The Duke's Quandary (3 page)

Penelope moved toward the dressmaker and stared in wonder. She’d never owned anything like that before. Would such a wonderful gown give her the confidence she needed? Perhaps. A small kernel of hope grew in her chest.

Mme. Babineau immediately drew her over to the small pedestal in the corner of the room, and helped her off with her gown. Snapping her fingers at one of her employees, she spoke in rapid French to the young girl. The seamstress hurried over and began taking measurements, marking her findings on a piece of vellum.

She regarded herself in the mirror, trying to imagine the plain girl who stood in front of her in chemise and stays, transformed into a lovely miss in the beautiful green and white gown. Although she tried to dismiss the excitement, a tiny movement of her lips turned into a full smile as she held her arms up so the seamstress could take her measure.

It seemed as if hours had passed with all the girls and Her Grace choosing material and patterns, and then each taking their turn on the pedestal. They decided on so many swatches of fabric that she lost count of the amount of gowns Her Grace had commissioned. She chewed her lip, wondering exactly how much her trustee had allowed for her wardrobe. When Her Grace announced once they were finished here, they would proceed to the shoemaker, glove maker, and milliner to complete their outfits, she decided to stop trying to keep a tally. Although, the fact that she would never again use such lovely things pinched her conscience, like a pebble in her shoe.

“Lady Mary, it is ever so nice to see you!” A young woman entered the salon as the girls were gathering up their belongings.

Mary smiled at the girl, and returned her hug. “And you as well, Lady Daphne.”

Penelope tried hard not to stare, but Lady Daphne took her breath away. Adjusting her spectacles, she regarded the young woman with fascination. Tall, willowy, and regal, the girl stood apart from the rest. Her ice blue eyes assessed them all in turn, her pale blonde curls stiff as if she’d wet them with sugar water. Although of an even height with the rest, it appeared as if she viewed them from Mme. Babineau’s pedestal.

“And who have we here?” Lady Daphne purred.

“Lady Daphne, may I present Miss Penelope Clayton, who is joining us for her Season this year.” Abigail’s smile was a bit thin.

“Indeed?”

She waited for Lady Daphne to whip out a quizzing glass and examine her. Instead, the girl viewed her from what seemed like a great height. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Clayton.”

It amazed her that words could be uttered in such a way that the opposite meaning was conveyed. She bobbed a slight curtsy, not sure what was appropriate. The girl made her feel as if she should fall to her knees in adoration.

“Ladies, we must be off.” Her Grace herded them all together and nodded in Lady Daphne’s direction. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you, my dear. Please extend my regards to your mother.”

“Oh, she will be joining me. I believe she’s giving instruction to our driver on when to return.” Lady Daphne linked her arm with Mary’s. “I’m so happy for you to be coming out this year. Father is very insistent that this Season I must choose a husband. He was annoyed with me last year, but Mother felt none of the men who asked for my hand were suitable. You see, she believes I should look higher.” Lady Daphne cast a tight smile in Her Grace’s direction, but the girl’s eyes clouded with an emotion Penelope couldn’t identify. “And she’s sure that will happen this year.”

The duchess returned the smile, lacking in warmth. “Time to go, girls. Penelope, will you please fetch my reticule from the chair?”

Still under the spell of Lady Daphne, she scooped up the reticule, and turned to follow Her Grace. Before she’d gone a few steps, she stumbled over a small table near the door. Sarah grabbed her arm to keep her from landing on her face.

The tinkle of Lady Daphne’s giggle followed them out the door.

Chapter Four

“But I’m much too gawky to dance.” Penelope pulled back from Abigail as she attempted to drag her toward a very bored looking Drake.

She and the four girls were brushing up on dance steps. Her Grace had hired a dance master, but with so many young ladies to tend to, she’d coerced Drake away from his duties to assist. But if the look on his face was any indication, he’d rather be mucking out stables than dancing with her.

“Nonsense. Anyone can learn to dance. I’m appalled you don’t know how.”

Penelope took her spectacles off and tucked them into her morning gown pocket. “I do know how, but it’s been a long time, and I wasn’t very good at it then.” She cringed as they moved closer to Drake and he whipped out his timepiece, frowning.

“See, His Grace doesn’t have time for this.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Penelope. Mother told you to call him Drake. His head is big enough.”

He scowled at his sister, shoving his watch back into his waistcoat pocket. He bowed to Penelope. “Not at all, Miss Clayton, I would enjoy spending this time dancing with you.”

Ha! Another person who can say one thing and make it sound exactly the opposite.

According to Mary, Drake intended to marry this year. Perhaps he should consider Lady Daphne. They certainly seemed to suit.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She winced when Abigail elbowed her. “Er, Drake.”

“Yes, please, you may address me as Drake.”

Unable to speak with him being so close, Penelope merely nodded. She peered up and licked her lips. He was so big. Tall, broad shouldered, and muscular. He seemed to seize all the surrounding air. Despite the slight blur in her vision, she drank in his hazel eyes with specks of gold. Strands of his light brown hair, interspersed with golden wisps, fell over his broad forehead.

As her gaze lowered, she took in his aristocratic nose above wide, sensual lips. The scent of horses and something musky that she remembered from the evening of her arrival defined him as male. She squashed the desire to fill her lungs with it.

“Penelope?” He tilted his head and regarded her, a slight smile gracing his lips.

Reminded of their purpose, she fought to bring herself under control. A tingling swept up the back of her neck and across her face, soon followed by heat. She attempted a smile, curtsied, then placed her fingertips on his outstretched palm. As if in a dream, he settled his hand on her lower back, drawing her closer.

“No, Drake.” Sarah chastened from where she practiced with the dance master. “Penelope will not be permitted to waltz until she receives permission from the patronesses at Almacks.”

“Which no doubt will happen soon, so she’ll need to learn.” He dismissed his sister, and turned to face Penelope. “Just count the beats with me.”

Trying hard to control her shaking, she took one step forward, her foot landing on his instep. Drake closed his eyes briefly, but still flashed an encouraging smile. “Try to follow my lead.”

By now her palms were damp with sweat, and she was grateful for the gloves she’d worn for practice. At least he wouldn’t feel the need to wipe his hand down the front of his breeches when the lesson ended. Concentrating hard, Penelope followed a few steps with no mishaps.

“See. You can do this.”

She took a deep breath, and turned one direction as he attempted to turn her the other way. Her nose hit his upper arm with enough force that her eyes watered.

He regarded her with a frown. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry,” she muttered at the same time. “I’m fine.”

After another few steps, her nose began to itch, but she didn’t feel it was ladylike to rub it, so she did her best to ignore the sensation. They continued on. The itch did not go away. She faltered slightly when he again moved her in a direction she hadn’t anticipated.

Afternoon sunlight drifted through the windows, illuminating the room where the sound of the dance master counting beats matched her galloping heart. She scrunched her nose in vain, the itch firmly rooted. Drake smiled encouragingly, but after a few minutes had passed, the tickle grew in proportion to her desire for it to stop. She found it hard to concentrate, and her instep ended up right below Drake’s booted foot.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

She bit her lower lip and shook her head, wishing with all her heart the dance was over. She stumbled through a few more steps, her mind focused on the itch and how to relieve herself without calling attention to her dilemma. She scrunched her nose up again. Nothing. Her hand ached to pull it from Drake’s grasp and rub her nose to stop the annoyance.

Several minutes passed and to her growing horror the itch now encompassed the area below her nose as well. She ran her tongue over her gums and scraped her teeth over her lip.

“I say, can I help you with anything?” Drake rotated his shoulders, then moved them into a turn that Penelope missed and she stepped once more onto his foot.

“No, not at all. Everything is fine. Thank you for asking.” The itch had traveled up to her left eyebrow. She moved her brows up and down, the frustration at not being able to rub her palms over her face resulting in another trip over Drake’s feet.

“Perhaps you have grown tired.” He stopped his movement, which caused Penelope to crash into his chest.

She quickly rubbed her nose against the rough material of his jacket, relief filling her. “Yes. I believe I am a bit weary.”

Drake glanced down at his chest and back to her face, his eyebrows almost meeting his hairline. “Well, I guess that is enough for today, then.” He released her, bowed, then turned on his heel to leave the room.

Penelope watched his retreating back as she wiped the sweat from her upper lip. She panted as though she’d run a race.

“That was fun. We’ll have to practice more tomorrow.” Sybil linked her arm with hers. “It’s time for luncheon, so I think we’d better hurry or Mother will come searching for us.”

…

Drake continued on toward the library, moving as quickly as possible from Penelope. The girl had him tied in knots. When he took her in his arms, he became very aware of her warmth and softness. Her deep green eyes peered at him, searching his face with such trepidation he had the overwhelming need to pull her closer and assure her everything would be all right. No doubt that was the reason he’d snapped at Sarah when she’d suggested they didn’t need to practice the waltz.

“Socially inept” didn’t even begin to describe the girl. She’d stomped all over his feet, kept turning in the wrong direction, and seemed to have some sort of an issue with her face that she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide from him. He settled in the chair behind his desk and stared blankly at the papers that covered the blotter.

He shook off any further thoughts of their guest and picked up a report. Penelope was his mother’s problem, not his. He had his own matter of selecting a bride this year, and nothing would deter him from that. He didn’t have the time or desire to take on a fledgling and guide her through her Season. Not that such a thing would be expected, of course. His mother was her sponsor and his sisters would champion her. As requested, he’d honor his mother’s wishes and introduce some acceptable gentlemen to the chit and then leave her to her own devices.

He laid the report down and his thoughts drifted to Lady Daphne, Lord Sirey’s daughter. His tightened muscles immediately relaxed. She was the epitome of grace and charm, and would make an excellent Duchess of Manchester. He’d watched her during the Reynolds’ Christmas house party that she’d attended with her parents back in December.

She had been quite successful during her Season last year, but from what he’d heard, she’d turned down several offers. Her eyes had followed him at the house party, leading him to believe there was definite interest on her part. If things worked out the way he planned, he would court her, and make an offer at the end of the Season, perhaps followed by a fall wedding.

There would be no surprises with the likes of Lady Daphne. She would always do the right thing. His life would run smoothly. The “ice queen” some in the
ton
had tagged her. Perhaps. But he didn’t need great passion in his wife. As his duchess, they would have a perfect existence, with perfect children. Then he would feel secure in his new role, able to administer his duties, and fill the very large shoes his father had left behind.

You’ll never be able to do it, you know.

“Are you joining us for luncheon?” Sarah tapped lightly on the library door and stuck her head in. “Or did Penelope wear you out?”

“No, she did not at all wear me out. And I will not be joining you for luncheon since I have an appointment, and I’m already late.” He shoved his chair back and stood.

“She really is very sweet, you know.”

“Who?” As if he didn’t know. He shuffled papers on his desk, avoiding his sister’s stare.

“Penelope. You should have seen her at the dressmaker yesterday. I’m sure she never spent much time selecting clothing. She was completely lost. But wait until you see how beautiful her gown will be.”

“Well, yes, I’m sure it’s wonderful. Now if you will excuse me—”

“And then Lady Daphne was very rude and laughed when Penelope walked into an awkwardly misplaced table.”

Drake stiffened at the reference to Lady Daphne.

“She could learn a lesson or two about not laughing at someone’s mistakes.”

“I’m sure you misunderstood. Lady Daphne is a gentlewoman. She would never do anything to make someone uncomfortable. Why, she is the perfect example of a true lady, someone whose mannerisms you would do well to emulate.”

Sarah’s head jerked up, her palm resting alongside her cheek. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“Please don’t say you would consider offering for Lady Daphne.”

“I have no idea what you mean. And even if I did harbor such plans, they are no concern of yours.” He brushed past his sister and left the room, closing the door a bit harder than necessary.

…

Penelope gained the top of the stairs and headed to her bedroom. The activity for the first ball of the Season had taken her full attention, leaving her no time to work on her botanical notes. With the girls resting after luncheon, it was a good time for her to begin drawing the specimen she’d found before she’d left home and preserved once she’d got here.

Padding down the corridor, she passed the door Mary had pointed out as her older sister, Marion’s, room. The door stood slightly ajar. She slowed her steps and glanced in, feeling ill at ease, as if she were spying on an invalid.

Marion looked up from her seat by the fireplace and closed the book in her hands. “Oh, you must be Miss Clayton. Please, come in. I’m Marion, Lady Tunstall, Her Grace’s eldest daughter.”

Penelope pushed the door further and entered the bedroom. The first thing that caught her notice was a type of shrine set up on a low dresser near the window. A candle burned below a portrait of a young man, dressed in the garb of the Royal Navy.

“That’s Tristan, Lord Tunstall.” Marion laid the book alongside her, rose, and moved toward the portrait. “My husband.” The pain and sorrow in those two words cut to Penelope’s heart.

“I’m so sorry. I understand he was lost at sea?”

Marion touched her fingertips to the man’s face. “Yes. His body was never recovered. Buried at sea, they say.” She turned toward Penelope, tears standing in her eyes. “I loved him so much.”

Penelope ached for her. Perhaps love was not such a wonderful thing if this was the result once it was lost. Never having witnessed love first hand, since her mother had died long before any of Penelope’s memories, she didn’t know how her parents’ marriage had fared. When her father had spoken of the woman he’d married, it was always with affection, but never with the longing and heartache so evident in Marion.

The woman seemed to rally herself. “So tell me about your wonderful ball gown Mary spoke of last night. She assured me you will liken to a princess in it. I understand it will be the first time you’ll appear in
ton
society?”

They settled on the couch near the fireplace. “Yes, and frankly, I’m quite nervous about it.”

“All girls are nervous at their first ball. I’m sure you will do fine. And my family will be there to support you. Now, promise me you will stop in and see me when you are dressed in your finery that night.”

Penelope swallowed her anxiety. “I would be happy to do that.”

They talked for another ten or so minutes, and then Marion said, “I am so glad you stopped in. You know, my family no longer mentions Tristan to me. They believe I should have put this behind me by now, and moved on with my life, but they don’t understand. . .”

“Only you will know when it is time.”

“How right you are. I wish my family would recognize that. I know Mother worries so. She loves me, and wants to see me happy, but I can’t convince her I will never be truly happy again.” She turned to Penelope. “Can you understand that?”

“I believe if you feel that way, they should honor your wishes.”

Silence descended as they studied the fire. Penelope stood and smoothed her skirts. “It’s been lovely visiting with you.”

“Will you return? Or have I turned you away with my maudlin ramblings?”

“Not at all. I shall be delighted to visit with you again.” With that, she turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Marion with her sorrow and shrine.