Chapter Two
A s their carriage pulled up outside Blackthorne Castle, Penelope craned her neck to see it. It was a grand, imposing castle – although in the fading light, it was hard to discern much of its detail. She had always admired it, ever since she was a little girl. The beautiful views it boasted, and its proximity to the ocean, made it an enviable home.
She had even imagined living there when she first came out in society, and her mother had been heavily pushing for a match between her and the Duke of Coldingham – even with the rumours that had been swirling around his name at the time.
Everyone was convinced now that he hadn’t killed his father in that fire, and it seemed that the Duchess was keener to entertain than he ever had been – for although balls at Blackthorne Castle still weren’t frequent, they now occurred at fairly regular intervals.
Being some of their nearest neighbours, the Strachans were always invited, even if such events caused her mother to lament the fine match she had lost. Not that he had ever proposed. From what Penelope occasionally heard through gossip, he had never proposed marriage to anyone in his life until he did so to his current Duchess.
The Duke and Duchess were waiting to greet everyone in the entrance hall, and Penelope and her mother swept curtsies while her father bowed.
"Lord and Lady Strachan, and Lady Penelope. Such a pleasure to have you with us," the blond Duchess said with a beaming smile. She was glowing with happiness and – although Penelope would never have commented upon it – was rather clearly with child again. The thought of filling this castle with laughter and love, rather than leaving it empty and cold as it had been for many years, was a cheering one.
Perhaps one day, Penelope would have her own castle filled with children, and a husband who looked at her in the adoring way the Duke looked at the Duchess.
"Thank you for having us," Lady Strachan said. "The castle looks beautiful, as always."
They moved into the great hall, where tables had been set along one side for food, and a band was setting up in the far corner. The room was filled with beautiful flowers – the summer’s last, Penelope reckoned, for soon the foliage would be turning to oranges and browns, and everything would be falling from the trees.
As they often were, the Strachans were some of the first guests to arrive. Her mother liked promptness, and their proximity to the castle meant they avoided any issues on the roads. It also meant there was no need for them to stay the night, something Penelope was quite pleased about. As beautiful as the castle was, she did prefer to sleep in her own bed.
"Is that not His Grace’s cousin?" her mother asked behind her fan.
Penelope looked in the direction her mother was gazing, trying not to make it obvious. A tall, dark-haired man had entered with a redhead on his arm. Unlike Penelope’s slightly reddish-tinged hair, this woman had a head full of flaming locks, intricately pinned around the crown of her head. She wore an emerald green dress that complemented her pale complexion, and Penelope was struck by how beautiful she was.
"I think so," Penelope agreed. "The Viscount and Viscountess Aylesbury, I think?"
"The one who married the lady’s maid," her mother said with a tut.
"They look very happy, though," Penelope commented, watching them as they glided through the room towards the refreshment table. The Viscountess held her hand delicately to her stomach, and Penelope wondered if she too was with child.
"I’m not sure they have any business being happy," her mother said with a sniff, though she kept her voice down – whatever her views, she would not want to offend their host or his cousin. "They went against the natural order of things. It’s a dangerous thing to upend society like that."
Penelope sighed, feeling irritated by her mother’s remarks. "For goodness’ sake, Mother. I don’t see that it’s any of our business. Besides, you didn’t seem to have such an issue when the Duke married his mother’s companion."
Her mother shushed her, clearly concerned that someone important might hear, and took her elbow, leading her to a quieter corner. "She was at least a gentleman’s daughter, and well you know it. Not a servant girl, descended from a servant girl…Don’t get any silly ideas in your head, young lady. It’s not right when a man marries beneath his station, but it’s much more forgivable than for a woman."
"Yes, Mother," Penelope said, eager to end the conversation. Just because she could see someone was happy, why did everyone suddenly think she was about to run off with someone in their employ? She wasn’t a fool – she knew that would not be tolerated by her family. She also knew she enjoyed the comfortable life she lived far too much to give it up and become a poor man’s wife.
Her mother was right that it was easier to forgive in men; after all, they had the money and the power. If they wanted a wife of little consequence, they would provide for her – but they wouldn’t have to give up their lifestyle. Unless society shunned them, of course, but considering how many people were at this ball, that didn’t seem to have happened for either the Duke of Coldingham or Viscount Aylesbury.
"There’s Lord Danson," her mother commented, looking towards the door as a young, fair-haired man entered. "He has newly inherited, and he’s looking for a wife. You must make sure you dance with him."
"Yes, Mother." Penelope knew it was easiest to agree, though she still couldn’t quite see how a good husband could be found in such circumstances.
The band began to play, and the Duke and Duchess led the first dance. Since no one had yet asked for her hand, Penelope watched them as they glided across the dance floor, never putting a foot out of step.
The Duke walked with a limp, but when he danced, it seemed to disappear entirely. He had eyes only for his wife, and she for him. When other couples joined them on the dance floor, Penelope watched them too, trying to decipher which ones were truly in love, which were merely acquaintances, and which were married couples who felt nothing for each other.
The Duke and Duchess, and the Viscount and Viscountess, were very clearly in love. Her parents were clearly married, but she wasn’t sure she would call what was between them love. Companionship, perhaps. They rubbed along together well enough and worked together to be well-liked and respected peers of the region.
Lord Danson was dancing with a girl Penelope didn’t recognise, but one she thought had probably only just come out in society. They trod on each other’s toes several times, both wincing painfully, and Penelope wondered whether a match could be made from such a brief pairing.
Stranger things had happened.
And yet… she wanted more. She wanted love. She wanted a marriage with a stronger foundation than simply property that ought to be combined for efficiency’s sake, or a young man’s need for a dowry.
She wanted a love match she was sure of – and she just had to figure out how on earth she was going to get it.