Marion burst into girlish giggles. Again, Penelope was struck at how young and pretty she looked when she was not enveloped in a shroud of sadness.
“Perfect? My brother? I assure you, he is anything but.” Then she sobered. “Actually, from what my sisters tell me, he’s been quite unsure of his role since Father died.”
“Why would he? Hadn’t he known from birth that he would be duke one day? I find that quite surprising. He seems so confident, even regal.”
“No. Let me tell you something. Although Drake always knew where his future lay, he assumed, like the rest of my family, he would have years to ready himself. After he finished at university, he spent a great deal of time in Town, doing what most young titled men do. Gambling, drinking, attending balls, and whatnot.” She smiled sadly. “Not like my Tristan, who decided to serve his country.
“In any event, when my father was suddenly taken from us, Drake returned from Town a different man. I think the grief and shock my mother and sisters suffered quite did him in. Here he was a young man, who adored our father, and now he had to assume the mantle he didn’t feel prepared for. At the same time, he needed to push his grief aside to comfort the rest of us. I’m sure it was daunting.”
“But he does such a good job. The way he takes care of all of you, manages the estates, I just don’t understand.”
“Ah, that’s because he keeps it from us. Or tries to, anyway. Sybil tells me he’s searching the Marriage Mart this year for the ‘perfect’ wife.” She grinned at Penelope. “There is no such person, you know. In fact, what I think he needs is a very ‘imperfect’ wife to ease his mind somewhat, to make him see the silly side of life.
“I just hope before he makes a serious mistake and offers for that ‘perfect’ woman, he finds the ‘imperfect’ one.” Marion smiled slyly and added, “Someone like you.”
Heat shot to Penelope’s face at Marion’s suggestion. Truly, she was an imperfect woman, but she did not want to dwell on the possibility of Drake viewing her as anything except an annoying houseguest he needed to drag prospective suitors to.
But there was that kiss.
…
A few days later, Drake entered the library to find Penelope tucked into a comfortable chair with a large book on her lap. Her face was scrunched up in concentration, and she chewed furiously on her lip.
“What is it you find so interesting?”
Penelope jerked, the book sliding to the floor at her feet. “Oh my goodness. You startled me.” She pressed her hand to her chest, then pushed her spectacles up, peering at him wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry.” Drake strode to where she sat and picked up the heavy tome. He glanced at the cover, his eyebrows raised. “Observationes in varias Trifoliorum species?”
“It is a botany book. I enjoy any book on science.”
He handed it back to her. “I must say I’m not surprised you found this book here. My father was a voracious reader, and delved into a variety of subjects. I am sure there are plenty of science books on these shelves.” He waved his arm in the direction of the bookcases.
“I would so rather spend time here in the library than make a fool of myself in a ballroom.”
“Why do you say that?” Drake’s voice softened at the bereft look on her face.
She hesitated, apparently unsure of herself. Then taking a deep breath, she said, “Because I have no grace to speak of, and it seems wherever I go, I end up tripping, stumbling, or dropping things.” She hugged herself, a wry smile on her face. “But then you have been the object of several of my calamities, so this is hardly news to you.”
“Penelope—”
“You wished to speak with me?” Abigail rushed into the room, her usual breathless entrance pulling his thoughts away from Penelope.
“Yes. Please have a seat. I have something important to discuss with you.”
Penelope jumped up, once more the book hitting the floor. “Oh, I’ll leave you then.” She retrieved the book, then attempted to replace it on the shelf, but was unable to reach the empty spot several inches above her. “Oh dear.” She looked around. “I used the ladder before.”
Drake moved up behind her and took the book from her hands, sliding it onto the shelf. He stilled, as the feel of her warmth and the scent of her soap returned him to their time in the garden. Once again he fought his body. Fought the urge to spin her around, press her up against the bookcase, and plunder her mouth. What the devil was wrong with him?
“Drake?” Abigail questioned.
As if pulled from a fog, he backed up and, straightening his jacket, made his way to the desk. He darted a glance at Abigail, who viewed him with curiosity.
Penelope smoothed her hair back and hurried to the door.
“There really isn’t any reason for you to leave,” Drake called after her.
She shook her head furiously. “No, I don’t want to intrude. And, besides, there are things I need to do.” With a quick smile in Abigail’s direction, she fled.
Abigail rested at the edge of the chair in front of Drake’s desk and fussed with her skirts. “I hope this has nothing to do with Lord Seabright.”
Startled, Drake settled into his chair and viewed his sister. “What makes you think that?” Either the girl was a mind reader, or she’d seen the man leave the house a short while ago.
“Because he gave every indication at Lady Eloise’s ball that he wished to pay his addresses to me.”
“And would that be unwelcomed?”
She flicked an imaginary piece of lint from her bodice. “To say the least.”
Drake sighed and sat back. “Well, he has just visited with me, and asked if I would permit his suit. And he seems like a nice enough fellow.” Drake hurried on when she scowled at him. “He’s not hard to look at, has an impressive title, and plenty of money. From what I understand, he is not a drinker nor does he gamble overmuch. A woman could do a lot worse.”
“A lot worse? Well this woman wants to do a lot better.” She narrowed her eyes. “Exactly what did you say to Seabright?”
“If you think I was foolish enough to accept his suit on your behalf without asking you first, you may ease your mind. If I’ve learned anything from my year as head of this family, it’s that none of my sisters are biddable.”
“Very good, Drake. There may be some hope for you, after all.” She flashed him a grin.
“On the other hand, sister dear, you are getting a bit long in the tooth.”
Abigail gasped and leapt to her feet. “I am not a bit long in the tooth. Take that back!”
Drake raised his eyebrows and smirked.
She took a deep breath and settled into her chair. “That was perhaps a bit juvenile. But, I am barely two and twenty. Hardly in my dotage.”
“All I wish to point out to you is that as the years progress and each new crop of young ladies appear, the offers will be less. And you have three sisters behind you. I need to get you all settled.”
“We’ve been through this before. I’m waiting for the right man. For someone who makes me feel that I am his whole world. Someone who will hold me in the highest regard, just like Father did with Mother. I want more than a ton marriage. I want love—and passion.”
Drake swallowed and ran his finger on the inside of his cravat. “I do not wish to discuss these matters with you. That is a conversation a woman should have with her mother.”
“Mother is not trying to foist me off on some addle-brained prig.”
“Very well. I will let Seabright know that you do not welcome his suit. You do realize this is the fourth gentlemen since Father’s death I’ve turned down on your behalf?”
“Fear not, brother, there will be more, I’m sure.” Abigail sailed out of the room, head held high. Before she was able to close the door, a loud crash sounded in the corridor.
“Oh my goodness. Penelope, are you all right, dear?” The duchess rushed past the doorway.
“Yes, don’t concern yourself, Your Grace. I’m fine.”
Drake raised his eyes heavenward.
…
The next morning—despite a slight drizzle making it a miserable day for a stroll—Drake pulled the brim of his beaver hat low over his eyes and set forth toward the garden to clear his head. He’d just experienced one of those moments when he simply had to get away from the women. As much as he loved his mother and sisters, a man could go completely daft trying to gather his thoughts while conversations about ribbons and new gowns swirled around him.
And gathering his thoughts had become a desire so strong, not even cool rainy weather would keep him indoors. Abigail’s refusal of Lord Seabright annoyed him. The man was titled, wealthy, assured Drake he’d give up his mistress when he married, and was a gentleman. What in heaven’s name would make his sister turn up her nose at the man’s offer?
Seabright was a good, solid, dependable man. And Drake had a niggling of fear that those qualities were precisely why Abigail spurned him. Not for her was solid and dependable; the girl was looking for love. Love! Look what love had done to Marion. Not only did he have four sisters to marry off, he had another who wouldn’t even leave her room.
A crushing sense of failure descended on him as he turned right and headed further afield. Small animals foraged for a meal before scurrying back to the warmth of their snug homes. Early summer flowers wilted under the weight of Mother Nature’s modest shower. Drake barely noticed these displays as he continued to muse on his responsibilities and how lacking he was in filling his father’s shoes.
A further concern was his search for a bride. Lady Daphne still presented the best candidate. Beside her grace and charm, she would be a good role model for his sisters to see how a true lady behaved. And she would also provide much needed guidance on how a young woman performed her duty to accept her place in life—marrying well and producing heirs. He could not imagine Lady Daphne holding out for something as foolish as a love match.
He didn’t want to complicate his life with a woman who wanted love. He needed someone to help him take over the responsibilities of the house, his life, and most of all, his sisters.
Mother was entirely too soft when it came to the girls. She only encouraged them in this silly notion of waiting for the right man. Indeed, as if some dunderhead would ride up on his horse and sweep his lady away to live happily ever after. His mother had read far too many fairytales to his sisters. It was time for them to grow up and away from such ideas and do what was expected of women of their station.
A movement to the left caught his attention. A slight figure hunched over in the garden, scratching in the dirt. Why in heaven’s name would the gardeners be out in this weather, when they could be working in the greenhouse or orangery? He stepped off the path to admonish the man. So intent was the gardener in his work he never heard Drake’s approach.
Leaning over the bent figure, Drake tapped the man on his shoulder. “Say, it would be a better idea to work indoors today.”
The man started at Drake’s touch and fell face-first into the mud.
“Oh, sorry there old chap, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Drake grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him up, sputtering and spitting clumps of dirt and leaves from his mouth. The gardener turned toward him and Drake’s eyes grew wide. “Miss Clayton!”
Chapter Nine
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Penelope wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, merely smearing the mud across her face. Her spectacles dripped muddy water, small brown drops landing in her lap. Her hair was plastered to her head since the brim of her bonnet hadn’t protected a good portion of her hair from the rain. She whipped her spectacles off and then blinked at him, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes.
He reached for her hand to help her to her feet. “Madam, you should not be out here in this weather, doing whatever it is you do.” He pointed toward the area she’d been digging in.
“I don’t mind the rain. It’s very soothing, and quiet.”
Perhaps the girl had been driven from the house for the same reason he now found himself facing her muddy countenance. She didn’t appear to be the type that wanted to flit about discussing sleeve lengths and hem ruffles.
And this was the second time he’d caused her a mishap. He’d never been clumsy in his life until Penelope entered it.
“It appears the rain has now strengthened, and since I’ve managed to get you all muddied up, perhaps I can escort you back to the house?”
“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” Penelope remarked just as the skies opened up and a deluge poured down on them, blocking out any response he would make.
Drake grabbed Penelope’s arm and headed them both to the orangery. Hurrying to get out of the downpour, he dragged her over the garden path, past the rose garden, and eventually to the structure. He opened the glass door of the rounded brick and stucco building, and escorted her through.
…
Water dripped from Penelope’s bonnet, to slither down her back in cold rivulets. Drake immediately left her side and strode to the small stove in the corner of the room. He shoved large pieces of wood into the belly of the stove and grabbed a flint from a shelf alongside the warmer. He lit a few pieces of the kindling he’d shoved underneath the wood.
Penelope stood the entire time, shivering, too cold to move.
“Take your cape and bonnet off before you catch a chill.”
“T-t-too l-l-late, I’m af-f-fraid.” Her mouth stiff from the cold, she barely got the words out. Who would have thought a little bit of rain, in the summertime, no less, would chill her this way?
Drake returned to her side, and helped her off with her light summer cape, while she untied the sopping ribbons of her bonnet with stiff fingers.
Her gown was moderately dry, but she still felt the cold all the way to her bones. She also sensed the mud left on her face was now drying into a mask. She must look a fright. “Is there water anywhere about? I would like to wash the dirt off.”
“Yes, of course.” Drake indicated a bucket sitting on a large gardener’s table against one wall, underneath a huge window. Streams of water washed down the glass as the rain continued to pound against the building.
Penelope walked with stiff legs, the bottom half of her wet skirts slapping noisily against her as she moved. She placed her shaking hands into the bucket, scooped out water, and splashed it on her face.
“Here, let me.” Drake dipped his handkerchief into the water and wiped her cheeks, returning the cloth to the water a few times before he leaned back and studied her. He held her chin with warm, strong fingers as he smoothed the dirt away. Close up like this, she didn’t need her spectacles to confirm that the Duke of Manchester was, indeed, a most handsome man.
His hazel eyes had specks of brown dotted throughout. His strong jaw was bisected by a deep dimple, making her wonder if it was painful to shave that area. Damp strands of brown and gold hair dipped forward, brushing his broad forehead. Busy with his work, he didn’t notice her studying his features. Thank goodness. She’d made a fool of herself with the man oftentimes enough without adding “gawking” to the list.
“All gone. And I do apologize again for startling you.” His slow easy smile caused her heart to do a double thump before it settled into a plain rapid cadence.
“That’s quite all r-r-right, Your G-g-grace. I have enough of my own accidents that I can forgive anyone els-s-se.”
“Here now, you’re still shivering. Come over to the stove and warm yourself.” Drake ushered her back to the stove, and then drew up a small bench. “Have a seat. You’ll be warm in no time.”
Clutching her spectacles to her chest, she took a place in front of the fire and leaned forward, sighing as the warmth flooded her body. The seductive scent of oranges filled the air, bringing to mind faraway places. Exotic destinations that she hoped to visit one day.
“May I be so bold as to suggest you remove your shoes and stockings? I’m sure you would warm up faster without them.”
&nbs
p; “I don’t know. Would that be proper?” She hated not knowing exactly what she should or should not do. To Aunt Phoebe’s way of thinking, just about everything Penelope had ever done in her life was not proper.
“Well, there’s no one here but you and me, and if neither one of us tells, no one needs know. I’m just afraid you’ll never warm up if you leave them on. I could hear the squishing as you walked over here.”
“Very well.” She placed her spectacles on the bench alongside her and discreetly toed off her half boots. “You must turn your eyes, please.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Drake looked the other direction as Penelope quickly lifted her skirts and tugged down her stockings.
“Done.” She slid the boots closer to the fire, and placed the stockings next to them.
Drake returned his attention to her. “Why do you not wear your spectacles all the time? It seems you would avoid many accidents if you could see clearly.”
Penelope felt the heat rise to her face at his admonishment. “Lady Bellinghan often insisted I remove them. She said gentlemen do not pay addresses to ladies who appear to be a bluestocking.” She glanced away, embarrassed by her admission and his focus on the cursed glasses. “My odd pastime doesn’t appeal to most gentlemen, anyway, so I don’t really see how it matters.”
Drake covered her hand with his. “Penelope. Look at me.”
Taking a deep breath, she moved her head so she could look him in the eye.
“Perhaps some gentlemen would be put off by a young lady in spectacles, but would you want to consider a man who prefers a woman who walks into doors rather than one who wears something that helps her to see clearly?”
Although Drake’s words bolstered her, it didn’t change the fact that seeking the attentions of a gentleman did not factor into her life plans. “It matters not. I do not wish to consider any man. I have no desire to marry.”
His eyebrows rose. “Indeed? Then why are you here for the Season?”
“A very good question. I am here for a Season because Aunt Phoebe insisted. She and my trustee, Lord Monroe, conspired to send me to London.”
The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous) Page 7