A Deal with the Duke

by Patty Bryant

  He decided to forge ahead. “I’m sure that’s where she’s gone. What’s the name of the ship?”

  The Dockmaster shook his head, not missing the way Alexander hadn’t answered his question, but replied, “That would be the Cornwallis. Quite a fine ship, only a few years old – ”

  Alexander interrupted what was clearly only the beginning of a long digression upon the qualities of the ship. “And where is it currently located?”

  “She’s in the Export Dock today, being loaded with supplies.” The Dockmaster’s tone expressed his displeasure at having his diatribe cut off. After a moment he relented and moved toward the door. “Come along, I’ll show you the way.”

  As they stepped back outside into the cold rain Alexander paused to look toward his carriage, the corner of which was just visible through the gate. He didn’t think they would find Penelope on-board the ship; even if she had convinced the captain to let her buy passage, he would never have let her come aboard with a whole week left until their departure. It was necessary to speak with him, but Alexander knew it would be only one step further on the search and not the final answer.

  Still he considered fetching Savitri for no reason other than to have her by his side. She had looked so different wrapped in his sister-in-law’s cloak – which she wore much better than Louisa ever had. The brilliant scarlet velvet had always washed out Louisa’s already pale coloring, but it only made Savitri’s darker skin glow. If she were here, with her quick curious eyes, with the smile that she always strove to hide for the sake of maintaining her genteel composure, he knew interviewing the captain would be a much more pleasant experience.

  But Alexander had to consider Penelope first and put his own needs aside, at least for the moment. He turned away from the carriage and nodded for the Dockmaster to lead the way.

  The captain of the Cornwallis proved to be easy to find, as he was standing under an overhang on the warehouse nearest the docks, supervising the loading of various barrels and boxes onto his ship and smoking a pipe. He hastily put it out when he noticed the Dockmaster and Alexander approaching but the scent of tobacco smoke hung in the damp air.

  Alexander repeated his story about Penelope’s disappearance. At first the captain denied having seen anyone who met her description. Alexander wondered if the Dockmaster hadn’t been right after all, and was just considering how to ask if the captain if any suspiciously high-voiced boys had tried to buy their way onto the ship, when the Dockmaster spoke up.

  “Shame on you, Henry. Would you let my own Sally do such a rash perilous thing as running off to India if she’d been the one to come to you?”

  The captain looked abashed and muttered, “I might, if she had ten pounds to give for keeping her secrets.”

  “Then you’ve seen her!” Alexander said, excited to have found the thread that might lead to Penelope’s location.

  The captain didn’t answer immediately. He sighed, looking down toward the empty pipe he still held in his gnarled hands, idly turning it over and studying its well-worn shape in silence. Then he glanced up at the Dockmaster, smiled ruefully, and gave a shrug. “Suppose I’d best give this back,” he said, digging in the pocket of his heavy woolen overcoat. He pulled out a handful of coins and offered them to Alexander, meeting his eyes for the first time. “Since it seems I won’t be keeping that secret after all.”

  “It’s for the best,” the Dockmaster said.

  Alexander refused to accept the money. Instead he put his hand over the captain’s and gently pressed it closed, hiding the gleam of gold once more. “Keep it. Helping me to find her is the best thing you could do for her. And I’m sure my niece will recognize that herself, eventually.”

  The captain returned the coins to his pocket — not needing much encouragement, Alexander noticed with amusement — then recounted the story of his encounter with Penelope. There wasn’t much to tell: a young girl, matching Penelope’s description, had indeed asked for passage to India. When told that she wouldn’t be able to board for several days, she had protested but eventually agreed, perhaps helped by the captain recommending a nearby tavern to her, one which rented rooms to travelers. “The George,” the captain said. “And don’t you worry, sir. It’s run by quite a respectable widow. I was sure the girl would be safe there. Go just outside the gate to the docks here and bear to port — you can’t miss it.” Alexander raised an eyebrow and glanced at the Dockmaster, who mouthed left.

  Alexander handed the captain an additional coin. “Thank you. You made the right choice.”

  “Ah, well,” the captain said gruffly. “I wouldn’t like to think of Sally all alone on the other side of the world, that’s sure enough.”

  Alexander strode quickly back toward the gate, ignoring the rain above and the shallow puddles below. He paused just long enough to shake hands and exchange goodbyes with the Dockmaster at the door of his office, then continued on his way as fast as he could go without running. It wasn’t that he thought Penelope might escape if he delayed. The thrill of the chase had gotten into him, and his earlier worries for her safety had been replaced with a feeling he recognized from hunting: a mix of surety and pleasure and confidence. He knew he would find her.

  Standing on the threshold of the gate to the docks he saw that the tavern was indeed unmissable. It stood directly across the street and a mere dozen feet away, proud and welcoming in the drizzle, with golden firelight shining out of its large bay window. A wooden sign hung over its door, swaying slightly as the wind gusted, with The George painted in red above a fairly well-done portrait of the king, though he was depicted somewhat younger and more handsome than in reality.

  It was a short walk from where he stood, far too short for Alexander to bother entering the carriage, particularly given how much water he was certain to spill onto the cushions and Savitri. Nonetheless he wanted her with him when he confronted Penelope, so he waved to catch his coachman’s attention and pointed toward the destination. The man nodded to show he understood, so Alexander moved off to the inn yard where he waited for them to join him.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of him, and Alexander opened its door before the coachman could climb down and do it himself. Savitri blinked up at him from the gloom within, clearly confused by the brief journey the carriage had taken without explanation. “I’ve found her,” Alexander said and rejoiced in the victorious smile that spread across Savitri’s face. What a duchess she will make, he thought, one who loves solving puzzles just as much as I do.

  He held out his hand to assist her down from the carriage, though he knew she was too strong and graceful to need any such help; he simply wanted to touch her. She obliged him, setting her long, slender fingers over his own as she stepped out of the carriage and quickly moved across the few feet of the yard to the tavern’s door. She didn’t release him right away but left their hands linked until they both halted in the small, shadowy space between the outer door and an inner one to the public room. The noise of a crowded tavern, raised voices and clinking silverware, reached them, but for a brief moment they were alone.

  Savitri looked up at him wordlessly, a few drops of rain sparkling in her hair like diamonds. Her eyes seemed even darker in the dim light and infinitely deep. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and Alexander wanted to kiss her with a fierce urgency he was unprepared to deny. But before he could even begin to lean forward she took her hand away, leaving him feeling more chilled than the rain and wind had. She pushed open the inner door, leaving him to follow in her wake. He would have followed her anywhere.

  They both halted right inside the door, overwhelmed by the blast of light, warmth, and sound. Alexander blinked to clear his vision, then scanned the room for Penelope. At first glance he saw no one who resembled her; there was only one person in the whole crowded tavern wearing a dress, in fact, and that was an elderly woman in an apron and mobcap. There was no mistaking her for his young blonde niece.

  Before he could look over the room a
second time, Savitri said, “There she is!” She moved toward a table in one corner, leaving Alexander to hurry to keep by her side.

  At first he didn’t recognize Penelope. Three men sat at the table in question, two older ones involved in a disagreement about the war in Spain and a younger one off to the side by himself, slowly nursing a mug of ale. Then the boy caught sight of Alexander and Savitri, and he jerked upright, his blue eyes opening wide in surprise, and Alexander realized that it wasn’t a boy. It was Penelope.

  She was dressed in what appeared to be the clothes of a young sailor or a boy of similar humble position: trousers, jacket, and a cap pulled low to hide her golden hair. Everything she wore was made of rough brown fabric and seemed to have been darned multiple times; Alexander had no idea where she might have acquired the clothes, although it occurred to him again that perhaps they should have asked Beth a few more questions.

  "How – " Penelope said, leaping to her feet and looking quickly from Alexander to Savitri and then back again. "It doesn't matter. I won't go back! You can't make me!"

  The two men sharing her table cut off their own conversation to watch this emerging drama, their expressions a mix of curiosity and hostility. The latter was directed toward himself and Savitri who, Alexander realized, looked like outsiders in a way Penelope currently didn't. He supposed it was good of them to be prepared to defend an unknown youngster, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be on the wrong side of such a confrontation. He hoped matters wouldn’t progress to such a point.

  Savitri seemed entirely unaware of the darkening mood that surrounded them. She moved forward with her arms outstretched, gaze fixed on Penelope, but Penelope hopped backward a step to keep the table between them. Savitri didn’t force the issue, slowly drawing her hands back to herself. “Oh, Penelope,” she said sorrowfully. “I am so very sorry.”

  Penelope clearly hadn’t expected this approach. She stammered in anger for a moment but could find nothing in Savitri’s manner to take offense to. Finally she asked suspiciously, “What are you sorry for?”

  “For not seeing this problem sooner. You’ve been very lonely, haven’t you?”

  Penelope threw her shoulders back and thrust her chin out. Alexander was astonished at how very well she passed for a boy. When the Dockmaster had suggested the possibility he hadn’t taken it seriously; he’d expected his very pretty niece to either never consider the idea or, at most, to make for implausible boy, like the actresses in Shakespeare’s comedies, all curves and dimples even in their breeches. Instead Penelope looked not very different from the younger members of the crowd around them, standing out only in that her skin had a freshly scrubbed rosiness to it.

  “Of course I’m lonely!” she said, this time even remembering to deepen her voice so that one would never suspect she was the same girl who sang soprano when her mother played the harpsichord after family dinners. “But that’s not why I’m doing this. You made me leave my home. I want to go back.” Her breath caught and her voice wobbled briefly on the edge of tears.

  Then she steadied herself and continued. “You and Lucy and mother and everyone else — you’re all so much stronger than me. You came to this new country where we know no one, and it didn't bother you in the least. You behaved exactly as one should, as everyone's always telling me to do. You've been good, and brave, and steady, and I tried, I tried, I did, but I just can't be like that. I want to go home. Just… just let me go home. Please."

  “Oh my dear,” Savitri said softly, the words barely more than a breath. “But what about those of us you’re leaving behind?”

  “It will be better for everyone if I go back. Besides, you don’t want me here.” Penelope turned to Alexander, who could only blink at her in surprise. “Don’t deny it! I know you don’t — why would anyone want the family who’s only going to steal your title and your wealth and all the rest? You must hate that George is going to inherit the duchy because you don’t have a son of your own.”

  “No one will be inheriting anything until after I’m dead, which I sincerely hope won’t be for many years yet,” Alexander said mildly, hoping to quench Penelope’s sudden flare of anger. He judged that it wasn’t the wisest time to mention his hope of marrying Savitri and having children of his own. Though if scenes like this were a common part of raising children, perhaps not. “I certainly don’t hate you for something that I won’t even be around to witness.”

  Savitri ignored his interjection, continuing to address Penelope directly. “But what about your family? Or me? Surely you can’t think we hate you. I know that I don’t.”

  “That’s what you’re paid to say,” Penelope snapped.

  Savitri didn’t respond, but she didn’t need words to convey her pain. The silence spoke for her. Alexander stepped forward angrily, prepared to rise to her defense, but Penelope’s eyes filled with tears and she ran away from them both before he could do a thing. Her sudden childishness reminded him that she was only sixteen and his niece as well. His anger fizzled away as quickly as it had come, and he made no move to chase after her. Penelope dashed across the room, bumped into the edge of the bar and stumbled a few steps to the left, then disappeared down a hallway deeper into the building.

  One of the men sitting at the table nudged his companion. “Remember when your Henry was that age? I thought he’d surely end up with a pox before he settled down to a useful trade.”

  The man addressed shook his head and briefly met Alexander’s eyes. “Boys. Wish I’d had a daughter myself.”

  Alexander smothered the hysterical grin that threatened to burst out and pretended not to have heard them as he turned to Savitri. She was staring after Penelope. Her eyes were dry and her expression composed, but her hands were fisted by her sides hard enough for her knuckles to turn pale.

  He carefully set a hand to her arm, not sure if his touch would be reassuring or unwanted. “She didn’t mean it,” he said quietly. “She’s angry and lashing out. She’d say anything, as long as it hurt.”

  For a moment Savitri didn’t respond. Then she said softly, speaking to herself more than to him, “Isn’t it true? It’s not as though I chose to be here. I’m not part of your family. I’m not even part of your country. I am forced by necessity to make myself amiable to those who can pay – ”

  “Savitri!” Alexander interrupted. He spoke louder than he’d intended, but the tension in her voice, like a rope on the verge of snapping under too much weight, shocked him to his core. He sensed they were no longer talking about Penelope.

  She took no notice. “Perhaps I could say of myself with pride that I have never sold my body, but I think society is wrong in that. Surely it is the greater sin to sell one’s mind, one’s companionship? All the years I spent studying, the care my own mother gave me, everything I am I must sell to buy my bread. My own desires are meaningless. My need is greater than my virtue.”

  He took her arm. “You don’t believe that!”

  Finally she turned to look up at him, her eyes steady but just wide enough to betray the effort it cost her to remain calm. “No. But no matter what I know to be the truth, others will believe it about me. It is what they will say, Alexander. You know it is.”

  “Damn them. Nothing anyone says can change what is between you and me.”

  She yanked her arm away from his grasp, anger sparking to sudden life in her previously monotone voice. “That’s easy for you to say! You’re a duke – you’re not dependent on others’ good opinion the way I am.”

  The volume of their argument was rising, and Alexander was aware of stares and snickers from the men crowding the tavern. He ignored them; nothing mattered except that he make Savitri understand. He bent toward her and growled, “I am offering to make you a duchess.”

  Savitri’s breath caught in her throat, and her mouth opened on what was obviously a furious rebuttal, but no sound came out. She stood frozen like that, then blinked and leaned back to study him with lowered eyebrows. “What did you say?”

&n
bsp; Alexander spread his hands wide in frustration. “What I have been trying to say all along! I have never known a woman so resistant to the idea of marriage. How many times must I ask you?”

  “Well, once would be nice,” she said mildly.

  Alexander felt his own mouth hang open without a response. He cast his thoughts back, certain that he had – but no, Savitri was right. He had not yet actually made her a proposal. Embarrassed, he straightened his shoulders and tugged at the cuffs of his overcoat to set them in place. “Indeed.”

  He got down onto one knee, resolutely ignoring the half-dried mud tracked across the floor and the way the splintered wood beneath the dirt caught at the fabric of his breeches. “Savitri Booth, allow me to make one thing clear: I want to marry you. I want to make you the Duchess of Clermont. If by doing so I am unfairly ignoring the rules of society, this once I don’t care. Perhaps it’s my privilege to say so, but I want to give you the power to do the same. Let them say that you are selfish and virtueless and want me only for my money – but only say yes, and you will never have to give a fig for anyone’s good opinion ever again. I want you. I have never met someone so frustratingly correct, so infuriatingly capable of more, and so utterly necessary.”

  Savitri raised a hand to cover her mouth but the brightness of her eyes suggested that she was smiling behind its shield. Alexander took hold of her other hand and drew it to his mouth, kissing its smooth brown back where the skin was still cool from the rain outside. “Be your own creature. Follow your own desires,” he said, staring up at her. “Marry me.”

  Savitri’s fingers clutched hard at his own and he knew what she would answer before she spoke a word. His chest felt tight, as though love was a physical object that could burst his heart open, and a foolish grin was surely spreading across his face. He didn’t give a damn. Even the crowd around him, the smells of tobacco and spilled ale and unwashed bodies, the dim light of too few guttering candles – none of it mattered. Every fiber of his being insisted that this was where he was meant to be.