Chapter Twenty-One

P enelope did not notice the sound of hooves approaching the carriage until they were right alongside. The carriage began to slow to a halt, and her heart raced. Were they being held up by highwaymen? That would be just her luck, on what already felt like the worst day of her life. She had nothing of any value on her – just the clothes on her back, which she had worn far more over the last five days than they were used to.

She didn't know whether it made more sense to look out and see what they were dealing with, or to stay hidden in the carriage, hoping that whoever had stopped them would simply ride on.

But as she was weighing up these options, the carriage door was pulled roughly open, and standing there, a little out of breath, his hair tousled by the wind, was the Duke.

Penelope's first reaction was relief that he was no highwayman ready to stick a pistol at her head in demand for jewels she did not have. And her second was confusion. He had sent her away with so much anger – why on earth would he be here now?

He climbed into the coach without saying a word and sat on the seat opposite, running a hand through his hair. "We must still marry," he said, without any greeting or preamble.

"Oh?" Penelope could not believe the words she was hearing. Had he forgiven her? Had he realised that he felt something deeper, like she did?

"No matter your sins, the fact remains that we still were together, unchaperoned, for days – and that is as much my fault as yours. Perhaps more, since I know the ways of the world better than you do."

She nodded mutely, deciding now was not the time to start disagreeing. He certainly hadn't forgiven her, then.

"And so marriage is the only answer – to save your reputation and my honour."

"I can see that," Penelope squeaked, feeling it was time she said something.

"But you must understand, I do not intend for this to be a close union. I clearly cannot trust you. And so once we wed, you will move to one of my properties and live your life as the duchess there."

Penelope could not stop her face from falling. She had hoped that, somehow, everything hadn’t been ruined by her silly behaviour. But here he was, proving that, in spite of his anger, he was a thoroughly decent duke – but he couldn’t trust her. He didn’t want a proper marriage with her. Just one in name…

"I–" She opened and closed her mouth, but no other words would come out. What could she say to that? Part of her wanted to decline the offer; to tell him that she had said no to other proposals because she did not know the gentlemen in question, and she would also say no to a marriage where she never saw her husband.

And yet…

She was struggling now to imagine marriage to anyone else. And if he was right, she had no option: if she was ruined, no one would want to marry her. Her future would be bleak – but would it be more bleak than marriage to a man she cared for, who wanted nothing to do with her?

◆◆◆

In the stationary carriage, surrounded by a vast expanse of Scottish countryside, James waited for her to answer.

He hadn’t expected she would have any hesitation. He was acting to save his honour – but he was no fool. He knew that it was her reputation that was really on the line. If her father did call him out, he was confident he could beat a man twice his age in a duel. And it might not even come to that. If it was simply gossip about him not marrying her that he had to deal with, then he knew he could weather it. After all, he barely ever went to London. And he was a duke, with a grand fortune, a headful of hair and age on his side. He would be able to find a bride when he wished to. It wasn’t arrogance; it was simply the way things were.

This marriage was not what he’d envisaged, and he imagined not what she had planned for, either. But it was the only way he could see of rectifying the situation without having to live with a woman he clearly couldn’t trust.

When she said no more, he thought perhaps some clarification was needed. "In due course, we can discuss heirs, for I shall need a son to pass the title down to. So you needn’t worry on that score."

She swallowed and nodded, and still she did not speak.

"We both need to be returning to our homes," he said, slightly irritated by the delay – and by the way he could not take his eyes from the delicate features of her face. Sitting alone in a carriage with her had an effect on him that he did not welcome. He did not like to lose control of his mind, and she seemed to make him do so with alarming regularity.

"Very well," she said eventually. "We will wed."

He didn’t know if he’d been expecting more gratitude, or emotion, but he certainly had not anticipated the cool, calm way she accepted him.

He should have appreciated it. He did not like displays of emotion – didn’t know how to handle them. And this needed to be settled now.

"Right. Excellent. I will return home, then, and organise for the banns to be read. If you return to Dunloch in, say, two months, we can marry then, and everything will be organised. And if your parents wish to attend, that would be acceptable."

◆◆◆

"Very well," Penelope said again, feeling like every choice she had ever had was being taken away from her. When she had lied about knowing her identity on that beach, she had not thought it would lead to marriage…and a marriage that would leave her as a duchess in a castle all alone.

He left her without a kiss or even a kind word, and she continued her miserable journey south alone. So, all was settled. She was to marry him. Her parents would undoubtedly be thrilled – both at her return and her extraordinary betrothal.

But she was struggling to be happy herself. She supposed she should be grateful; he was marrying her, after all. And perhaps the home he placed her in would be one she loved, and she could be mistress of it until the end of the days.

No, she would not have her husband by her side. But it sounded as though, one day, he would wish to have children with her. And then she would have them for company…

Maybe it wasn’t such a disaster. Although if that was the case, why did it feel like her heart was breaking?

As the coach approached Amblewood, her misery turned to anxiety. What would her parents say, having not seen her for several days? She craned her neck to get a view of the castle that she had missed so much. No matter how long she was away from Amblewood, she found herself yearning to see it again, to feel safe within its walls, to wander the grounds she knew so well and lose herself in them.

On this day, however, she did not get the usual sense of overwhelming relief at seeing her home. All it seemed to remind her of was Dunloch – the castle that the Duke, her betrothed, would surely live in for the rest of his days…and the castle that she would not be calling home.

Because he didn’t trust her.

The carriage stopped in the courtyard, and a liveried footman hurried to open it, his mouth dropping open at the sight of Penelope within.

He quickly regained his composure, and bowed. "My lady."

"Are my parents home, Gates?" she asked, taking his hand and alighting from the carriage.

"Yes, my lady. In the parlour – they’re very concerned about you."

She gave him a strained smile, picked up her skirts and walked determinedly to the front door, leaving Gates to arrange food for the coach driver and the horses who had brought her there.

Outside the parlour, she took a deep breath, and then pushed the door open.

Her mother and father instantly turned to see who had entered, and the colour drained from her mother’s face.

"Penelope?" she whispered, as though not truly trusting her daughter’s appearance before her.

In spite of the misery which filled her heart, Penelope’s smile was genuine. She often disagreed with her parents, but she loved them dearly, and seeing them after several days apart was a joy.

Her mother crossed the room in three paces and enveloped her in a hug, while her father stood and looked on.

"We have most of the staff out searching for you," Mama said, not letting go of her arm. "Where have you been? We have been so worried…"

"Was it highwaymen?" her father asked. "I’ve heard tales…"

Penelope shook her head. "Perhaps we could call for some tea? And I will tell you everything…"

"Of course," Mama said, reaching for the bell pull. "Are you hurt? Sick? Injured?"

"I am quite well," Penelope said, and it was true – other than the broken heart she was sporting.

"Well where the blazes have you been for five days, without sending word?" her father asked, his face reddening. "Really, Penelope. I know we’ve allowed you some freedom, but this is–"

"Gregory," her mother said in a warning tone. "Let us hear Penelope out, please."

Penelope took a seat and began from the beginning. "I took my boat out, and then the storm hit…"

Mama frowned. "That storm was terrible. You were at sea? I knew we should never have allowed you that little boat, so unsafe…"

"I was foolish to go out with the clouds drawing in," she admitted. "But I never expected… I lost control, and I believe I was knocked over by a wave, because the next thing I knew, I woke up on a beach with no idea where I was."

Her mother gasped, but did not interrupt.

"I was found…I later discovered…in Scotland. By the Duke of Dunloch."

Her mother and father looked at each other. "Do we know a Duke of Dunloch?" Mama asked Papa.

"Not personally…but I seem to remember an old duke of that name, went to Eton at a similar time to me, inherited fairly young…"

"That might have been his father," Penelope offered, for her Duke of Dunloch – the current Duke of Dunloch – was certainly not a man as old as her father.

"I…could not remember much when he found me, and so he made sure I was well and…found me a bed in a local inn." She did not wish for her parents to think ill of the Duke, even if nothing had occurred during the days she had spent with him, and so she altered the truth slightly.

"Well, that was kind of him," Mama said.

"Indeed. We spent a little time together, and…he has asked me to marry him."

This time, her mother’s gasp was one of delight.

"A duke!"

"Is there a reason he had to ask you?" her father asked, a frown on his face.

Her reputation was the main reason, but she did not disclose this, simply shaking her head. "I’m sure he will apologise, Papa, for not asking you for my hand. It was all rather unexpected…"

"Indeed!" her mother said, a beam upon her face. "After four Seasons, you get an offer from a duke! What a development. And you have accepted him, yes?"

"I have." Penelope could not bear to tell them that it would be a marriage in name only, that he was only doing it to save her reputation and to ensure his own honour was not maligned.

She was betrothed to a duke. But he hated her. And she couldn’t even blame him. She had been foolish and childish…but all she’d wanted was to find out what sort of man he was.