A Most Suitable Duchess

by Patricia Bray

  The tune was lively, but Penelope kept pace, laughing at the occasional misstep. Soon other couples joined in. His own worries fell away, and he gave himself up to the enjoyment of holding her like this, watching her face flush with exertion, and her eyes glow with happiness.

  This was their first dance, he realized, and the thought startled him so much that he lost his count entirely, and had to follow Penelope’s lead for a measure till he regained his pace. And indeed, it was true that this was their first dance, though they had been married for nearly two months now. It was strange that he knew the woman he held in his arms intimately indeed, and yet he had never held her in the figures of the dance. There were so many firsts that they had yet to experience, and he found himself looking forward to new things that he could find to share with her.

  As the dance drew to a close, he separated from Penelope with genuine reluctance. She curtsied to him, and he gave a formal bow, knee extended and hat sweeping his instep. This drew applause and cheers of encouragement from the spectators.

  “Thank you, sir, for a lovely dance,” Penelope said.

  “The pleasure was mine,” Marcus said. “And now, I think it is time we made our way home.”

  For he very much wanted to kiss Penelope, and only his sense of propriety kept him from throwing caution to the winds and doing just that. A gentleman did not kiss his wife in public, at a tenants’ ball. Not when he had a perfectly good residence to take her to, where he could indulge the full range of his passions in private.

  He gazed at her hotly, and Penelope flushed, seeming to guess his intentions. “Home it is,” she agreed.

  Penelope could not remember when she had ever been so happy. The weeks slipped by in a blissful haze, and Penelope treasured her growing closeness with Marcus. She found herself seeking out opportunities to be with her husband, one day joining him as he inspected the cottagers, and on another persuading him to take her on a picnic at the far end of the lake. She began looking at the countryside through his eyes, and found that it was not nearly so dull as she had imagined.

  And then there were the nights he joined her in her bedchamber. True to his words, after recovering from her initial discomfort, she found genuine enjoyment in their coupling. And she knew that Marcus enjoyed himself as well.

  Her world narrowed until it seemed all that mattered lay here within the walls of Torringford Abbey. Of course she knew it was too perfect to last. Still, when the end came, it was unexpected.

  “This morning’s post brought a letter from McGregor,” Marcus told her one sunny afternoon as they strolled around the rose garden. “He has found a town house that suits our requirements.”

  The day that had begun so fine now seemed somewhat colder, and Penelope tightened her shawl around her shoulders.

  “And where is it?” she asked.

  “It is in Charlotte Square, in New Town. It was built for the Havens family; perhaps you know of it?”

  Penelope shook her head. “No, I do not recall the name.”

  “It has been empty this past year, so he has arranged to hire a full staff to reopen the house, and bring it up to scratch. Subject to your approval, of course.”

  His deference to her wishes was pleasing. But of course, the house in Edinburgh was to be her residence. Marcus would be only an occasional visitor. It was as they had agreed, when discussing the terms of the marriage.

  “I am certain that the house will be most suitable for our needs,” Penelope said.

  Indeed, it could hardly be anything else. Charlotte Square was one of Edinburgh’s most fashionable areas, designed by no less a personage that Sir Robert Adam. It was a far cry from the modest circles that Penelope had moved in before her wedding.

  “Will you wish to return to Edinburgh soon?” Penelope asked, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.

  “I think that would be best,” Marcus said. “We have already stayed here longer than I planned. And I am anxious to get back to Greenfields to see how it is faring in my absence.”

  She swallowed her disappointment. It was nothing more than they had agreed on. She would reside in Edinburgh, and Marcus would divide his time between his beloved Greenfields and the other properties he had inherited. She would see him when he visited Edinburgh for business, and no doubt they would spend the holidays together, for appearances’ sake. But for the rest of the time she would be an independent woman.

  “It will be good to see my friends,” she said. “And I know you are anxious to see your brother again. Not to mention your beagles.”

  “Of course,” Marcus said, although he appeared a trifle disappointed. “Then shall we set a date for our departure? Will Monday be convenient for you?”

  Monday was just three days away. It was too soon, a part of her protested. But another part saw the wisdom of a speedy departure. There was no point in trying to hold on to a moment that had already passed.

  “Monday will suit very well,” she said. And she smiled brightly so he would see no trace of her reluctance, for such foolish sentiments had no place in the bargain they had made.

  Marcus had lied to Penelope. The letter from McGregor had not arrived that morning. In fact it had arrived nearly a week ago. But he had hesitated to mention it, not wanting anything to disturb the fragile web of happiness that bound them together.

  Much to his astonishment he found that this strange marriage had indeed brought him happiness. A most unlikely legacy, born from the old duke’s meddling and the scheming of a jealous young woman. And indeed, not only had scandal drawn them together, but it had ensured that they would spend these weeks together in the seclusion of the countryside. At first he had regarded the weeks to be spent at Torringford as a distasteful chore. But as the days passed he found himself enjoying the time he spent with Penelope. Though she was clearly unused to country living, he admired the game spirit with which she entered into its pursuits.

  And there was the pleasure of those nights he spent with her, teaching her the joys of physical love. He found her innocent enthusiasm to be a far more potent aphrodisiac than the practiced charms of his last mistress.

  But in the end he could put off their return no longer, and he mentioned McGregor’s letter to her. He had half expected that she would make some objection to the scheme, perhaps asking that they spend the rest of the summer at the Abbey, or insist that he promise to bear her company in Edinburgh.

  But she had done no such thing. Instead she smiled brightly, as if she had no other desire than to return to Edinburgh and to establish her new household there and take her place in society. No doubt while he had spent these last weeks wandering around in an enchanted haze, she had been longing to return to her friends in Edinburgh.

  To be sure, he knew she enjoyed his company. But he knew she missed the busy whirl of Edinburgh, with its theaters, literary societies, and the companionship of her friends. Marcus was only one man, and he could not be expected to hold her interest indefinitely. No doubt in these weeks Penelope had already experienced more than her fill of country life. It was time for her to take her place in Edinburgh, where she belonged.

  He scuffed at the ground with the toe of his boot.

  “Is something wrong?” Penelope asked him.

  He looked over at her. What could he say? That he was disappointed because she wished to return to Edinburgh? That he wanted her to need his presence as much as he needed hers? How could he admit to his anger? Penelope was behaving precisely as she ought. He was the one who had assured her that this was to be a marriage of convenience, and that she would be free to return to her own life in Edinburgh. It was not her fault that suddenly he wanted to change the terms of their agreement.

  “No, there is nothing wrong,” he said. “But if we are to leave on Monday then there is much I need to do. If you would excuse me, I will see about making the necessary arrangements.”

  “Very well, I will see you at dinner then,” Penelope said. “Do not forgot that Mr. Abercrombie and his daug
hter are to dine with us this evening.”

  “I have not forgotten,” he said, though that, too, was a lie.

  So he was not even to have her to himself this evening. No matter, it was past time that he became used to sharing her attentions. And there was still tonight, and two more days, before they would leave this place, and he intended to take full advantage of these last days before they parted.

  Eleven

  The house at Charlotte Square was all any woman could have wished for. Mr. McGregor had negotiated a two-year lease, with an option for the duke to purchase the property outright at any time during the lease. And indeed she could see no reason why he would not wish to purchase the property. The address was respectable, the exterior of the house was pleasing to the eye, while inside the rooms were elegant and well proportioned. And owing to its newness, it held every modern convenience.

  To Penelope’s surprise, among the newly hired servants she found a familiar face. Mrs. Boylston, who had been housekeeper for her brother, and her parents before then, had chosen to follow her mistress into her new home. Under her keen eye the servants had polished and scrubbed every inch of her new residence. The presence of the housekeeper, along with her own maid, Jenna, provided a welcome note of familiarity in these strange surroundings.

  The first few days after their return passed in a blur, as friends and acquaintances came to call, to pay their respects to the newly married couple. There were a few ill-bred comments from gossip-mongers, but in the weeks since their marriage other scandals had taken hold of the public’s fancy, and Penelope felt confident that in time the novelty of her marriage would wear off, and she would be simply another accepted member of Edinburgh society.

  Marcus was often busy with his affairs or closeted with the solicitor McGregor, but on most afternoons he did try to join her for tea, and she took a particular pleasure in introducing him to her friends. She would have liked to show him the city, but that was not possible. He stayed in Edinburgh with her for only a week before leaving to return to his home at Greenfields. He did not ask her to join him, and Penelope tried not to be too disappointed at the omission. At least he had promised to return to Edinburgh in the fall, once the hunting season was over. And it was not as if they were expected to live in each other’s pockets. Such marriages existed only between the pages of romantic novels. Theirs was a civilized arrangement, where each party was free to pursue his or her own interests.

  The day after his departure, Penelope was on her way to a luncheon when a footman came with the message that her brother had arrived. She instructed the footman to put her brother in the blue parlor, and then completed her toilette.

  It was a quarter hour later when she entered the parlor to find her brother uneasily pacing to and fro.

  “I hope my visit is not inconvenient,” James said. He advanced toward her, as if to kiss her cheek, but she turned aside, offering him her hand instead.

  “I am afraid I can only spare you a few minutes,” Penelope said, taking a seat on the small sofa. “Lady Whilton is expecting me, and I would not want to make the countess wait.”

  It was no more than the truth, but it was also a subtle reminder that as Lady Torringford, Penelope now moved in a different level of society than she had as the mere Miss Hastings. Not that she had cut her old acquaintances, but rather that her social circle had expanded.

  She eyed her brother critically. He seemed even stouter than she remembered, and his hair thinner. And his appearance, combined with his strict formal manners, made him seem far older than he was. Older than Marcus, though she knew for certain that James was five years Marcus’s junior.

  A most unprepossessing figure of a man, really, and she wondered what Miss Carstairs saw in him.

  “I will not keep you,” James said. “I merely came to offer my congratulations on your marriage. I can see for myself that this marriage agrees with you.”

  “Your consideration does you credit,” Penelope said. James nodded, completely blind to the irony of her comments, and she wondered yet again how it was that she and her brother could be so completely unlike.

  “And the duke your husband, he is well?”

  “Marcus is very well indeed. He is at Greenfields presently, but I will convey your regards when I write to him.”

  She wondered what was behind this sudden interest in her welfare. Could it be that James felt guilt for his part in forcing her into this marriage? Not that she regretted it; indeed in many ways this was a blessing. But she saw no reason to share this knowledge with James. His callous disregard for her feelings still rankled her. Let him squirm with guilt. It was no more than he deserved.

  Or was it that he now saw some advantage to himself in renewing their relationship? This was far more likely, particularly since it was now clear that society was prepared to accept its newest duchess, something which must gall both her brother and his fiancée. No doubt the social-climbing Miss Carstairs would very much like to move in the circles that were now open to Penelope.

  “I see you are to be married yourself. I am certain Miss Amelia Carstairs will make an amiable bride,” Penelope said.

  James flushed. “I had meant to write you myself, but—”

  “But I read the announcement in the newspaper instead,” Penelope said sharply. “No matter. It is not as if we are close.”

  And yet I am the only family you have left, a part of her wanted to scream. While another part wondered at how she could have been so blind to her brother’s innate selfishness. She had completely misjudged his character.

  “I would hope we could put this unpleasantness behind us, and make a fresh start. I know Miss Carstairs values your acquaintance and looks forward to knowing you as a sister.”

  Penelope’s eyes narrowed as she searched her brother’s face, but there was no sign of mockery. Apparently he was sincere in his belief that Miss Carstairs now desired Penelope’s friendship, after all that had passed between them.

  Perhaps she was not the only one who was blind to the flaws in those she loved. Or perhaps he was indeed telling the truth. Given time to reflect, no doubt even a simpleton such as Miss Carstairs would have realized the value in having a duchess as a sister-in-law.

  “Miss Carstairs will find that my regard for her remains unchanged,” Penelope said. Let James make of that as he would. She was not so lost to civility that she would insult her brother’s fiancée to his face.

  She rose to her feet, pulling on her gloves. “And now I must take my leave. Kindly give my regards to Miss Carstairs,” Penelope said.

  “I will,” James replied.

  The next day Penelope called upon the Lawtons. She could not help contrasting the warmth of their greetings with the stiff and awkward reunion with her brother. Mrs. Lawton joined Harriet and Penelope for luncheon, and then tactfully left the two young women alone, so they could converse privately.

  “I can not tell you how much I missed the chance to have a comfortable coze. So much has happened in these past weeks, and there was no one I could speak with,” Penelope said.

  “I have missed you as well, although I had the advantage of Anne and Miss Gray, and indeed, our entire set to keep me occupied, while you were rusticating in the country,” Harriet Lawton replied. “Tell me, was it as dull as I feared?”

  “It was not dull, precisely,” Penelope said. “That is for the most part the people were kind, if a trifle unsophisticated. And Marcus was most attentive.”

  “Indeed?” Harriet Lawton arched one delicate eyebrow. “I found him rather stiff in our meeting, although I will admit the circumstances were hardly ideal. I take it he improves upon acquaintance?”

  Penelope hesitated, wondering what she could say. How could she explain her attraction to her husband, this stranger who had become her friend. They had few common interests, and yet, somehow, she had grown fond of him, and of his company.

  “Marcus is a true gentleman. Kind, courteous, and quite intelligent, although our interests diverge,”
Penelope said. “I think we will find ourselves good friends, which is the best basis for a happy marriage.”

  “You sound as if you have reconciled yourself to this.”

  “I know we promised each other we would only marry for love,” Penelope said, answering the unspoken criticism. “And indeed, if things had been different, I would most likely have remained a spinster. But as things are, I could have done far worse for a husband than Marcus Heywood. Far worse. He is not the man I would have chosen for myself, but perhaps that is part of his appeal.”

  Indeed, her own preference had been for pale and narrow-shouldered gentlemen of a poetic temperament. She could not have imagined herself with a tanned sportsman whose powerful physique made her feel so very feminine. And remembering what Marcus could do with his body—

  “Penelope! You are blushing,” Harriet Lawton cried. “You have fallen in love with him.”

  “No,” Penelope said, shaking her head, but she could not meet her friend’s eyes. “How could I?”

  “But you are happy, are you not? Even though your husband has chosen to return to the country?”

  “I am content,” Penelope said. And it was true, although a part of her missed Marcus’s presence and longed for the day when he would return.

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Harriet replied. “For there is one other bit of news I must share with you. At last week’s poetry society meeting we had an unexpected guest. An old acquaintance has returned to Edinburgh.”

  “And this acquaintance is?”

  “Mr. Wolcott.”

  Her heart gave an unexpected jump. Stephen? Stephen had returned? But why now? There had been no word of him for nearly five years and now he came out of the blue. But where had he been all this time? Was he still unmarried?

  Penelope took a sip of her tea to cover her confusion. Once she had longed for this day, but now it was too late. Two months too late, to be precise. It did not matter if Stephen Wolcott was married or if he remained a single gentleman. What mattered was that she was a married woman. A duchess no less. And she owed it to herself and to Marcus to behave herself with all propriety. No matter what feelings Stephen’s return stirred up within her.