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CHAPTER 10

P enelope debated whether to bring all of the sheets His Grace had given her or just the ones that concerned Viscount Steepwharf. The clock in the corner showed that it was five minutes to nine.

Not wanting to be mocked for her tardiness, Penelope took one last look in the mirror before folding the papers—just the ones about Lord Steepwharf—and slipping them into her cloak’s pocket.

Pulling her cloak’s hood over her head, she grabbed a lamp and then turned the doorknob.

But when the door swung open she squealed upon finding a shadowy figure standing before her.

“Shh!” His Grace placed a hand over her mouth. “Are you trying to get us caught?” he whispered, his face mere inches away from hers.

She smacked his hand away in irritation. “I could ask the same of you!” she hissed, one hand on her chest. “Why are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He rolled his eyes. “Did you think I’d force you to walk to my study by yourself, Little Miss Afraid-of-the-Dark?”

“That’s-” she blinked at him, “That’s actually quite considerate of you, Your Grace.”

“Well, I didn't want to spend the rest of the night waiting for you to crawl your way to the study,” he chuckled, prompting her to punch his arm. “Out of curiosity, what would you have done if I hadn’t come to get you?”

“What else?” She raised her lamp higher. “I would have used this lamp and my own two legs.”

“Ah yes, because your last attempt to do so went ever so well,” he teased. Before she could protest, he offered his arm once more. “Now let’s be on our way before we really do get caught.”

Not another word was said until the pair had reached the duke’s study. To Penelope’s surprise, there were even more lamps and candles present than when they had met in the library.

“Is my fear of the dark spreading to you, Your Grace?” she teased, gesturing to the room broadly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he answered drily. “I told you I’m used to working late, didn’t I? I always keep so many on hand to avoid damaging my eyes.” He cleared his throat to add, “But perhaps I may have added one or two more lamps for your benefit.”

“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” she half-sarcastically joked, walking to one of the chairs at his study desk. “I can tell by your tone that you were most thrilled to make such a sacrifice.”

Rolling a quill between his fingers as he sat behind the desk with his broad shoulders and confident air, Penelope couldn’t help but wonder how many hearts of noblemen His Grace had struck fear into as they sat in this very spot.

But instead of fear, Penelope found herself filled with a sense of ease and comfort as the duke flashed her a mischievous smile, “Nervous?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she rejoined.

Upon fishing the sheets out of her pocket to return to him, she remarked, “Based on everything I've learned about Viscount Steepwharf, he seems like a great match, I’m surprised he didn’t make it into your final three picks for m-”

“But he’s of low rank and only a small fortune.” His Grace pointed to the sheet where he had written that same remark down. “Are you saying you would have considered him regardless?”

“Why, certainly!” Penelope shrugged. “From your notes, I received the impression that he may not have much, but he’d have enough for Mother and me, which still makes him ideal.”

His Grace clicked his tongue. “This isn’t the main point of tonight’s lesson, but I once again feel the need to beseech you, Lady Pen: Please do raise your standards.”

“You’re one to talk, Lord Rake.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And by the way, weren’t you warning me against wasting time earlier? Yet here you are bringing up points that—by your own admission—bear no relevance to tonight’s ‘lesson’.”

“Very well!” His Grace chuckled, gathering the papers together.

Penelope straightened in her chair, ready for her test. But to her surprise, the duke simply placed the papers under a stack of books on his desk and rose from his chair.

“Where are you goin-”

“Your test shall be as realistic as possible, Lady Pen.” He gestured for her to get up. “I shall pretend to be Lord Steepwharf, and you may utilize everything you’ve studied about ‘me’ while also applying the main principles of your first lesson: body language.”

As he spoke, the duke led her towards the center of the room. Hearing about what he had in store for her, she suddenly regretted saying that she wasn’t nervous.

Standing opposite her, he explained, “Body language in relation to flirting consists of three main aspects: proximity, eye contact, and physical touch. Is that clear?”

Penelope nodded her head.

“With these three alone,” her instructor continued, “one may communicate everything in their heart and mind without uttering a single word.”

Penelope nodded once more, but this time with some hesitance. “You truly have a penchant for exaggeration, Your Grace. Surely it wouldn’t cover everything on one’s mind?”

In response to her skepticism, a mischievous grin spread across the duke’s face. He slowly raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly, causing a tingling trail to shoot up her arm.

Locking his eyes with hers, he slid his hand up to her forearm, and with a gentle tug, he pulled her close. His other hand found its way to her waist as he whispered hoarsely, “How else would you like to be persuaded?”

A deep shiver rippled through her and Penelope had no choice but to shove him away from her.

“Do you believe me now?” he laughed, straightening his jacket.

“That hardly counts.” Penelope pretended to scoff. “You still had to ask me a question in the end.” she reminded him, desperate to distract him from the blood that had rushed to her face.

He shrugged. “Even so, I trust you now understand the potency that body language holds when wielded correctly.”

Still irritated, Penelope couldn't bring herself to look at him.

I can’t take his ‘test’ while so scatter-brained. I must find a way to delay it for the time being.

“My throat feels a little itchy,” she lied. “May I please have some water, Your Grace?”

“Of course, you should have said so earlier.”

Penelope watched him walk towards a decanting table tucked away in the far corner of the room. But to her surprise, when the duke turned around, he had a tray carrying tea, biscuits, and yes, a water jug.

After setting the tray down on his study desk, he began pouring her a glass. “I noticed you didn’t eat much at dinner earlier, so I had these prepared just in case.”

“T-Thank you, Your Grace,” she stuttered, accepting the glass from him.

“Again, don’t flatter yourself.” He wagged a finger at her, before tossing one of the biscuits in his mouth. “If you collapsed from hunger on my study floor, it’d be rather difficult to explain to the rest of the household.”

Penelope swallowed her water before replying, “If you warn me to not flatter myself one more time, I shall march back upstairs without a second thought––regardless of my fear of the dark,” she warned him.

“I'm just making sure!” He raised both hands innocently. “I know women who have gotten their hopes up for much less.”

Penelope returned her glass to the tray. Having regained most of her composure, she explained that she was ready to get properly started this time.

With a nod, the duke began their rehearsal.

“Ah, Lady Penelope,” he said in a pretentious voice—prompting her to roll her eyes, “It’s lovely to see you here, how are you finding the Season so far?”

“It’s lovely to see you too, Lord Steepwharf,” she answered, seeing an opportunity to work in one of his interests she had read in the sheets. “The Season has been wonderful. I’m personally looking forward to the opera this year. I hear it has been exceptional.”

“It is!” came ‘Lord Steepwharf’s’ eager reply. “I can't even count how many times I’ve been to see it this month alone.”

This lighthearted conversation carried on for about two more minutes or so and appeared to be going quite well seeing how Penelope was able to weave in more and more about what she now knew about the viscount.

But the duke soon raised a hand to stop everything. “Lady Pen, why aren’t you using any of the body language tenets I gave you?” he asked bewilderedly.

“I beg your pardon?” She blinked at him. “Lord Steepwharf and I have been talking for two minutes! I can’t just suddenly jump into-”

“Two minutes is an eternity!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. “You should be using your body language to draw him in before you even greet him.”

“But that’s so-”

He let out a deep exhale and gently grabbed her wrist. “You want to get married, right?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Then act like it,” he urged her, gently tapping her wrist. “You aren’t shopping at the grocer’s, you are hunting ,” he reminded her. “Watch for signals he may be giving you, and be deliberate in the manner in which you return them.”

In hindsight, it seemed very much like common sense. But in truth, his words were eye-opening.

“I understand, Your Grace,” she answered with a nod.

“Very well,” he exhaled, releasing her hand, “then let’s begin again.”

“Turn away for a second,” she demanded, shaking out her hands. “I need to compose myself.”

With a chuckle, he obliged, allowing Penelope a chance to loosen her limbs and set her apprehension aside,

“All right, I’m ready,” she called out.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath to help her concentrate. Once she opened them, 'Lord Steepwharf’ stood before her again.

“Ah, Lady Penelope, it’s lovely to see you here. How are you finding the Season so far?”

His greeting was exactly the same, but this time Penelope noticed the upturned corner of his mouth and responded in kind. “The Season has been going well enough, Lord Steepwharf.” She lowered her eyes. “But I'm hoping it gets even... better.”

“I’m sure that could be easily arranged.” He stepped towards her, running a hand through his hair. “Personally, I’ve been rather enjoying this year’s opera.” His eyes flitted away for a second before he asked, “Have you been to it yet?”

“Not yet,” she sighed, stepping closer towards him as well, “I’m afraid such things are never as enjoyable without...” She reached a hand out to pick a speck off his coat, “...the right company.”

Before she could retract her hand, he took it in his own and brought it up to his lips. “A lady so lovely should never be lonely.”

Almost like it had a mind of its own, Penelope’s hand freed itself from his grasp only to then cup his face. “I’m inclined to agree,” she whispered, “...Lord Steepwharf.”

Hearing this, the duke appeared to essentially snap out of a trance, practically jumping away from her.

“That was-” he cleared his throat, “Of course, it wouldn’t progress quite so quickly, but I think you- well, you know-” he quickly crossed the room to his study desk, “you now clearly understand just how er, crucial body language is.”

“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she answered, still in the same spot where their little rehearsal had taken place. After a moment of hesitance, she opened her mouth to apologize, “Your Grace, I’m sorry if I pushed it too far-”

“Not at all.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The accelerated pace of our rehearsal was necessary since it’s hardly practical to reenact several hours’ worth of conversation to arrive at the same conclusion.”

“I see,” she managed to squeak out.

Just before the awkward silence overpowered them, the duke reached for the teapot and asked whether she would like a cup.

Even though she was worried about not being able to sleep for the rest of the night, she would also be grateful for anything to calm her down after all the excitement.

Accepting the cup from him, she gently blew the rising steam away. She caught him staring at her and froze up, wondering if she was doing something wrong again. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, it’s just- you’re quite the menace, Lady Pen.”

Her face fell.

“It’s a good a thing,” he added, raising his cup to her. “The real Lord Steepwharf won’t stand a chance.” He grinned.

Penelope couldn’t help but let out a delighted squeal. After all, it was high praise from someone so... adept at this sort of thing.

He nudged the plate of biscuits towards her, “But don’t let your guard down,” he tutted, “Like I said, remain observant and deliberate . If you do, your wedding bells might ring sooner than your friend Jerry’s.”

She chuckled, grabbing one of the jam-filled biscuits. “Please tell me you see the irony in someone like yourself telling another person to ‘not let their guard down’.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Don’t make me kick you out to the hallway.”