He nodded slowly. So, he was not to be banned after all. “Do you trust me in this?” She had no reason to.
“I trust you, Hugh. You’ve no idea how much I trust you.” She suddenly looked vulnerable, a little lost in such a large bed, and a little alone.
Hugh bent down and removed his boots. If he returned to his room for his valet to assist him, this moment would be lost. For the second night in a row, he would disrobe in his wife’s chamber. “In that case, I will settle for a good night’s sleep.” When she went to move over, he stayed her with his hand. If she needed to be abed, he would not have her exerting herself on his behalf for any reason. He walked across the room, extinguished the candles, and then climbed onto the opposite side of the bed.
It was a comfortable mattress, softer than his own. The scent of the sheets was Penelope’s and Penelope’s alone. Clean, floral, with a hint of citrus. He burrowed into the covers and plumped the pillow under his head. There was no moonlight to come into the room, no, the maid must have drawn the curtains earlier.
He knew by her breathing that she was nowhere near sleeping. “Are you scared?” he asked into the darkness.
She would know what he referred to. “At night, Hugh, when it’s dark. The midwife says that the birth of twins can be more complicated than a regular one. She said it’s quite possible that both will not survive.”
She was afraid.
For all logical intents and purposes, the thought of her children not surviving ought to give him some hope. They could have his child at a later date—a child born of his seed, not some other anonymous bastard. But the thought brought him no satisfaction. In fact, it made him slightly ill.
He moved closer to her and tucked her in beside him. “Don’t be afraid.” It was the only thing he could think to say. There were no reassurances where such matters were concerned. He’d watched Cortland near sick with worry as Lilly had labored. And Margaret had been a twin. The other child had been stillborn. He did not know the details but remembered hearing something to the effect that it had not ever really developed properly.
Penelope turned on her side and put one hand upon his chest. “I wish…” She sighed. He knew what she wished. He wished the same. He would always wish for the same, most likely until his dying day.
He wished that the babies were his.
“Hush,” he said, and then he sighed. He realized then she had grown tired after all. For the Penelope he’d always known would not be hushed so easily. He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes.
Marriage was proving to be a complicated business, indeed.
In the week that followed, there was something of a truce between them. Penelope completed the requisite two days in her chambers and then began venturing out in gradually increasingly long bouts of activity. Nothing strenuous physically, but more than most ladies of quality did under normal circumstances. After learning the details involved in the running of Land’s End’s domestic endeavors, she turned her inquisitive mind to that of the more interesting aspects of the estate, such as details regarding livestock, tenants, farming, and other investments. These were when she was most stimulated.
While perusing some reports from ancient times—for how could one understand an estate in its current condition, truly, when one does not know what has prospered and failed in the past—Penelope sat tucked on a comfortable chair in the study, while Hugh labored over some accounting books sent down from the new steward of Augusta Heights.
She was not really learning anything she would not already have guessed and so her mind wandered a bit. She knew that Hugh was concentrating intently. His brows were furrowed, and he’d loosened his cravat.
In his unguarded moments, she could find herself nearly overwhelmed by his good looks.
“I suppose I ought to write to my mother,” Penelope said, breaking into the silence. “My parents probably ought to be informed of our marriage.”
Hugh glanced up. He’d been so absorbed it took him a moment or two to comprehend what she’d said. “I hadn’t considered them.” He grimaced. “Does she know about the other…?”
“Oh, Heavens, no.” Penelope closed her book and tucked it under her chin. “I can only imagine her reaction.” There would be fainting, the smelling salts, the moaning and berating of her only daughter… and then? The realization that her daughter was married. The realization that she would become a grandmamma. Never mind the little matter of such a thing as a five, four, or would it be a three-month long pregnancy?
“Before you arrived, I was up to my ears in correspondence regarding mother’s passing.” That shadow flitted across his features but only for a moment. She assumed one never adjusted completely to the loss of one’s parents. Poor Hugh. “I suppose I ought to send a notice to the papers in London.”
The season would be winding down now. Families would be packing up in preparation of returning to their country estates. It was a wonder how much her life would be different than it had been before. For years now, she’d flitted from country house parties to more intimate visits with friends during the off-season, her most pressing concerns being growing her library and tolerating the inevitable insipids in attendance.
“All the debs shall go into mourning. I’ll be the most hated woman in all of England.” She smiled at him. He had been considered a most fortunate catch. He’d never been netted, however. Until…
Hugh smiled weakly. Unsettled matters remained between them. It was difficult to be with him, in moments such as this, and not feel the urge to convince him he was her children’s father.
They had not been intimate again, either.
Perhaps it was time she took matters into her own hands. He most likely was still fearful. She hoped he’d not been repelled by her condition. He had not seemed repelled before. Not at all. Hopefully he had simply been waiting for a sign from her.
The summer sun burned warm and the doors and windows had been thrown wide open. Over the past several days, they’d developed a comfortable understanding by avoiding any discussions of their relationship. They’d covered politics, crops, estate matters, even stories from both of their youths, but never addressed the tension, the unnamed emotions simmering between them. Their stale mate called for a change of scenery.
“It’s a beautiful afternoon. Would you be opposed to taking tea outside? As a picnic?” He’d spent several hours outdoors, riding, visiting tenants, working with the very capable steward here but Penelope had kept close to the manor.
He shrugged but then nodded. “Are you certain?”
Rising to her feet, Penelope waved away his concerns. “You can show me some of the grounds. It will be good for me.” She pulled the bell cord and instructed the servant to have Cook prepare a small basket. “Give me a moment to collect my bonnet.” She wrinkled up her nose. “An unfortunate side effect of my red hair is the intolerance of my complexion for direct sunlight.”
Hugh’s eyes went to her hair. They then settled back on her face. “Then I would have you collect a large and floppy one, for I’ve a fondness for both your hair and your complexion.”
Warmed by the compliment, she held his gaze steadily before dropping her lashes with a nod. She would flirt with her husband, pregnant or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hugh did not have to wait long for Penelope to reappear, and just as she returned, a footman delivered a basket with picnic rations. The only change she’d made to her appearance was to don a straw hat with a large floppy brim.
“That is not a bonnet,” he said jokingly. At first, he’d been a bit annoyed by her suggestion, but the thought of an outdoor excursion was appealing. And ironically enough, he was eager to show her more of the estate, the grounds where he’d spent most of his boyhood.
She laughed at his comment. “The sun is so high and bright today that I decided I needed all the shade I could get.”
He picked up the basket and held out his arm. “Where would you like to go?”
She leaned into him. “Take me somewhere secret, Hugh. Someplace where you played as a child when you could escape all of the adults.”
Her request surprised him. At first, he drew a blank, but then a long tucked away memory surfaced. There was such a place. He’d not been allowed to go down to the cove without an adult, but he and Margaret had found a most excellent substitute. And it was not too far for Penelope, he did not think.
As they stepped outdoors, a very slight breeze was the only indication that they were near the sea. It was unique to Land’s End, salty and yet fresh at the same time.
But the day was warm.
He led her across the park and into the woods. The shade was a relief.
“Margaret and I spent many a day playing in these woods,” he broke into their companionable silence.
Penelope released his arm and skipped ahead of him. He was growing familiar with the notion that he knew her intimately now. How very strange it was, to go from friend to lover after so long of an acquaintance.
She was a different type of beautiful; he acknowledged the appreciation he had for her person, in that he knew her outer surface hid such a unique individual.
“When we were at Augusta Heights, before I departed. I said something that angered you.”
She turned her head back toward him, a little startled at his comment. Did she remember? Yes, yes, she remembered. What exactly had he said? Oh, yes. I never did understand you. So set against marriage, determined to emasculate every man you’ve ever met. Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have to be so… different?
That was when she’d pushed him off of her. He’d been contemplating kissing her even back then. “You have always been different, Penelope. I think that marriage to you will not always be easy, but it shall never be boring either.”
Penelope halted and stared down at the ground to contemplate what he’d said. “I could not be confined to a ‘typical’ lady’s existence.” He could tell that she was searching for her words carefully. Perhaps this was a difficult subject for her. “Reading gives a person a sort of freedom; to travel, to learn, to think and explore. In case you haven’t noticed, I read voraciously.”
He nodded.
“But then all of these ideas are always swirling around in my mind. Sometimes, they involve science, sometimes philosophy or government, sometimes all of them together. And I have a need to discuss them. To me, anyhow, this need is almost physical, Hugh. If I cannot exchange what is going on inside my head from time to time with other like-minded, intelligent individuals, I might be fit for Bedlam.”
“I understand.”
“If I were to appear frivolous, feminine, and silly, as many ladies do, I don’t think I could ever be taken seriously. I would find myself barred from the occasional male dominated discourse. I would be…”
“Left out?”
She shrugged. “Exactly.”
Memories of Penelope joining a few select gentlemen, on subdued occasions, reminded him that she’d been accepted somewhat into the masculine domain. He could not imagine any other lady ever doing so. “And so, you felt the need to set yourself apart.”
“Yes. I am still a woman, though. I am very much a woman, Hugh.”
But, he considered, he did not think she had always been so very certain of this fact.
“What of your cousin, Abigail? The Duchess of Monfort? I know you have always spent a great deal of time with her. I only met her a few times, but she does not seem to me to be as interested in learning as you are.”
Penelope turned and began following the path once again, in front of him. “Abigail has always been different as well. We needed each other. For although I could not converse with her on as many of the topics as I’d like, she did not rebuke me for my pursuits. She has always accepted me exactly as I am.”
“And did she ever make you feel less than a woman?” He surprisingly discovered that he was truly interested in Penelope’s answers. In this moment, he could not believe that there was another woman in all of England with as many different facets as his wife.
“Abigail is not that way.” They were nearing the edge of the woods. He could see the sunlight and blue sky at a distance. The trail sloped downward somewhat. “Abigail was not seeking a husband when she met Monfort. She had decided that marriage was not going to be in her future. And so, she did not fuss and giggle and make me feel any lack of femininity.”
He thought that perhaps he understood what she was saying. But he was not certain. The female mind, no, Penelope’s mind, was like a deep unchartered ocean. Most women relied upon their looks and their coquettishness in order to garner masculine attention. He knew this because it was often very effective. It was also one of the reasons he’d resisted marriage for as long as he had. How long could one find flattery and simpering attractive? He’d have been bored to tears before the first year was out.
He watched Penelope’s back as she strode ahead of him. She was rounded from behind, he could see. Her arms swung at her sides freely.
“Oh, Hugh, it feels so wonderful to be outside again!” She twirled around a few times with her face to the sky. “I do not always need to be in nature, but I require it from time to time.”
They had reached the open meadow once again. The trail went just a little ways forward before the land met the cliffs. The sound of the ocean was everywhere now, even though the waves crashed far below. He caught up to her and grasped her hand, pulling her off of the trail and around the trees. He had noted she wore her half boots. Slippers would not have sufficed.
She raised her face to his and smiled questioningly.
“You did say you wanted to go somewhere secret,” he laughed. “Margaret is the only other person I’ve ever come here with. Though I imagine others know of its existence.”
And then they were there. His “secret” place hid behind a small copse of trees and was really not a place for children to play at all. For the cliffs jutted inward here, and there was not a great deal of level land before the edge.
It had been exciting to be here as a child. One could look down and see the waves crashing into the sharp rocks below. At low tide a miniscule sandy beach beckoned dangerously. He would have to be certain his own children never ventured to this place alone.
Penelope walked right up to the edge and looked down. He held tightly to her hand and pulled her backward. “I always hated it when Margaret did that.”
Penelope looked over her shoulder at him with questioning eyes but didn’t resist him. “I don’t want your sister to feel uncomfortable living with us, Hugh. I think she left because she feels she would be an intrusion. I don’t feel that way about her at all. This is her home!”
Hugh pulled Penelope against him, wrapping his arms around her waist. He rested his hands upon her protruding abdomen. “Margaret did not leave because she felt she was intruding,” he explained reluctantly. “She told me that she cannot bear to be here when you grow large with child. She cannot bear to be here when you finally give birth.”
“Does she hate me so much?” Penelope sounded confused and hurt. “Is she so offended by…?”
He shook his head. “She delivered a stillborn just after her husband’s death. She told me she cannot bear to be reminded. It is too soon.”
Penelope sighed and rested against him. “I didn’t know.”
“Not many did.”
“She has not had an easy time of it over the past few years, has she?”
“No.” They stood in silence together. All that was in front of them was ocean. Endless, ocean. They were, quite literally, at England’s edge.
The mood had become melancholy rather quickly. But Penelope shook it off for the both of them.
“I’m starving, Hugh! Let’s see what Cook has prepared.”
The next few minutes were spent opening the basket and spreading a blanket over the untamed grass that grew there. Penelope took out a few dishes and napkins and began piling various delicacies onto two plates. Cook had prov
ided a bottle of wine but no glasses. They took turns drinking directly from it, in between bites of cucumber sandwiches, pastries, and fresh strawberries. Hugh regaled her with some of the adventures he’d had here. Penelope would interrupt to ask him for more details or explanation. She was a very good listener. Eventually, he persuaded her to speak about herself. She shared a few stories of the foibles she’d managed to get herself into with her cousin over the past several years.
Abigail had been a very important person in her life for a long time. He knew the lady had married last summer. He wondered if her cousin’s absence had left Penelope feeling lonely. He’d felt a bit of that himself, he reluctantly admitted, when Cortland had wed. He and Penelope were two of the last single people left from a handful of friends who’d experienced that first season together in London after Waterloo. That had been nearly a decade ago.
Feeling content and full, Hugh stood up and stretched. While he did so, Penelope returned the leftovers and dishes to the basket. When she was finished, she leaned back on the blanket and propped herself up with her elbow. A suspicious gleam lit her eyes.
“Hugh?”
He chuckled. “Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about something and wondering.” He watched as she bit her bottom lip. A shot of heat surged to his loins.
Men were such simple beings.
He crouched down and then lay beside her. “What have you been thinking?” He raised one hand and ran his index finger from the edge of her sleeve down to her wrist. She shivered.
“The night of our wedding, you, well, you did things with your mouth.” She did not meet his eyes. She plucked at the blanket, instead, and watched her fingers as she did so.
“I did.” Hugh’s own voice sounded husky.
“It was, well, really, rather extraordinary.” And then she met his eyes. The blue lights danced. “And, well, I have seen renderings… in this one particular book.”
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