Listening to their conversation Penny realized that her father expected the Duke of Ainsworth to marry her, whether he wished to or not. And clearly he did not. “Papa, no,” she cried. “You cannot expect His Grace to-”
“Penelope,” the earl interrupted, “there is only one acceptable resolution to this matter, for to do anything else would be to risk your reputation and place your entire future in jeopardy. And that,” he continued as he reached out, grasping her chin gently within his hand, “is something I simply cannot allow.”
“But His Grace did nothing wrong.”
“While that might very well be true, I am sorry to say that the duke’s blamelessness does not signify at this point, for the situation we are in remains the same.”
Did not signify? Surely her father couldn’t mean that. “But-”
“Penelope,” her father cautioned, silencing her with a firm, uncompromising tone and a decided shake of his head. “I am afraid that you will simply have to trust me in this, my dear.” He offered her a slight, reassuring smile then, before turning back to confront the duke.
“Ainsworth?” he said simply.
The one word question seemed to hang suspended in the air as Penny, in mounting horror, shifted her agonized gaze to the duke’s face.
Though Gabriel had anticipated such an outcome from the moment he’d seen Penelope Houghton lying next to him in his bed, the reality of his impending fate was far more difficult to stomach than he’d imagined. For even though he had been considering the notion of taking a wife, to be coerced into doing so was a different matter entirely. He could refuse he supposed, and considering the circumstances he certainly had the right. But if he did refuse, he would undoubtedly make a very powerful enemy in the process, for the Earl of Beckford was not only exceedingly wealthy, but a highly respected member of the aristocracy who held a long-standing association with a number of very influential people. And while he himself held one of the highest ranking titles in England, he knew that even a dukedom couldn’t fully shield him from the entirety of Beckford’s wrath should he say no to marrying his beloved daughter, circumstances be damned.
Regrettably it wasn’t just himself he had to think of, however; he had the wellbeing of his brothers to consider as well. What choice do you leave me, the earl had asked just moments ago. Hah, the question was almost laughable when the wretched truth of the matter was that it was he who really had no choice. With astonishing ease Penelope Houghton had seen to that; and for perhaps the first time in his life he felt well and truly helpless. It was both an unfamiliar and decidedly unpleasant feeling.
Swallowing hard, Gabriel resigned himself to his fate and a second later gave the earl his answer. “I’ll see to the arrangements at once.”
“You can send the official announcement to the papers and have the banns posted upon your return to London,” Beckford replied, nodding in satisfaction. “The wedding can take place in say, two months’ time.”
Directing a brief glance toward Penelope, Gabriel felt his anger mounting once again, for despite her victory his future bride was the picture of innocence and artless vulnerability with her tear-streaked face and pristine-white nightdress buttoned up to her chin, the bedsheet still clutched to her chest as she listened in silence whilst her father instructed him upon his immediate future. It rankled by God, for while he may have agreed to marry the conniving little chit he was still a duke after all and he’d be damned if his pride would allow him to be dictated to as though he hadn’t the slightest say in the matter. Besides, he reasoned, if he was going to serve himself up like a lamb to the slaughter, he’d just as soon get the whole wretched ordeal over with. “Actually, that won’t be necessary.”
Beckford looked back at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“We can be married here, in Scotland. Today even,” Gabriel clarified, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as the earl visibly balked and Lady Penelope emitted an audible gasp.
“You can’t be serious,” Beckford disputed, once he’d recovered himself.
“On the contrary,” Gabriel replied dispassionately, “I am quite serious, I assure you.” With the marriage laws in Scotland far less stringent than those in England, securing a marriage license would be a relatively simple affair, as would the ceremony itself. In fact, it was the desire for such or in some cases the need for such that so many English couples chose to cross the border and hasten to the now infamous Gretna Green to see themselves wed.
“The objective is to avoid a scandal, Ainsworth, not create an even greater one.”
“As you said yourself, we cannot be certain that no one saw your daughter enter my room last night,” Gabriel reminded him. “And engagement or no, if word should somehow get out about what happened here, two months will surely seem a lifetime with the whole of Society gossiping about your daughter and disparaging her name behind their hands.” Studying Beckford’s face, he was gratified to see the earl’s expression shift to one of uncertainty. “Are you willing to take that chance, to risk subjecting your daughter to such a distressing ordeal?”
“And you think the scandal of a hasty Scottish wedding would be any less distressing?” the earl challenged.
“If we marry here, today, it goes without saying that a scandal will invariably ensue,” Gabriel responded. “But, retuning to London as my wife, your daughter’s reputation would instantly be secured, just as bearing the title, Duchess of Ainsworth, would effectively position her above reproach, gossip or no.”
The earl hesitated, clearly weighing his options before replying. “And if I were to agree? What then?”
“We would depart Gilchrist this afternoon as planned and then detour to one of the nearby hamlets where we would then rendezvous and elicit the services of the local vicar,” Gabriel explained.
“And what explanation, pray tell, would we offer Society for such precipitous, not to mention highly unorthodox, nuptials?”
“Come now Beckford,” Gabriel averred, his tone reflecting an uncharacteristic display of arrogance, “you and I both know that men in our position rarely have to explain ourselves to anyone. Besides, as long as you and I present a united front, the gossips can speculate all they want.” Crossing his arms across his chest, he maintained a casual stance as he waited for the earl’s reply.
Several seconds passed as they regarded one another in stony silence, neither of them so much as casting a glance toward where Penelope sat with her hand to her mouth in horrified disbelief.
“And what of you and my daughter,” the earl finally said, “do I have your assurance that the two of you will present a united front as well?”
He understood what Beckford was asking. The earl wanted to make certain that, despite whatever grievances Gabriel may have about marrying his daughter, he would give no outward indication that he had been all but forced to the altar, at least no public indication anyhow.”
“You have my word.”
“Fine,” the earl said at last. “The wedding shall take place today.”
Gabriel nodded in approval.
“First and foremost, however, we need to get my daughter back to her chamber without being observed.”
“Of course,” he replied. “Have you any suggestions?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” the earl replied after a moment’s thought. “Regrettably, however, we are going to need to enlist the help of my wife’s maid to carry it out.”
This time it was Gabriel who appeared uncertain. “Can she be trusted?” he asked, for it was common knowledge that servants had a tendency to gossip even more than their employers.
“The woman has been in her employ for over a decade and is fiercely loyal to my wife,” Beckford asserted. “I’m certain that we can rely upon her to keep her silence.”
“Alright then, tell me what you have in mind.”
As her father laid out his plan to secret her from the duke’s chamber, Penny could do naught but listen helplessly from her position on the bed, her thoughts spin
ning in a nauseating whirl within her aching head as she struggled to comprehend how any of this could possibly be happening.
“Alright then, I shall return as quickly as I can,” the earl stated a short while later, once he and the duke had agreed upon the ensuing plan of action.
Realizing that she and the duke were about to be left alone, Penny felt as if she were on the verge of casting up her accounts. “Papa wait, I don’t-”
“Go on, Beckford,” the duke directed, silencing Penny’s entreaty with a brief, pointed look. “We’ll be fine.”
The earl met Gabriel’s words with a pointed look of his own, and then offered his daughter a faint, bolstering smile as he turned to the door. “I won’t be long.”
Penny stared at the door long after it had closed behind her father, terrified of what she was certain to see if she were to turn her gaze upon the duke. Anger, accusation, animosity, resentment… No doubt each and every one of those emotions would be reflected upon his face, and deservedly so. This was her fault. She was in his bed, even if she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. She tensed then, noting the faint sound of his shoes brushing atop the thick carpet as he moved toward her, relaxing only marginally when she heard him settle onto a nearby chair. She didn’t turn, couldn’t face him, and the room grew quiet once again.
One seemingly endless minute passed, and then another.
“Do you intend to stare at the door until your father returns?” The duke asked, his voice sounding surprisingly calm.
She started nonetheless, her heart slamming within her chest as if a sudden gun blast had gone off just a few feet away. Swallowing, she shut her eyes for a moment and compelled herself to resume breathing. Slowly then, she rotated her head in his direction and reopened her eyes. He was seated casually within the chair, his arms crossed atop his midsection, his long legs stretched out in front of him with his feet crossed at the ankles. Lifting her eyes, she noticed for the first time that he was unshaved, the faint shadow of a beard evident upon his chin and rigid jawline. Bit by bit she forced her gaze upward, noting as she did the severe set of his mouth and the slight flare of his nostrils, until at last her eyes connected with his. As she’d feared they were harsh and accusing, like two brilliant shards of cold, hard sea glass.
His eyes were riveted on her face as he raised his hands and clapped them together in a show of slow, muted applause. “I commend you, my dear, on a spectacular performance.”
The compliment was offered with such scathing acerbity that it lashed her like the sting of a whip, causing an aching lump to form in her throat and a renewed rush of fresh tears to pool in the corners of her eyes. She tried to hold them back, but failed.
Noting her tears, the duke emitted a contemptuous snort. “Save the theatrics for your father,” he sneered. “Your crocodile tears are wasted on me. Besides, they are entirely unnecessary at this point, as clearly you have already succeeded in your objective.”
Penny dashed away the moisture with the back of her hand, struggling past the tightness in her throat. “Your Grace, please, I know what you must be thinking,” she choked brokenly, “but I-”
“Don’t!” he commanded, eyeing her fixedly as he uncrossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair. “Do not dare profess your innocence to me,” he continued pitilessly. “Memory loss, bah! Do you think me a fool?”
Penny shook her head. “No, of course not.”
“Then please cease this pointless charade, for you and I both know that you orchestrated this entire situation.”
Though Penny’s disavowal was on her tongue she bit it back, for it was obvious that in his anger he wouldn’t believe anything she might say at that moment. Perhaps later, once his temper had time to cool, he would be willing to listen. But not now, for the kind, gregarious lord who had set her senses aflutter with his unassuming nature, winsome charm and heart-stopping smile was gone, and in his place sat a cold, hard stranger who looked upon her now with undisguised loathing and blatant contempt. And so, she remained quiet, regarding him in pained, uneasy silence.
For several long seconds he simply glared at her in stony silence, looking at times as if he wanted to say something, only to stop himself with a shake of his head, clamping his lips together in an angry line. Then suddenly he rose from the chair and spun around, striding angrily across the carpet to the nearest window where slapping his palm against the carved wooden molding he leaned forward and fixed his gaze outside.
_____
Wearing one of Mavis’ drab, yet serviceable serge gowns over her thin nightdress and with her hair tucked carefully beneath a concealing, white mobcap, Penny exited the duke’s bedchamber and entered the deserted hallway. Keeping her head down and her eyes trained on the patterned carpet runner, she began the short walk to her own chamber, her heart beating frantically within her chest as she waited breathlessly for one of the servants to come rushing round the corner, or for one of the other bedchamber doors to swing open as someone made their way out into the narrow corridor. Mercifully, however, neither of those things happened and the hall remained blessedly empty as she hastily closed the distance to her room and then slipped quietly inside.
Even so, it wasn’t until she stood with the door shut firmly at her back that she was finally able to release the anxious breath she’d been holding within her lungs, expelling it with an enormous sigh of relief. Unfortunately, however, her relief was short-lived, for not only was Mavis awaiting her inside, the thin-lipped maid perched upon the edge of the vanity seat in naught but her plain, cotton chemise, but her stepmother was there as well, glowering at her from where she stood near the foot of the bed.
Pushing herself away from the door, Penny moved past her stepmother to where Mavis sat at the dressing table, hurrying to unfasten the row of dull, metal buttons that ran along the front of the dress as the older woman rose to her feet.
“Well, what have you got to say for yourself, young lady?” Maryanne demanded waspishly, her shrill voice echoing throughout the room.
Penny ignored her, continuing to work the buttons until she had the last one free. Sliding the garment down over her hips, she stepped out of it and handed it to the maid. “Thank you, Mavis,” she said quietly.
“I asked you a question,” Maryanne snapped, as Mavis hurried back into her dress.
With her head pounding, her nerves completely frazzled and her thoughts and emotions in chaos, the last thing Penny needed at that moment was a blistering set down from her hateful stepmother. “Go away, Maryanne,” she replied, sinking wearily onto the stool that Mavis had just vacated.
Maryanne sucked in a sharp breath. “What did you just say to me?”
“I - said - go - away,” Penny repeated, enunciating each and every word.
“How dare you,” Maryanne hissed.
Penny spun around, glaring at her stepmother. “Leave my chamber, Maryanne. Now!”
Maryanne took a step toward her, her face mottled in anger. “Why you little-”
Standing up, Penny grabbed the silver-handled hairbrush from the edge of the dressing table and hurled it in the direction of her stepmother’s head. “Get out!”
Maryanne’s eyes went wide with shock, the remainder of her sentence dying upon her lips as the hairbrush went sailing past her head and crashed into the wall behind her with a dull thud. “You-”
Mavis let out an audible gasp as Penny swiveled and reached for the matching, handheld mirror.
Wisely Maryanne clamped her mouth shut, grabbed hold of her skirts and hastened to open the door as Mavis held the gaping bodice of her dress together and scurried after her, pulling the heavy wooden portal closed behind her.
Standing there alone, Penny stared at the door for several long seconds before her trembling knees finally gave out and she slumped to the floor. Then, pressing her hands to her face she rocked slowly back and forth as a torrent of raw, gut-wrenching sobs wracked her slender frame.
Chapter 9
Later that morning
, standing in the vestibule of a small village church located some twenty miles from Gilchrist Castle, Penny turned to her father with tear-filled eyes, trying one last time to sway his decision. “He despises me, Papa,” she spoke softly, her voice little more than a whisper. “He truly believes that I set out to trap him,” she continued. “How can I marry a man who thinks that of me?” Her expression was beseeching. “What kind of life will I have with a husband who feels nothing for me but bitterness and resentment?”
“Penelope, my darling,” her father began, grasping her shoulders softly in his hands, “you are one of the kindest, most caring and most loving people I have ever known. And just as you and I know that you did not willfully set these events in motion, I have the utmost faith that he will come to realize it as well,” he continued earnestly.
“Do you really think so?”
“I do,” he replied confidently. “He is a good man, Penny. He may be angry now, but give him time and he will undoubtedly discover the truth of your nature and the genuineness of your character for himself. And then, my darling girl, Gabriel Ashcroft will surely look back upon this day, as the day that the fates bestowed upon him the most wondrous of gifts.”
Penny could only nod, wishing she felt even a hint of her father’s confidence.
“Now chin up,” he said with an encouraging smile as he stepped back and held out his arm, “for you, Penelope, are about to become a duchess.”
Moments later, with her hand holding firmly to the crook of her father’s arm, Penny turned her head to the front of the church, her gaze moving slowly down the narrow aisle and past the rows of empty wooden pews to the front of the small chapel where it lit briefly upon her sour-faced stepmother, the duke’s two brothers and the aged priest before finally settling upon the man who awaited her at the other end. His features were inscrutable, revealing no outward display of emotion as he waited for her and her father to make their way down the short aisle. It was only as she drew near that she detected the cold, icy glint in the depths of his eyes, the singular indication of the smoldering anger that lay just below the surface of his impassive facade. Drawing an unsteady breath, her fingers tightening reflexively upon the sleeve of her father’s jacket, she repeated his words within her head and took the last few steps toward the man who was to be her husband.
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