courtyard below. She stifled a gasp, pretending that she was looking anywhere but at him although he was the only one holding her attention.

Clad in nothing but a thin shirt and trousers, the duke's physique was a sight to behold, his sinewy arms and broad shoulders glistening with a sheen of sweat as he wielded a sword with practiced ease. His chest rose and fell with each exertion, the fabric of his shirt clinging to his sculpted torso, accentuating every contour and ridge.

Penelope unconsciously pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the hurried beating of her heart. She knew that she was flushed. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, but it did not emanate from there. No. It started somewhere deeper, more intimate, somewhere between her thighs, flowing through every part of her body as she watched him in awe. Her breath caught in her throat as she drank at the sight of his powerful form. She had never seen a man like that before, so raw and powerful, and she found herself unable to tear her gaze away from him.

As he continued his training, oblivious that anyone was watching him, his movements became more fluid and graceful with each passing moment, and in turn, Penelope felt a growing heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. She was aroused by him, captivated by the raw masculinity of his presence, and she could not help but feel a stirring of desire deep within her soul.

"The duke practices every morning," Charlotte's voice brought her back to the present moment. "Sword fighting."

She then positioned herself right next to Penelope as both ladies stared at the man in front of them. Neither of them spoke for what seemed to be a small eternity. Then suddenly, pride swelled up inside of Penelope. That was her husband. Her husband. That strikingly gorgeous man who kissed her breathless the previous night was her husband.

There was something about that statement that made her want to repeat it over and over inside her mind. But she could not very well remain transfixed all day at the window, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him with a mixture of awe and longing.

"His form is very good," Penelope said, pulling herself out of her reverie.

Charlotte turned to her with a knowing smirk. Something assured Penelope that her lady's maid knew exactly what was happening, but she wisely remained silent about it. She treated Penelope as if she was wise, but it was slowly becoming clear that Charlotte was the wise one. For that, and for many other reasons, Penelope was happy to have Charlotte by her side in her new home.

"Well, I do believe that it is time for breakfast," Penelope announced. "Should I knock on Lord Dunlop's door and let him know I am on my way there?"

She wondered what breakfast would be like with a man she had only spoken to once before, and she'd like to thank him for his wishes for a long and prosperous marriage. She wondered if he would be like her own father. In that case, she would be seeing very little of him. That would be difficult, seeing that the man lived in the mansion with them, but the place was more than big enough for everyone to live comfortably without meeting too often.

It will all be all right,she tried to soothe herself silently.

"He is a very funny old man," Charlotte said without being asked, and it almost seemed as if she were able to read Penelope's mind regarding her fears.

"He is?" Penelope asked.

"Mhm," Charlotte nodded. "He always talks to us, the maids and the servants, every time he sees us. I don't know of any other lord who does that. I suppose he is a bit lonely."

"But James… I mean, the duke is here," Penelope observed.

"His Grace is a busy man," Charlotte clarified. "He is often away for the day, and Lord Dunlop is left to his own devices… and liquor," Charlotte added the last part somehow sorrowfully.

"Oh," Penelope pressed her hand to her lips. "Well, that's not good."

"No," Charlotte sighed. "But I suppose a man is entitled to one vice after having lost his family."

Penelope knew the general story of the family she had married into. James had become an orphan at a very early age, leaving him in the care of his grandfather. That was all she knew. That was all she wanted to know. She felt it was a very personal story, a tragedy that should be only shared with a trusted ear. She was not that yet. Perhaps she would someday talk to him about it, but not now.

"I do believe that is true," she agreed after a moment. "But when he drinks…"

"He is even more amusing than when he doesn't," Charlotte reassured her. "If there is any gossip or rumor you don't know about, you will know shortly after being in his presence." Charlotte chuckled. "Oh, and if you have a secret, I advise you not to share it with him."

"I will keep that in mind," Penelope chuckled herself, reassured about Lord Dunlop and actually a little eager to spend breakfast time alone with him. "Well, I'd better be off then. Thank you again, Lottie." She hesitated for a moment then took Charlotte's hands into her own. "Thank you for being a friend in a place where I did not know anyone."

Charlotte's eyes teared up a little then she squeezed Penelope back. "I am here for whatever you need me for, Your Grace. Always remember that."

They exchanged a meaningful glance then Penelope hurried out of her chamber and down the grand staircase, eager to start her day.