“Ow! Stop!” she cried.
Instantly he pulled away, breathing hard. “You did not care for the kiss?”
“I did not care for the chair rail in my back.”
James smiled. “Practical. Let us find a new place.” He swung her around to his desk and lifted her easily to sit on it.
Her heart pounded audibly in her ears as he lifted her skirts enough so that he could stand between her legs.
“This can be settled very easily between us, here and now,” he whispered in her ear.
She desired him so desperately she had to struggle to remember why she was saying no. “Here? On your maps?”
“My maps?” He looked beneath her with some dismay. “Well, I might move the maps.” He shrugged. “I like my maps. Oh, and here is the diagram of that missing safe.”
He handed Pen the diagram, and she couldn’t help but laugh. James joined her, and it felt good to laugh together at the ridiculous situation they were in.
At the sound of a knock on the study door, Penelope jumped down and smoothed her skirts. James looked her over with satisfaction and then called for the person to enter.
It was the butler. “Her Grace requests the presence of the Duke of Marchford and Miss Rose in her sitting room to discuss wedding plans.”
James groaned. “Save me.”
“Come now. How bad could it be?” said Pen cheerfully, unsure if she was relieved or irritated by the interruption.
The Dowager Duchess of Marchford was holding court in her sitting room, surrounded by papers, fabric swatches, color palettes, and sample flowers. A harried Earl of Langley sat across from her and shot them a pleading look as they entered the door.
“Good. James, now stand here, I want to see which of these whites will go best.”
James stood obediently, while Antonia held up fabric swatches, for what purpose, Pen decided it was best not to ask.
“I thought the primary decisions had all been made regarding the wedding plans,” said Penelope.
“Oh, but the napkins, the napkins, dear. I cannot decide between the creamy white and the silver cream.”
The two linens were indistinguishable to Penelope, but she held her tongue.
“I have decided that you and James shall act as my witnesses,” said Antonia without looking up. She was not asking. She was telling.
“But surely there is someone closer in your family who would be more appropriate,” protested Penelope.
“There is no one in my family I can tolerate better than you.” Antonia gave her a quick nod of approval. “Besides, now that you are betrothed, it would demonstrate my approval of the union and start to undermine these vicious rumors. If I knew who was spreading them, I would end it quick, I can tell you.”
“But you forget, I do not plan to marry Marchford.”
“You don’t?” asked Lord Langley, jumping into the conversation. “Whyever not? Anyone can see there is an attraction between you.”
“It is complicated,” said Penelope.
“Odd creature,” muttered Langley.
“Forgive me, but are you not marrying for love?” defended Penelope. “Do I not deserve the same?”
Langley cocked his head. “The gel’s right. Fell in love once, never could get over it. Finally had to go through with it.” He smiled at his bride-to-be, who smiled in return.
“Thank you, Lord Langley. Perhaps you can help me.” Penelope gathered her courage and decided to speak plainly. “Marchford has threatened seduction to force me into marriage.”
Everyone in the room stopped, staring first at her, then at Marchford.
“Did he now?” asked the dowager.
“Indeed, I did,” confirmed Marchford with surprising calm. Penelope had expected him to be ashamed and deny it, but she had underestimated him.
“Good for you,” said Antonia.
“What?” cried Penelope. “You condone this behavior?”
“No, but you are being stubborn. You should marry James and be done with it.”
“I thought you would defend me. Lord Langley, as a gentleman and a peer of the realm, you surely cannot condone this.”
Langley gave her a weak smile. “I fear I have my own selfish reasons for agreeing with Antonia. First, if you don’t marry him, someone else surely will. You get on with Antonia better than most, so if you wed, my life would be made easier. And second, I have learned never to disagree with my lovely bride. So my advice is to marry the lad. He’s not so bad, even if he is a duke.”
“Traitors! All of you!” cried Penelope.
Twenty-seven
The next day was New Year’s Eve, the evening of the traditional masked ball. Penelope had a difficult decision before her. She laid out two gowns. One was a modest gown of creams with a high neckline. It would be appropriate for tonight’s New Year’s Eve celebrations and would make the statement that she was not the wanton creature trying to trap Marchford into marriage that many in the ton believed she was. The other gown was red silk, with a plunging neckline. It would only confirm everyone’s worst impressions of her.
Miles the cat rested his unnaturally large head in her lap, and she stroked the soft fur, in thought. The gown would also send a message to a certain duke. Should she admit that his ridiculous attempts at wooing her had actually captured her heart? No. Yes. She did not know.
She was looking forward to meeting her sisters at the ball. All of them, from eldest to youngest, were coming to Town to support her. They had heard the news and a flurry of letters was initiated between them. They were all married and busy with their own lives, but they were her sisters. She had helped to find each of them a groom, and now it was their turn to support her.
But which gown?
A shriek from an upstairs maid shocked her out of her revelry, and Pen bounded onto her feet. She ran toward the sound, down the hall, to the room where they kept the bathtub. A maid was standing at the door, screaming with all her might.
Her heart pounding, she ran to the door, afraid of what she might see. She rushed in to find…swans.
Seven swans to be exact—some swimming in the tub, some pulling down the drapes, some running about the room, and one pecking at the toe of the shrieking maid.
“I know they are supposed to be swimming, but they wouldn’t all fit in the tub,” said James, who was suddenly at her elbow, with a mischievous grin.
Before she could answer, Miles pounced inside, determined to defend his territory against another flock of marauding birds. Unfortunately, he found the swans to be substantial creatures with sharp beaks, and instead of chasing them, he was soon the one being chased.
“You are despicable!” cried Penelope, trying not to let James see how desperately she wanted to laugh.
Miles bolted out of the room, down the hall, and up and down several flights of stairs with seven swans in pursuit. This naturally brought the servants to chase the swans, the dowager to chase the servants, and Penelope to chase the dowager. All this with James laughing until the dowager began to chase him, cane upraised.
It was a long while before Penelope was able to rescue the cat and run back upstairs with her large bundle of yammering feline. She shut the door behind her with a sigh of relief. That man, he was horrible. Incorrigible. Utterly…sweet. Nobody had ever taken such notice of her as to ruin his own house to demonstrate their interest. Of course, he was displaying his determination to marry her, not any true affection.
She glanced at the two ball gowns. She knew which one she would wear. It was a masque after all.
***
Penelope relinquished her cape as she entered the ball in the gown of scarlet. Marchford did a double take in her direction. His jaw dropped open, and even in his mask, it was not difficult to judge his reaction. She touched her mask to ensure it was in place. She could be daring. Nobody knew who she was.
“Sister!”
Except her sisters. Penelope took a deep breath and turned to face her beautiful sisters in the glittering ballroom. Though they all wore masks, it was clear from the dazzling array of golden hair that these were the four Rose sisters. “My sisters! You are well met.”
Amelia, Sophie, Mariah, and Julia rushed to her, their blue eyes sparkling behind their masks. Not for the first time, Penelope wondered how on earth she could claim these radiant ladies as full-blooded sisters. If this was fate’s humor, the joke was certainly on her.
“Penelope!” they cried as one and all went to hug her, though she noted even her younger and more rash sisters had learned to have a care and did so with a dash of enviable elegance. They were all well dressed, in the height of fashion, and all in varying stages of expectant motherhood.
“How it is that you never told us?”
“You sly creature!”
“When did you first fall in love?”
“I always knew how it would be.”
Her sisters all began commenting at once, not one of them feeling the need to stop to let the other speak. Penelope put up her hands to stop the happy cacophony. “Let’s go sit somewhere we can talk.”
Her sisters stopped short, exchanged glances with each other, and immediately agreed. They found an out-of-the-way parlor, dimly lit, that seemed perfect for a short confessional. They had hardly closed the door and removed their masks before the questions were put to her.
“What is this about?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Why would the gossip columns say such things?”
“You cannot take anything it says personally!”
Four concerned sisters stood before her, perfectly lovely in spirit and form, and ready to march into war for her. When it came down to it, they loved her and she them.
“Marchford proposed because we were caught in a slightly indelicate situation,” began Penelope.
“If he has compromised you in any way,” began her eldest sister Amelia, now the Countess of Stanton, her eyes blazing.
Had he compromised her? This was not the question she wished to discuss with her sisters. She paused, a fatal flaw.
“What did he do?” asked Sophie, her large, blue eyes growing even wider.
“Nothing, it was nothing.”
“What exactly was nothing?” asked Amelia, her eyes narrowing. She was no fool and pounced on Pen’s hesitation in an instant.
There was no use denying any impropriety; her sisters would see through the ruse. They were her sisters after all, and the single disturbing thing about them was they could turn from being fascinated with the most frivolous minutia of fashion one moment to being deadly serious and shockingly intelligent the next. They may look the part of the demure, empty-headed society female, but underneath worked the minds of scholars. And one sure thing they knew was when one of them was not telling the truth.
“There may have been a slight kiss,” admitted Penelope.
Her sisters smiled and did not present her with the censure she expected.
“And then he proposed, quite right,” said Amelia as if the case was settled.
“Not exactly. I hurt my ankle, and he was inspecting it when we were witnessed by some very malicious gossips.” Penelope breezed over the compromising part.
“It hardly sounds like grounds for a proposal,” said Mariah slowly, suspicious.
“I was surprised as well.”
“He must truly be in love with you!” cried her more romantic sister, Sophia.
“No, I don’t think his heart has been touched,” admitted Penelope, trying to explain the situation without revealing too much. “I believe he is more interested in keeping me by his side, so I can assist him in his work.”
“What work?” they asked in unison.
Fortunately, Penelope had anticipated this question and had a ready answer. “I have been helping him with some secretarial work to do with his business in Cádiz,” said Penelope vaguely. “He says it is important and values my efforts. He was upset when the dowager announced her engagement because it meant that I too would be leaving.”
“So he proposed to you so he could keep his secretary?” asked Mariah.
“Couldn’t he just hire someone else?” asked Julia.
“Perhaps. We are working on a particular project, and he wants it to continue until completion. After that, I am sure he will look for someone to take my place.”
Amelia frowned. “What are you saying?”
Penelope took a breath. “I fear the engagement is a ruse to allow me to stay in the house. He never intended to propose to me.”
Silence. Four equally distressed blond sisters frowned at her.
“You cannot possibly be suggesting that he would refuse to marry you after making a public declaration,” said Amelia, her voice grave.
“No, he has insisted that I wed him, but I have not agreed to such a union. You have heard the gossip, I am sure. I could not marry a man simply because he felt obligated, especially when society believes I sacrificed my honor to entrap him. Better to live a spinster than be shunned by society with a man who does not desire me. I would be a daily reminder for him of a terrible mistake. Bad enough to live with it for a moment, worse to suffer for the rest of our lives.”
Her sisters gazed at her in silence, the thoughts clearly spinning in their heads but not making it to audible speech.
“But he’s a duke,” blurted Julia. “Trapping him into marriage is what half of London is trying to do.”
“Fortunately, I do not count myself among that half,” said Penelope with a sniff.
“The other half is male,” muttered Mariah.
“I know you may think it foolishness,” began Penelope.
“Indeed I do,” said Amelia with brutal honesty. “If you had no intent of ever marrying him, you should never have accepted him publicly.”
“You are rather stuck now,” said Sophie gently.
It was precisely what Penelope had feared, but she was not ready to accept her fate. Being married to a man who did not return her affection simply would not do for her. If she were neutral toward him, it might be acceptable, but to live with a man she loved who did not love her in return would be unbearable. “I cannot marry him under these circumstances. You all must see that.”
Silence greeted her again.
“It is difficult to end an engagement,” said Sophie slowly.
“Particularly to a duke,” said Julia.
“But not impossible,” said Amelia firmly. “In order for you to retain your place in society, however, you must have another offer of marriage. It would be acceptable to dissolve this engagement if both of you announced that you were pursuing true love elsewhere and both left the agreement amicably. But you must be married.”
“Why married?” asked Penelope. “I could retire to Bath or someplace where I was not known.”
“You would have to retire someplace where they don’t read the papers,” said Julia with characteristic thoughtlessness. Her speech earned her looks of censure from her elder sisters.
“Were the papers so very bad?” asked Penelope.
“Sweetling,” sighed Sophie. “There are some rather unkind inferences being made toward you. Did you not see?”
“They have kept the papers from me. I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.” Penelope twisted the strings of her mask in her fingers.
“Given the talk, it would be best for you to marry and soon. If you were to walk away from this engagement without the protection of another, I fear people would assume Marchford had found you less than honorable and had abandoned you. You would find acceptance into any society difficult, even outside of London.” Amelia laid the truth before her in the plain, straightforward fashion that had always been her way. Pen
elope had always preferred it, but now she would have welcomed a more comfortable lie.
“So I need to find a husband,” said Penelope dully.
“Oh, I shall help,” said Julia, clapping her hands. “You helped all of us. We shall help you!”
“Thank you,” said Penelope weakly. The last thing she needed was her adolescent sister trying to find her a husband.
“You are, of course, welcome in our homes always,” said Sophia softly.
“Thank you,” said Penelope again, this time mustering up the energy for a small smile. She had supporters, which was nice, but living her days shut up in somebody’s back parlor was not the dream she had for her future.
“I believe we should circulate and try to gain the upper hand on the gossip, or at least contain the damage as much as possible,” said Amelia briskly. “Gossip is fleeting. Tomorrow, something else will draw their attention. We can only hope someone else does something more shocking.” Amelia had her own experience surviving nasty rumors.
“More shocking than a duke offering marriage to his grandmother’s companion? Good luck!” blurted Julia, gaining furious frowns from her sisters. It was brutal but true.
“We shall defend you and remind everyone of your spotless reputation,” said kindhearted Sophie, and her sisters all agreed. Penelope had good friends in her sisters, which in the end was all that mattered.
“Thank you all so much,” said Penelope, this time with complete sincerity. “It is so good to know I have such supportive sisters to fall back on. Give me a moment alone to think, and I will join you all in a minute.”
Her sisters gave her supportive squeezes and left her to sort through her scattered thoughts. What was she going to do? Marchford was certainly making an effort to charm her, and yet she knew he would break her heart if she married him. But how was she going to find a replacement so soon?
The clearing of a man’s throat surprised Penelope out of her reverie, and to her surprise Lord Darington stood up from behind the high-backed chair. He had been sitting there the whole time! Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. He must have heard everything.
A Winter Wedding Page 21