“With no desire to find a husband?”
“No. I do not believe I would suit as a wife.”
“Another one.” Drake leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling as if invoking the heavens.
“Pardon me?”
“Here is the way things are supposed to work.” He began counting on his fingers. “A young lady leaves the schoolroom and is presented to Society. She has her come out, and gentlemen begin to call on her. They take her for carriage rides—with a chaperone, of course—they send flowers, request dances—not more than twice at the same ball, mind you. Then after a period of time, one gentleman will be shown more favor by the young lady than the others. This chosen man will present himself to the eldest male member of the young lady’s family and offer for her. Said eldest male member then accepts the offer on the young lady’s behalf and—ding dong—wedding bells.”
“My goodness.”
“Indeed. I’ve known about this since I was in short pants. Everyone in the ton knows it, including my sisters, though they seem to have forgotten the procedure.” He regarded her with narrowed eyes. “And it appears you, too, have joined their ranks.”
Penelope sat in stunned silence. Drake appeared genuinely distressed that she did not wish to find a husband. Now that she thought about it, this was Abigail’s third Season, and since the twins had come out the year of their father’s death, this was their second time on the Marriage Mart. From what she had heard while shopping and visiting with his sisters, none of the girls were in a hurry to tie themselves to just any man.
Abigail had been adamant during a conversation with Penelope that she would never marry if she didn’t find a man to love, who would love her back. An intriguing concept. Penelope had always thought, as Drake had expounded on, that it was a young woman of the ton’s duty to her family to marry, and marry well.
Since Penelope had been raised in America, away from the rules and regulations of the ton, and had no parents anticipating her wedding day and future grandchildren, she’d never felt the push to marry. Until Aunt Phoebe had sent the letter which resulted in her sitting here, with the handsomest man she’d ever met, bemoaning the fact that the young ladies in his household had no desire to marry.
“My sister turned down another offer yesterday.” Drake’s comments broke into Penelope’s musing.
“Abigail?”
“Yes. And it was a good offer, too. I don’t understand her. She’s only a year or two away from being considered on the shelf.”
“I believe she is looking for love.”
Drake snorted. “Love. You see what love did to Marion.”
They sat in silence, the only sound that of the fire crackling in the stove. After a few minutes, Penelope noticed the sun was peeking over the trees surrounding the orangery. “Oh, look. The rain has stopped.”
“So it has.”
Penelope took a deep breath and asked the question teasing the back of her mind since they’d entered the orangery. “What about you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you not want to marry someone whom you love, and who loves you back?” Just asking that forward question had her palms sweating, but it seemed very important to know his feelings. His sisters had mentioned Drake was cold-hearted when it came to selecting a bride, but she wanted to hear it from his own mouth.
“Not at all. No. Never.” He shook his head and his jaw tightened. He remained silent for a while, and just as Penelope was about to retrieve her stockings and shoes so they could return to the house, he spoke.
“When I select a bride from the Marriage Mart, it will be someone who will be the perfect duchess. A woman who knows all the right things to do, and say. She will run my household with efficiency, and deal well with the staff. Our children will learn proper behavior, and,” he slid a glance in her direction, “know their place in society, and what their duty is.”
Penelope felt as if a lead ball had taken up residence in her stomach. Not that she ever thought this admirable man would have any interest in her. But to hear the description of his desired wife, and know how far removed she was from that ideal, depressed her. Why, she couldn’t fathom, since she’d not wavered from her intention to return to the country and continue with her science.
But there had been that kiss.
“It sounds like you’ve given this a great deal of thought, and for that I commend you.” She was amazed at the words that came out of her mouth. It appeared she now belonged among those who could say one thing and mean something else.
If the woman he was searching for was so different from her, why had he kissed her? Did every gentleman feel the need to kiss any young lady who allowed it? Did he think she was a woman of easy virtue? Certainly not, or he would have tried again, and it appeared thoughts of kissing her were far from his mind this morning. She sighed, not quite knowing why.
“Yes, well, I have.” He paused, and pulled out his pocket watch. “You had better put on your stockings and shoes so we can return to the house. I believe it’s growing close to luncheon, and the others will wonder where we are.”
Penelope bent and retrieved her belongings as Drake rose and headed to the door, looking discreetly out the window while she righted herself.
…
“May I have a word, dear?” The duchess poked her head around the door to the library.
“Yes, Mother, please come in.” Drake stood, and indicated the settee by the fireplace, where he joined her.
Her Grace settled herself, and placed her hands in her lap. “I understand Abigail has had an offer that she’s turned down.” She glanced at him and laughed. “Don’t scowl like that at your mother.”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scowl. Well, actually, yes I did.” He scrubbed his face in frustration. “This is not the first offer I’ve turned down on her behalf.”
“I know, dear. And believe it or not, she is upset that you are unhappy with her. She indeed wants a husband, even though it doesn’t seem so. She’s often mentioned how thrilling it will be to be mistress of her own home, and have children one day.”
“She could have all of that in a short period of time if she accepted Lord Seabright’s offer.”
“Don’t you remember how often your father and I spoke of the importance of love in a marriage? Has all of that fled your mind since you’ve become duke?”
Drake leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I remember it well. And for years, I believed it myself.”
“But. . .”
“Then Father died, and I don’t know, things seem different now.”
“The only thing that is different is you are now the Duke of Manchester, which is something you’ve known your whole life would be yours one day.”
Drake hopped up and paced. “Yes. Exactly. One day. Years into the future.”
She studied him as he moved back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“You know life is precious and precarious. There was never any guarantee that you would have years to ponder the role. In fact, many never make it to their majority before they are thrust into their title.”
“Now you make me sound like a frightened child.”
“No, not frightened. Well, maybe a little bit. But I believe you are up to the task.”
“Father was so much the duke. He did everything right, knew all the answers.”
“No, my dear. He did not know all the answers, and did not do everything right.” She reached out to draw him back beside her. “I was witness to a few of his blunders. Especially in the beginning. You and Phillip had already made your appearance before your grandfather died. Being overwhelmed with his new duties, as well as being a good parent to you two, kept your father up late at night. Many times.”
“What sort of blunders?” Thinking of his father as a young man, new to the title, and not making the right decisions, was a novel thought. To him, the man had always been larger than life, strong as an anchor in port. He
’d looked up to the Duke of Manchester his whole life.
“There was the time,” his mother’s eyes danced with mirth, “when he decided the steward, who your grandfather had employed for years, was cheating him, so he brought the man before him, and demanded to know where the missing money was. It turned out your father had made a simple miscalculation, and there wasn’t any money missing. The poor steward was shaking in his boots, and it took all of your father’s reasonable charm to calm the man, and assure him he was not being let go.”
Drake grinned, imagining himself doing something like that, but never his formidable father.
“So you see, son, you need to give yourself time to adjust, to grow into your title.”
“What about all these unmarried sisters?”
She rose and headed toward the door. “My dear, even your father didn’t have much success in persuading Abigail, Sybil, and Sarah to accept offers. Just give them time. They’ll make good matches, I guarantee.”
She turned back to him before opening the door. “And how is your search progressing?”
“I have my eye on a young lady.” When his mother’s eyebrows rose, he quickly added, “Or a few.” No point in having her maternal focus on him.
“Just remember to choose the woman you would want to spend the rest of your life with. And don’t discount love. I know you’re determined to make the perfect match, and disregard feelings. But love can, and should, go together with marriage.”
His back stiffened. “I’ll choose the right woman when the time comes.”
“Sometimes you don’t have to look far to find the right one. Oftentimes she is right under your very nose.” With a smile reminiscent of the cat who had just enjoyed a bowl of cream, she left the room.
What the devil did that mean?
Chapter Ten
Penelope curtsied gracefully, without mishap, before Lord and Lady Ponsoby, her hosts for the evening. It was the come out ball for their youngest daughter, Cecily. Penelope moved down the line, and then into the ballroom, a familiar sensation of being in the wrong place washing over her.
Not that she didn’t look the part. Tonight she was dressed in yet another new gown. This one was made from the finest white muslin, with gilt threads woven into it. Dark blue flowers were embroidered throughout the gown, with a matching ribbon under the bodice, the edge of the cap sleeves, and along the bottom. As she moved, the gown shimmered from the glow of an abundance of candles burning in the ballroom.
Delicate blue slippers peeked out from under her gown, and she carried a hand painted flowered fan. All the trappings of a young lady, but nothing convinced her she really belonged here. She sighed as she made her way through the crowds, her arm linked with Sybil’s. The young woman was stopped by a number of people, the gentlemen bowing before her, the young ladies giving her hugs.
At each stop, Sybil was careful to introduce Penelope to those she hadn’t met at the last few balls. Several men requested dances, and after fumbling with the small card dangling from her wrist, she was able to inscribe the names without too much difficulty.
Already she felt breathless at the crush of people surrounding her. The ladies’ strong perfumes and men’s cologne water bombarded her senses. The noise of those trying to converse with each other, shouting above the din to be heard, only added to the confusion. How in heaven’s name did these people do this all the time? And when would she be able to flee back to her safe and quiet life in the country?
Two hours later, her feet already sore from dancing, Penelope groaned as another gentleman approached her, despite her hiding place behind a large decorative urn.
“Miss Clayton, I believe this is our dance.” A young man who wore a black coat, snug buff breeches with white stockings, and black evening slippers, held out his hand. Penelope did not remember his name, in fact didn’t remember him requesting a dance. She really should pay better attention.
They took their places with two other couples, forming a square, waiting for the fourth to join them. The quadrille made Penelope nervous with its intricate steps and changing of partners. She’d also noted that some of the ladies enjoyed flirting with men other than their partners as they switched. The entire thing only made her more confused and anxious.
To her horror, Drake and Lady Daphne became the fourth couple in their square. Drake cast her a warm smile, and Lady Daphne merely dipped her head in her direction, a slight smirk on her beautiful face. Oh, Lord. This had gone from bad to much, much worse. She looked around in a panic, trying to think of something that would get her away from here, away from the entire ball.
The first few notes started up and the couples turned toward their partners, bowed and curtsied. Then they joined hands and moved in a circle. Drake moved directly across from her, his partner as graceful as a bird as she smiled at each gentleman in turn. The first switching of partners went smoothly, and soon she was returned to her partner, Lord No Name. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.
The women reached out their hands, and came together in the center, colorful dresses and jewels sparkling in the light as they turned, first one way, then the other. They backed up and the gentlemen circled together. Penelope took a deep breath. Then the weaving in and out commenced again, and she turned in the wrong direction, crashing into the gentlemen to her rear.
“Just relax, Miss Clayton.” Drake had ended up next to her after her mishap, smoothly joining their crossed hands behind their backs, and twirling her around before releasing her so she was once again back with Lord No Name, who looked a bit confused. He turned to the lady behind him, who apparently was supposed to be his partner for this part of the dance.
“No Penelope, Mr. Dane is on your left,” Drake called from where he twirled another lady.
“Oh, goodness.” Penelope swung back and barely missed being struck in her ribs by a gentleman whose name she didn’t know. In fact, she had no idea who Mr. Dane was. Could he be Lord No Name?
Almost brought to tears by the confusion, she whirled around and was deftly caught by Lord No Name, his face flushed. “Miss Clayton, just turn to your left, er, right, that is.”
Lady Daphne came to an abrupt halt and pointed her gloved finger in her direction. “This is ridiculous. Miss Clayton, you’ve confused us all.”
“No, not at all.” Drake rearranged everyone until they were back together where they started. “Now after the next few beats, we will start again, and it will be fine.” He smiled at Penelope, who wondered what the chances were of the floor opening under her so she could fall through.
“In fact,” he added, “I shall switch places with Lord Wolverton, and you, sir, can partner Lady Daphne.”
“Your Grace!” Lady Daphne cried.
“It will be fine. Here we go.” He bowed to Penelope, who curtsied and they were off and running again. Only this time, Drake whispered instructions in her ear every time they neared each other. Amazingly enough, the dance went fine, despite the fact that Penelope was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration by the time they had finished.
…
Drake bowed to Penelope as the dance ended.
“Excuse me.” She picked up her skirts and hurried away from him.
“Let her go, Your Grace.” Lady Daphne glanced in the direction of her mother watching nearby with the other matrons. The girl flashed him a smile as she slipped her arm in his. “I would love a breath of fresh air. Will you stroll with me on the terrace?”
“I would be delighted.” He escorted her through the throng of guests returning from the dance.
“You know, as Mother pointed out, that poor girl really is quite clumsy.” Lady Daphne took a deep breath as they stepped through the French doors, once again slanting a look in her mother’s direction.
“Are you speaking of Miss Clayton?” He could not fathom why the thought of Lady Sirey criticizing Penelope annoyed him. The chit was clumsy, in fact from what he’d observed, she rarely got through a day without some sort of debacle. But having someo
ne point it out brought out his protective mode. He was, after all, responsible for the girl, right along with his mother and sisters.
“Yes. She doesn’t seem to belong, or for that matter, want to belong. I feel sorry for her.”
And why did it irritate him that Lady Daphne felt sorry for Penelope? Miss Clayton was an intelligent, lovely woman, who had much to offer. There was no reason for pity. “She hasn’t had much experience in Society.”
“What is she even doing here? Does Her Grace imagine she will be able to find a husband for her?” She wandered over to the marble balustrade, and rested her hands there, looking out to the rose garden below. “I’ve heard whispers that she actually delves into science.”
“I’m not sure Miss Clayton is interested in a husband, actually.” He joined her, leaning against the pillar, gazing toward the darkened part of the garden.
Lady Daphne sighed and closed her eyes. “Mother is anxious for me to make a match this Season. Father was upset when I turned down several offers last year. But my mother felt I could do better.”
Even though that was precisely what he wanted to hear, a sense of missing something nudged him. Here was a woman who would do what was right, with no concerns about love or other romantic twaddle. “Do you ever think you might want to marry for love?”
Lady Daphne’s eyes snapped open, and she hesitated briefly. “I doubt my mother would allow that.”
“But what about you?” The words were out before he even realized he’d thought them. Bloody hell, he was beginning to sound like his fanciful sisters.
She glanced at him with sorrowful eyes. “I will do my duty.”
Drake reached for her hand just as something caught his attention beyond Lady Daphne’s shoulder. In a darkened corner of the garden a couple conversed, but what caught his eye was the glint of gold on the woman’s dress. Penelope!
What was she thinking meeting a man in the garden? And far away from where they could be observed. And why wasn’t his mother dragging her back into the ballroom? He withdrew from Lady Daphne. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I will escort you back. There is something I need to take care of.”
The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous) Page 8