Page 24

P enelope had been so engrossed in her book that she almost did not notice the sound of the door opening downstairs. But at past-midnight, the estate was so silent that even a small noise was enough to draw her attention.

“It must be His Grace,” Penelope noted, willing herself to get up from the sofa and start walking towards the door.

His rules were clear. She must not disturb him unless it was absolutely necessary.

“This is necessary,” she muttered , making her way down the hallway so that she may intercept him outside his chambers. “It is only natural for a wife to worry when her husband returns home at an hour like this.”

Moments later, Alexander emerged from the top of the stairs.

Penelope rehearsed in her head exactly what she would say to him, but he did not even notice her there at first. She noticed that he seemed to be exerting great effort in trying to lug himself up the stairs.

As he reached for the banister, his face twisted into a wince.

Suddenly, the script Penelope had rehearsed in her head went flying out the window. She rushed over to him.

“Your Grace,” she said, worry lines creasing her forehead. “Is everything all right with you?”

Alexander noticed her then. Immediately, he made an effort to stand up straighter than before.

“Yes, I am fine,” he said quickly, retreating his hand from the banister as he stepped into the hallway. “Why are you awake at this hour?”

Alexander was a bad liar. Penelope ignored his question, and instead made a move to take his hand into her own. He was not quick enough to pull it away in time.

“Let me see,” she insisted and then gasped as she noticed the bruises on his knuckles. They had turned a shade of dark purple, indicating whatever injury he had incurred was fairly recent. At her reaction, he quickly withdrew his hand from her grasp and stuffed it inside his pocket.

As though putting it away would make the problem disappear. Out of sight, and out of mind.

“Your Grace,” she said in a low voice, “why is your knuckle bruised? What were you doing before coming home? You must tell me, immediately.”

His expression made it abundantly clear that he did not appreciate her questioning. Drawing in a sigh, he turned towards her.

“It’s nothing,” he stated decisively. “I got into a small accident at the club. One particular gentleman had drank more than his share, and was being a nuisance.”

“And so you decided to be the one to take care of it?” Penelope’s eyes widened. “Why did you not let Fergus and Lewis handle the matter?”

Alexander flicked the wrist of his good hand in a dismissive gesture. “Duchess, you really ought to not bother me at this time of night. There is nothing to worry about, and you should return to your chambers.”

He began walking towards his own chambers, but Penelope followed him in.

“I am not going anywhere,” she insisted with a stubbornness that she had all but perfected over the years. “It is clear to me that you are in need of care .”

“I have dealt with worse,” he said, nonchalantly. “Really, a bruised knuckle is not worth losing sleep over.”

“That might have held true before you married me,” Penelope pressed her lips together. “But I cannot in good conscience stand here and do nothing when you’re injured. Please, stay put and I will return in a moment.”

She made him sit down on one of the sofas, and then hurriedly exited the room. A part of her wondered if he would take this chance to not let her back in again. But when she returned a few moments later, armed with some healing herbs and bandages, she found the door slightly ajar.

For all his outward bravado, it seemed that the duke did not mind the concern after all. Or he would have slammed the door shut.

“Really, this is quite unnecessary,” he said warily, eyeing the supplies that she had brought in. Still, he made no effort to stop her.

“It is the bare minimum,” Penelope said, already preparing the herb concoction by mashing a mix of dried leaves together. An aromatic scent filled the air as she did, and Alexander scrunched his nose.

“This reminds me of my childhood,” he muttered . “My governess would make the same mixture.”

“And do you think you are somehow more immune to injury now than you were back then?” Penelope raised an eyebrow, and gestured at the empty space between them on the sofa. “Please put your hand here.”

“Perhaps not,” he said, thoughtfully, “But I am not used to people fussing over me.”

Penelope paused for a second at the statement, before resuming her process of putting on the herbal ointment over his knuckles. He winced slightly at the contact.

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” she said softly. “And fussing is not the right word to use. I would rather use the word concern.”

“You are concerned for me?” he asked. Penelope could feel his gaze on her as she worked, making her cheeks warm in response. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

“Should I not be?” she said, rubbing the mixture in between the grooves of his knuckles. “Anyone would be, if they see someone walk in looking as though they have attempted to skin their knuckles down to the bone.”

“You’re dramatic,” he chuckled softly. “And he had it coming for him. I do not tolerate misbehavior.”

“I do not doubt that,” Penelope frowned, glancing down at his injury. She cut a small piece of the bandage, and began to wrap it around his hand. Once again, he offered no resistance. “Is this a recurring occurrence?”

Alexander shot her a look.

“Define recurring.”

“How often do you show up at home, injured?”

“Not often,” he flashed her a small grin. “You should have more faith in my fighting abilities. I am not really built to lose.”

At his statement, Penelope could not help but peek at the way that his shirt clung to his muscles.

He had an impressive build , which was something she had noticed before as well.

Only now it was much more apparent. She tilted her head to the ground, hiding the blush that had once again reappeared on her cheeks and fastened up the bandage.

“There,” she said. “All done. Though, there will be another change of dressing needed tomorrow. I suspect it should heal up well within the week, and fade into a light purple, at best.”

“You have much knowledge on these things,” he commented, pulling back his hand to examine it. “I wonder what other gentlemen you were bandaging up to get this experience.”

His comment caught her completely off-guard, and blood rushed to her face immediately.

“Heaven forbid that a woman might read, and learn on her own,” she replied defensively. “I do not need to practice on others to know what I’m doing.”

“I shall have to take your word for that,” he said, his tone once again impossibly nonchalant though his comment earlier had indicated something else entirely.

“Your Grace,” Penelope pressed her lips together, “If I did not know any better, I’d say that you’re sounding like a rather jealous husband.”

“Do you know better?” he asked, eyebrow shooting up. The intensity of his gaze flustered Penelope instantly, and she looked away from him.

“I am not sure if I do,” she breathed out. “In any case, I urge you to stay out of such scuffles in the future.”

“Hm,” Alexander muttered nonchalantly though the intensity of his gaze had not lessened in the slightest. “You worry too much, wife.”

“And you worry too less,” she countered defiantly, “at least when it comes to your own well-being. Perhaps it would do you some good to channel your worries about Odette to yourself, for a change. The distribution needs some equalizing.”

Alexander let out a loud laugh at that.

“Is that so?” he prodded, amused. “You really think a man my age requires the same worrying as a fourteen year old?”

“Considering your work environment, I would say yes.”

“I truly wonder what your reaction would have been if you had married me ten years ago,” Alexander said to himself, as though he was thinking out loud.

“Why?” Penelope asked, eyebrow raised. “What was so different, then?”

“Let’s just say that a strained hand would have been one of the more fortunate injuries incurred by me back in those days,” he said smugly. Penelope gaped at him, startled.

“Why do you involve yourself in these matters?” she asked, voice tinged with frustration. “Do you get some sort of a rush from putting yourself in dangerous situations?”

Alexander seemed to ponder over her question for a moment, bringing one of his hands to rest on top of his chin.

“I suppose that is one part of it,” he admitted, though his honesty surprised Penelope. He was rarely ever this candid – and she wondered whether the lateness of the hour had anything to do with it. A natural truth serum, if you will. “But largely, my actions have been guided by a sense of duty.”

“I cannot imagine what orientation of duty demands one to injure themselves,” Penelope replied, and he shot her a look that made her feel suddenly naive.

Alexander’s gaze lingered for a moment.

“Duty is one aspect of it,” he said quietly. “But the weight of legacy comes with its own set of challenges.”

“Legacy?” Penelope drew her eyebrows together. It was refreshing to hear him speak so candidly, and she did not want to ruin the moment by saying something out of line.

“The late Duke left a rather heavy legacy in his wake,” Alexander said in a tone so detached that it sounded like he was speaking of a stranger. “It took a while for me to adjust to it, though I am not certain if I still have.”

“How old were you when you inherited the dukedom?” Penelope asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Old enough,” he mused. “And inheriting a dukedom makes it sound as though he had left me with great fortunes.”

“Did he not?” Penelope crinkled her nose. Alexander was hardly pinching pennies; surely most of his wealth had been inherited.