Chapter 9

The duke stood in the courtyard, his sword gripped tightly in his hand as he went through the motions of his morning training. His movements were precise and controlled, each swing of the blade executed with a fluid grace that spoke of years of practice and discipline.

As he moved, his mind wandered to thoughts of his wife, an almost nun he had married just a single day ago. Despite his initial reservations about the arranged marriage, he could not deny the undeniable attraction he felt for her. Her innocence and purity had captivated him from the moment he had laid eyes on her, and now, as he practiced his sword fighting, her image danced in his mind, her delicate features etched into his memory.

With each thrust and parry, the duke found himself growing more and more entranced by the thoughts of his wife. He imagined her standing at the window of her chamber, watching him with wide-eyed wonder as he trained, her gaze filled with admiration and desire. He dared not look up to see whether that was just his imagination or reality.

Suddenly, his focus was interrupted by the arrival of his steward, who rushed into the courtyard, his expression tense as he delivered some troubling news.

"Your Grace, a group of trespassers has been spotted on our estate," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "They are hunting game on your grounds, despite the strict prohibition against such activities."

James' jaw tightened at the flagrant disregard for his estate's rules. He knew that unauthorized hunting not only threatened the delicate balance of the local wildlife but also undermined his authority as the landowner.

"Gather a team, Milligan, and meet me by the stables in half an hour," James instructed, realizing that his peaceful morning was over.

Just as they agreed, a little over half an hour later, the duke strode through the dense underbrush, his jaw set in determination as he led his team toward the location where the interlopers were spotted. With each step, his resolve hardened, his anger simmering beneath the surface at the audacity of those who dared to trespass in such a manner on his land.

As they approached the clearing where the hunters were gathered, James' eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of the group callously slaying game that rightfully belonged to him. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his presence commanding attention as he confronted the trespassers.

"You there!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "By what right do you dare to hunt on my estate?"

The hunters turned to face him, their expressions shifting from surprise to defiance as they recognized the duke and his imposing retinue. One of them, emboldened by drink or arrogance, stepped forward, his gaze meeting the duke's with insolence.

"We answer to no one," he retorted, his voice laced with arrogance. "These lands are free for all to hunt as they please!"

James' eyes blazed with fury at the man's insolent words, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

"No," James spoke again. "This land belongs to me in the name of my ancestors."

"I spit on your name!" the man snarled, and that was when James knew that there would be no reasoning with him or the men who were by his side.

Without a word, James motioned to his men, who moved forward with grim determination, their expressions mirroring their lord's steely resolve.

"Bind them," James commanded through clenched teeth. "They have been given one chance to admit their folly which they have refused. They have trespassed on my land, and they shall face the consequences."

With ruthless efficiency, his men seized the hunters, their hands rough as they bound them tightly with thick ropes. The trespassers struggled and protested, but their efforts were in vain against the overwhelming force of the duke's retinue.

Once they were securely restrained, James approached the leader of the group, his gaze icy and unforgiving. "You thought you could defy me and escape unpunished," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "But you have underestimated the consequences of your actions."

With a swift motion, he ordered his men to confiscate the hunters' weapons and belongings, leaving them defenseless and vulnerable in the heart of his domain.

"Your weapons and supplies are forfeit," he proclaimed, his voice brooking no argument. "Consider them payment for your insolence."

He could see now that they knew they had incurred the wrath of a man who tolerated no trespassers upon his domain.

"Now, you will find your way back where you came from," he ordered them. "If I see you again on my property, rest assured that I will use drastic measures to assure that you will never ever step foot here again."

With a sense of bitter defeat, the hunters turned around and started walking with their hands still bound. None of them said anything, not even the aggressive one who was so vocal just moments ago. James knew that being lenient would only create more trouble. Some people needed a firm hand to realize the mistake they had made and to ensure that they would never make it again.

He watched them walk slowly until he had gotten bored of it. He turned to his steward. "Let us head back, Milligan. I think I have had enough excitement for one day."

* * *

"Oh, it is you, lovely, lovely Penelope!"

Penelope had never received such a warm-hearted welcome upon entering a room and from a person she had barely exchanged a few words with.

"You don't mind if I call you Penelope, do you?" Lord Dunlop asked, approaching her the moment she entered the dining hall, his hands outstretched at her. "That is your name, after all!"

She could not resist chuckling at that last part. It was, after all, true. And all the more amusing because of it.

"Yes, indeed it is," she nodded, allowing him to take her by the hand and lead her to her place at the dining table. His touch was gentle, fatherly. She appreciated it more than she could ever describe it in mere words. He pulled up a chair for her then. Only after she was seated comfortably, did he take a seat opposite her. As he did so, she stole a chance to take a closer look at him.

The duke's grandfather was a figure of venerable age, yet his presence exuded an undeniable vitality that belied the years he carried. His face was weathered and lined with the passage of time, but his eyes sparkled with a youthful twinkle that hinted at a lifetime of mischief and merriment. Despite the stoop of age that bowed his frame, there was a certain grace in his movements while his demeanor was at once both dignified and approachable.

But perhaps it was his warm, infectious smile that left the most lasting impression — a smile that seemed to light up the room and melt away the cares of the world, inviting all who beheld it to share in the joy of his company. Penelope had to admit that she liked him from the outset.

"Ah, the scones!" he exclaimed upon seeing that the servant girl was bringing a tray filled with scones. "Penelope, you absolutely must try these. They are positively divine, if I do say so myself!"

With a polite nod, Penelope accepted one from the servant girl, placing it onto her plate. The smell was indeed divine. "Thank you, Lord Dunlop."

The man chuckled heartily, waving off the formal address with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, no, no, no, my dear. Just call me grandfather. We're practically family now, aren't we?"

A warm smile graced Penelope's lips as she nodded in agreement. She had never met anyone so… spontaneous, so in tune with his momentary thoughts and acting upon them without any fear of being judged. She wondered what it would be like to be so unrestrained and liberated. Perhaps it came with age?

"Of course… Grandfather," she nodded delightfully.

"My, my," he said eyeing her somehow mischievously, "you are even more beautiful like that — when you are blushing slightly. I do believe James did something incredibly fortuitous in his previous life to deserve you in this one!"

This time, they both chuckled at his words. Although everything he did and said seemed theatrical and somehow, overly done, Penelope did not see it as such. On the contrary, she could see a man who was masking deep sorrow with silliness and regaling everyone with all sorts of tales that amused him. Who was she to say that his way of dealing with grief was wrong? Penelope was certainly not of that opinion. She actually preferred such people to those who would clam up and blame the entire world for the tragedies that had befallen them.

"Maybe I did something to deserve him?" she suggested when the onslaught of laughter died down a little. Her words amused him as his eyes widened in surprise.

"You?" he considered with a delighted chuckle, obviously not expecting such a witty retort. "Perhaps, perhaps…"

He reached for his teacup, turning to the servant girl who was standing a bit further away from them, ready to be called at any moment.

"My… tea fortifier?" he asked pointing at his teacup.

The servant girl quickly grabbed a small saucer and poured just a little bit of some white liquid into his cup. Then, she proceeded to pour the actual tea into it. The man seemed focused on the process with delight, clicking the tip of his tongue against his upper teeth, then he lifted his gaze to Penelope and spoke again.

"I must tell you about the time I tried to teach my old hunting hound to dance. It was a sight to behold, I assure you!"

Laughter bubbled from her as she leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the promised story. "I can only imagine, Grandfather. Do tell!"

And so, amidst the clinking of silverware and the aroma of freshly brewed tea, the lord launched into a lively anecdote, weaving a tapestry of humor and nostalgia that filled the air with warmth and joy. As the tale unfolded, Penelope found herself swept away by the old man's charm, grateful for the unexpected camaraderie that had blossomed between them in the quiet hours of the morning.