Hope shone in the maid’s eyes.
“But of course I am not at liberty to even entertain the thought of hiring a lady’s maid at this time,” tempered Penelope, not wishing to raise false hopes.
“No, of course. I did not wish to suggest, but I do enjoy working for you, Miss Rose.”
Penelope doubted the maid would enjoy her work when she discovered the engagement was a sham, but Pen could do very little about that. She should be leaving for Bath soon anyway. “I simply wish to go to bed. The night rail you have does look pretty, I grant you, but perhaps too lightweight for winter. Something a tad warmer should do.”
Abigail blushed furiously. “I did not think you would be quite concerned with warmth.”
Pen began to wonder if the girl was daft. “A bit chill, do you not think?”
“Oh, you mean in the hallways. I should have thought of that. You could wear a warm wrap until you reach his room. Or…” Abigail blushed again. “I could send word that you would prefer the duke join you in your bedchamber this evening, so you did not catch a chill.”
“You think that I…you believe that His Grace and I…me and the duke,” sputtered Penelope.
Abigail bit her lip in a terrified gesture. “I meant no disrespect. I only thought that… Forgive me, but everyone was saying that…”
“Everyone was saying what?” Pen’s voice was so low it dredged the bottom of her regard for one certain Duke of Marchford. He was going to pay for this. She wasn’t sure how, but there was going to be a reckoning.
Abigail lowered her eyes, her hopes of moving up in the world plummeting. “Forgive me, miss. I spoke out of turn.”
“No, you only informed me that I have apparently become fodder for the servants’ gossip. I suppose I should thank you for letting me know. Thank you. That will be all for tonight.”
The maid left without another word.
Penelope began to pace, wondering how she could make Marchford suffer for giving the world the impression that she had been less than honorable in her procurement of a very highly prized offer of marriage. Clearly to have caught such a man, Penelope must have sweetened the offer. After some time debating strategies, Penelope was no further in devising a suitably devious plan and had worn herself out with the silent raging.
Penelope sighed and decided nothing was being gained by her solitary irritation. It was time to go to bed, as she had planned to do an hour earlier. She attempted to change into a more sensible night rail, but found, much to her growing irritation, that the gown she wore was impossible to remove without some assistance. Her only choice to remove the gown was to call for the maid. The maid she had dismissed.
It was awkward to say the least. She could choose to sleep in her gown, but to be found in the morning in the same dress and have to explain that she was actually stuck in it, was even more distressing. Which led back to calling for the maid, who by this time was most certainly in bed herself and who believed, along with the entire staff, that Pen and Marchford were carrying on some illicit affair.
A fresh wave of righteous anger swept through her, warming her against the cold draft of winter. She grabbed the gauzy night rail and marched out of her room. Before she could think about what she was doing, she found herself at the door of the Duke of Marchford. Anger still churning through her veins, she knocked and, without waiting for a reply, opened the door and stepped inside, slamming the door behind her.
Marchford was sitting comfortably in bed, reading by the light of a lantern. “Miss Rose? Whatever is the matter?”
“This is the matter.” She thrust the gauzy nightdress at him accusingly.
At Marchford’s blank expression, she saw she needed to elaborate. She held it up so he could see the gown—and through the gown, in all its evocative glory. “The maid thought I should wear this to bed tonight.”
Marchford frowned. “Not sensible. Catch a cold.”
“Yes, indeed! But the maid explained she did not think that I would be in need of warmth since you would be performing the office yourself.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Have you not heard? Everyone, even your own servants, thinks we are carrying about a secret liaison.”
“That cannot be—”
“Yes, yes it is. You see what you have done?”
“I shall talk to the staff tomorrow.”
“And tell them what? Can you imagine calling them all to attention before you to announce that you are not carrying about a scandalous sexual relationship with your grandmother’s companion?” Penelope tried to ignore the rush of heat crawling up her neck and spreading to her cheeks. It was the first time she had said the word sex in mixed company.
“Yes, well, when you put it that way.”
“And what other way is there to put it?”
Marchford sighed. “I deeply regret if my proposal led others to such wild and unfounded accusations. I had no intention of ever casting any shadow on your reputation, which to my mind remains exemplary.”
Penelope fought against it, but she could feel herself soften at his charitable reply. She knew he had not intended for anyone to jump to such unfortunate conclusions. She was angrier at society, who valued her so cheaply that they decided she must have had to sell her own body to secure a seat at the matrimonial table beside a duke. “I know you did not intend for this to occur,” she mumbled begrudgingly.
“Indeed. And forgive me for pointing this out, but coming to my bedroom late at night would only confirm such rumors. I suggest you return to your room, let us both get a good night’s sleep, and we shall tease out what should be done in the morning.” Marchford was himself, strong and in command, albeit sitting under the bedclothes with a red, wool cap on his head.
“Yes, of course, except for one thing. I am stuck.”
“Stuck? Where?”
“In this gown. I cannot do the enclosures inthe back.”
Marchford looked at her as if she were daft. “So call for a maid.”
“I cannot. I already dismissed her.”
Marchford frowned, clearly ready to debate this conclusion.
“I cannot call back a maid who thinks I am carrying on an illicit affair with you. It would be humiliating. I simply cannot bring myself to do it.” The words were tumbling out of Penelope’s mouth before she could consider them. “Besides, I have decided a new course of action.”
“You have?”
Everything was spinning out of control, and more than anything, she wanted to claim that control back. Sampler or no sampler, she wanted to be the one deciding her fate, even if it meant doing something utterly out of character.
Her words spilled out without thought. “Since everyone already thinks we are sleeping together and since I cannot escape from this gown without your assistance, I propose we actually do what everyone else thinks we have already done.”
Marchford’s eyebrows rose so far they disappeared beneath the red woolen cap. “Exactly what are you suggesting, Miss Rose?”
An excellent question. She did not consider her answer one jot before she blurted, “Everyone thinks we are lovers. So we might as well be lovers.”
“Are you suggesting that we…”
“Yes! Sleep with me!”
Twenty-five
There were times in a man’s life when he needed to tread very carefully to avoid potential pitfalls, traps, and the failings that entangled weaker men. Considering the angry female before him who had just suggested sharing his bed for the night, Marchford knew this was one of those times. Standing over him, she had him at a disadvantage. He was in his bedclothes and unsure whether it would be more proper to stand and reveal himself in his night shift or allow her to remain standing.
He motioned to a chair. “Sit!”
She sat but not on the chair; she defiantly chose the bed. He resisted both the urge to scoot away from h
er and the rather stronger urge to grab her and pull her under the covers to join him. No, he must be strong.
“Is this some sort of test of my honorable nature, Miss Rose?”
“Penelope,” she corrected. “Now that we’ve been introduced, how about helping me out of this gown?”
Marchford weighed his options. He very much wanted to remove the gown, yet he suspected that tomorrow she would not look kindly to his taking the offer. “Penelope. I strongly suggest you return to your room. Call for the maid, and go to bed. It would be sensible.”
“Yes, perhaps. But what has being sensible ever done for me? I was determined always to do the right thing. I never allowed myself to be out of control, at least not until I met you. And you see where it has gotten me? Everyone believes I am a seductress.”
“The ton lives on gossip. Most people know not to believe half of it.”
“Truly? In my experience, most people believe every word.”
“Even if others believe the worst, it does not mean we should conduct ourselves with anything less than the highest level of propriety.”
“Propriety? What of the kisses? What of everything else we did? Was that proper?”
No, it wasn’t. In truth, even before she had entered his bedroom, his mind had wandered from his book to that day in the wardrobe. Yet another reason why he could not immediately rise from the bed—his interest would be immediately apparent. Her proposal had in no way lessened his firm interest.
“Penelope.” He paused. He was not sure what to say. He wanted her in his bed. More than he cared to say.
“Yes?” She waited for him expectantly. “You were trying to come up with some excuse for kissing me.”
“I have none other than the fact that I am only human and I failed in any attempt toward restraint.”
“Did you attempt restraint?”
“Yes, though clearly my resolve was not up to the challenge.”
She moved closer. “Which only leads me to wonder what a kiss with you might be like when you are not restrained.”
Marchford’s pulse jumped and beat a fast staccato rhythm. He was not unaccustomed to danger, nor even having females attempt a seduction to try to secure a proposal. Yet he never felt like his heart might burst around anyone but Penelope. Was this a test? Was she trying to trap him into declaring emotions he wished never to reveal? “Are you trying to confound me with lust to win a declaration of love?”
Penelope stood and her eyes flashed. “How dare you! How dare you accuse me of trying to entrap you into anything when you were the one to ensnare me!” She stomped to the door and Marchford was obliged to fling off the blankets and chase after her before she could reach the door.
“I apologize for my words. Forgive me. Careless thoughts.”
Penelope turned, her eyes blazing. “I am tired of having my actions be consistently seen through the lens of a poor social climber who is intent on marrying a duke and is willing to do anything to achieve her goal. Do you think for one second I would accept you as a husband now? You who has allowed my good name to be trampled? Who do you think you are? Do you truly believe I would accept a man whom I could not trust? Whom I could not respect? Who does not believe me to be his social equal?”
Marchford stepped back from her wrath. “I apologize again for any harm that has befallen your reputation as a result of my marriage proposal, though honestly I never thought I would need to beg forgiveness for making an offer. If you hold me in such obvious disgust, why offer to sharemy bed?”
Penelope flushed and began to pace. “I despise you,” she grumbled.
“You despise me so much you wish to sleep with me?”
“Yes. No. Oh, I do not know what I am about.”
“Which I am certain is my fault.”
“Yes, yes, it is. I am glad you own it.”
“Absolutely and without hesitation. I should take this moment also to apologize for the snow tomorrow and any other inconvenience, however slight, you may experience.”
“Right now my main inconvenience is that I am stuck in this gown and I would rather cut it off than face that maid again.”
“Here, I can be of assistance.” Marchford grabbed his banyan robe and wrapped it around himself, offering an arm to Penelope. “Allow me to be your abigail tonight.”
This won him a slight smile. She stopped pacing and accepted his arm.
“But first, allow me to give you something. It is after midnight, so this gift may be appropriate.” Remembering Grant’s suggestion that he enact a campaign of charm, he opened the drawer on his nightstand table and pulled out the red box from the jeweler. “Happy fifth day of Christmas.”
Penelope accepted the box but stared at it without opening it. “What is it?”
“It is a gift. Open it,” he commanded.
So she did. Even in the small light of the lantern, he could not miss how her eyes widened.
“Five gold rings, just like the rhyme.” She blinked away tears. “It is beautiful, though I do not know what I would do with five rings.”
“Choose one you like and wear it for me.” He thought it a simple answer, yet she responded with a trembling bottom lip and an impulsive embrace.
He wrapped his arms around her, delighting in how her body melted into his. He wanted her. Now. Was it too late to reconsider her offer to share his bed?
“Thank you. I do appreciate the gift,” she finally said, recovering from the unusual display of emotion.
Marchford made a mental note to buy her more jewelry. He would forgo the swans and the cows.
“I think it past time I went to bed.” Penelope smiled up at him, then down at the rings.
He grabbed his candle, and they softly padded down the corridor to her smaller bedchamber. They entered, and he put the light on the stand by her bed. She had clearly moved beyond her rash offer, so he attempted to focus on the task at hand, not the woman before him.
“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” apologized Penelope. “I was not thinking clearly. I cannot imagine why I said what I did.”
“I have put you into a difficult situation. I thought my declaration would reduce the gossip, but it only increased it.”
“They would gossip if you had not.”
“But it was my fault you were in the wardrobe.”
“And my fault I hurt my ankle.”
And my fault I kissed you. But he did not say that. He understood her anger and frustration with the situation, but he was still genuinely confused about her interest in sleeping together. Was that simply what she said when she was angry? If so, how could he raise her ire at him again? He shook his head, banishing traitorous thoughts.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose there is much blame to go around, but I think we ought to place it squarely on the shoulders of the nameless, faceless society, and benefit from the clear conscious of self-righteous bias.”
The comment earned him another weary smile from Penelope. “Yes, by all means, let us blame someone other than ourselves.”
“Good, it is settled. Let me now perform the office for which I have come, and I shall allow you to get some sleep.” He tried to keep his words light. He should not reveal how powerful an effect she was having on him. He wished now more than anything to take her to bed. He had been a fool to talk her out of it when he’d had the chance.
She slowly turned around so he could focus his attentions on her back. He stepped up gamely and attempted to undo the enclosures. Fortunately, from this position, she could not see if his hands shook. Her shoulders were rounded nicely, her back was straight as always, and although her gown was high waisted, according to the latest fashion, he could tell by the way the gown swished when she turned that she tapered into a nice little waist.
He cleared his throat and focused on the business at hand. Buttons. Millions of the tiny things.
/> “Good gracious, no wonder you could not do this without assistance,” commented Marchford.
“I would need detachable arms.”
“Indeed, I may be here awhile. How very tiny.” He was in no great hurry. He was enjoying this considerably too much to rush the experience. With every button, a little more of her was exposed. At first his efforts revealed the milky white skin of her back. His fingers brushed accidentally against her, convincing him of her incredibly soft skin. He then brushed his fingertips across her skin in a manner that was not at all accidental.
Next, he began to reveal the edges of the petticoats. Lace was first to show and he was delighted it was a soft pink. He would not have guessed that staid, somber Penelope wore pink, lace petticoats.
At last he had undone the tiny buttons and was unsure how to proceed. At least, he knew exactly what he wanted, but despite being supposedly affianced to the woman before him, he was unsure how to convince her to stay with him, at least in a manner that allowed him to stay aloof. Truth be told, he was far from feeling emotionally distant from Penelope Rose.
“I will need some assistance in removing this gown if you are finally finished with the buttons,” said Penelope in a matter-of-fact voice. She was trying to appear unmoved by the situation, but her shallow breathing said otherwise.
“Yes of course,” he murmured, always ready to be of assistance to a lady. His lady. He helped her gently tug off the tightly fitted sleeves and pull the gown up over her head, revealing the marvel of Penelope in a state of undress. To be sure, she remained mostly covered, but her arms were now bare and the effect undressing Penelope was having on him was undeniable.
Penelope cleared her throat. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Quite abominably I fear.”
She glared at him, but the intensity only enhanced his interest.
“This petticoat laces in the back.” She presented him once more with her back side, and he once more was left to appreciate her figure freely and without censure. He ran his hands over the petticoat and smoothed the fabric down on either side to find her natural waist—just as he suspected, a narrow waist and nice rounded curves.
A Winter Wedding Page 19