Page 13

CHAPTER 12

I t was a somewhat warm day for a garden party, but otherwise, everything seemed to be going well.

Penelope straightened her skirt as she listened to the Dowager Duchess of Blackmoore make pleasant conversation with Lord Steepwharf’s sister—now the Countess of Belmere.

The party itself was a rather cozy affair with no more than twelve or so other guests present. As a result, the only people she recognized here were Lord Larkspur and another lady whose face looked familiar, but whose name escaped Penelope for the time being.

“How wonderful that you’re enjoying married life!” exclaimed the dowager duchess, gently fanning herself in the shade of the large oak tree they currently stood under. “If you get the chance, do ask Lord Belmere to see if he can try to talk some similar sense into Duncan’s head as well.”

I wish Lord Belmere all the very best with that futile endeavor . Penelope chuckled to herself. His Grace has made it perfectly clear that he’s somehow even more opposed to the idea of marriage than even I am.

Speaking of whom, Penelope spotted His Grace out of the corner of her eye confidently striding towards them with another dark-haired gentleman in tow.

She straightened her shoulders at once, realizing what was about to happen. Sure enough, His Grace arrived with a larger-than-usual smile. “Sorry to interrupt your discussion, Mother, but Lord Steepwharf is rather keen to say hello.”

Penelope listened attentively to the pleasantries they exchanged. From what she gathered, Her Grace and Lord Steepwharf’s parents had been on rather good terms—perhaps as close as Penelope and Graystone’s families had been.

However, when she glanced over at Lord Steepwharf and the Duke of Blackmoore standing side-by-side, she thought she sensed an air of tense discomfort between them.

“And Lady Penelope, please allow me to introduce the Viscount Steepwharf.” His Grace gestured with an open hand. “Lord Steepwharf, this is Lady Penelope, daughter of the late Earl of Punton, and my mother’s goddaughter.”

Be observant, alert, and deliberate. Penelope hastily reminded herself as she and Lord Steepwharf exchanged greetings.

“We’re so pleased that you could join us, Lady Penelope,” beamed the viscount. Penelope noted the laugh lines around his eyes crease. “It’s a pity it took so long for us to be introduced.”

“Indeed.” Penelope let out a nervous chuckle—suddenly keenly aware that His Grace was observing this entire exchange.

But realizing that this fact should be spurring her onwards rather than holding her back, Penelope sucked in a deep breath to renew her conviction.

As the group continued to converse about the Season so far, Penelope had no choice but to rely on body language alone to get Lord Steepwharf’s attention.

She pulled out her fan in the hopes that the movement would draw his eye to her—and it did indeed. When she ‘caught’ him looking at her, she coyly averted her eyes, ensuring to slightly turn her lips upwards to appear embarrassed.

“Now that your sister’s happily married, you can finally focus on fixing your own marriage, Steepwharf,” the dowager duchess teased.

“Oh, it is most unwise to rush into such matters, Your Grace,” rejoined the viscount. “Regret is a rather heavy burden to carry for the rest of one’s life.”

Penelope leaped at this chance. “But surely if you met the right person, Lord Steepwharf…” she interjected breathily, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “…you would hardly regret it then, right?”

“O-Of course,” he sputtered in response. “A rather excellent point, Lady Penelope.”

“The Season is still young,” chirped Her Grace. “You very well might meet the right person sooner than you think.”

This time, Penelope didn’t have to use her fan to draw his attention. Discreetly checking out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him steal a curious glance at her upon hearing the dowager duchess’ reassurance.

She couldn’t help but smile to herself upon realizing just how well this was going and wondered if His Grace had noticed it too.

Partially hiding her face with her fan, Penelope shot an eager look in the duke’s direction, hoping to find him showing even a hint of pride at her success thus far.

But to her bewilderment, she was instead met with an uncharacteristically cold expression from the Duke of Blackmoore.

Am I doing something wrong? she worried.

But this inner question was soon answered by Lord Steepwharf politely asking, “Would you care for a stroll, Lady Penelope?”

It took all of her strength to not jump in celebration. Naturally, she still remembered that flirting with the viscount was just supposed to serve as practice. However, she could hardly believe that she had even managed to get this far.

She stole another glance at His Grace thinking that he must surely acknowledge this milestone. But this time, he appeared to be paying no attention to the discussion whatsoever, evidently distracted by something—or perhaps some one —on the other side of the garden.

Not allowing her annoyance with His Grace to dampen her spirit, she answered the viscount with a chipper, “Most certainly, Lord Steepwharf!”

With the dowager duchess’ permission, the two began meandering down the garden path, politely greeting other guests as they passed them.

“Your grounds are impeccable, Lord Steepwharf,” Penelope remarked politely.

“Thank you, Lady Penelope,” he chuckled in reply. “Now that we’re acquainted, perhaps one of these days we shall get to pay a visit to your family’s estate.”

“But of course-” Penelope began, but then remembered the wretched monster of an uncle that awaited her back at home and found herself disheartened.

Her companion shot her a look of concern. “I’m sorry, was I being too forward, I didn’t mean to-”

“Not at all,” Penelope hastily clarified. “I merely happened to lose my train of thought,” she said with a sheepish smile.

“Perhaps it’s a sign that we should get you some food soon.” Her companion grinned. “Everything should be ready within the next few minutes.”

As they carried on with their walk, the pair shared more about their lives with each other. But it wasn't long before Penelope slipped up.

“Yes, I've heard. For you see my father also attended the University of Midlington. So, I endeavor to kee-” she gasped, catching herself too late.

“Oh.” The viscount blinked at her. “Did I already tell you that I went to Midlington?”

Penelope froze with her mouth open as she scrambled inwardly for a response.

“Ah!” Lord Steepwharf snapped his fingers, “The Duke of Blackmoore must have told you, didn’t he?” He shook his head, “He really is a typical Louxbridge man.”

Penelope let out a sigh of relief. “His Grace may have mentioned you once or twice on the way here,” she lied.

“You must have a heart of gold, Lady Penelope.” Lord Steepwharf lowered his voice. “In truth, I admire you for being so willing to acknowledge the Duke of Blackmoore so openly.”

Penelope furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “But of course, I mean, His Grace and I were only very recently formally introduced, but our families have always been-”

“Yes, that much I understand, but...” The viscount shifted his eyes, ensuring that no one else was close by, “to be perfectly honest, our family was rather close to His Grace’s parents as well.”

“Oh, is that so?” Penelope raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t realize that you and His Grace were that clo-”

“We aren’t—at least, we haven’t been for a while,” the viscount clarified, “and even if he hadn’t-” he sighed, “Never mind.”

Penelope decided not to pry further. “At least you both still have one thing in common, Lord Steepwharf.” She gently elbowed his side. “You’re both rather mysterious.”

Her attempt to lighten the discussion’s mood worked and they managed to make perfectly pleasant conversation until Lady Belmere announced that their food was served.

As Penelope rejoined the dowager duchess and His Grace at their assigned table, she noted that the latter was still behaving somewhat strangely.

For public events like this, he usually puts on an unbearably bubbly and affable temperament. What on earth is he even thinking about now?

* * *

The garden party had been going smoother than Duncan had initially expected—but of course, it was still far from perfect.

As he conversed with Lady Amelia and her mother, the Viscountess of Haybrooke, his eyes kept wandering towards the desserts table where Mother and Lady Penelope stood conversing with Tresney and Larkspur.

What could they possibly be saying to make Lady Penelope laugh so much? He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Snapping himself out of his daze, he attempted to return his full attention to Lady Amelia, who had been dropping some rather conspicuous hints of her interest.

Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity for some fun—after all, with her rosy cheeks and pretty curls, Lady Amelia would be quite the catch.

But after a handful of half-hearted attempts to reciprocate Lady Amelia’s attention, Duncan decided to stop wasting the poor lady’s time and excused himself.

Looking over his shoulder one last time, he confirmed that Mother and Lady Penelope were content where they were. So, he slipped away, hands in his pockets, and searched for a quiet spot for a smoke.

Thankfully, he discovered that the western gardens of the house appeared deserted—at least for now. Taking refuge beneath a sturdy tree, he retrieved his spare pipe and a match to light it.

He hummed to himself as he raised a hand to strike the match, appreciating the stillness he was surrounded by—the trees, the battered stone wall, the-

“Trying to burn our house down?” a voice joked behind him.

Duncan spun around quickly but relaxed upon seeing that it was only Steepwharf.

“Come now, we don’t hate each other that much,” Duncan returned with a dry laugh, scanning their surroundings. “Were you… following me? Or is it somehow customary for you to smoke at this exact tree at this exact hour?”

The viscount huffed, “Naturally, I had to follow and make sure you weren’t up to anything.”

“Seriously?” Duncan rolled his eyes. “I gave you my word and something for security, didn’t I? What was the point of all that if you were still going to worry regardless?”

Steepwharf didn’t answer, he just reached into his coat’s inner pocket and pulled out Duncan’s primary pipe, the one that Tresney and Penswaithe had been holding as ‘security’ since their encounter at Gillingham’s.

“Take it,” the other man urged, holding it out to him.

“But that wasn’t the deal.” Duncan furrowed his eyebrows, his spare pipe still in his hand. “The party’s still far from ove-”

“Just take it, Blackmoore,” sighed the viscount. “We, or rather, I changed my mind.”

With only some apprehension, Duncan accepted his pipe back. “Dare I ask why the sudden change of heart?” he queried, inspecting the returned article.

Steepwharf’s lips tilted upwards. “If you want to thank someone, it should be Lady Penelope.”

Duncan froze. “What did you-”

“Relax,” the viscount grunted. “Why would any of us tell her that the only reason your family was allowed to come at all is that we confiscated something dear to you?”

His muscles slackened. “Of course. But then, why should I be thanking her?”

As he asked this, Duncan slipped his preferred pipe into his pocket to ensure its safety, he struck the match and lit up his spare pipe. “By the way, I have more matches, so you don’t have to limit yourself to merely watching me smoke.”

Steepwharf exhaled slightly through his nose before retrieving a cigar and joining Duncan under the tree’s shade.

One puff of smoke later, the viscount answered, “She had nothing but high praise for you.”

Duncan scoffed, leaning against the trunk, “Are you sure this is Lady Penelope we’re talking about?”

“I’m serious,” Steepwharf answered. “With a reputation like yours, one of the quickest ways to form a connection to someone else who’s met you is by bonding over how much of a wretch you are.”

“So honored to be of service,” Duncan sarcastically replied, this remark barely surprised him as he had heard similar sentiments from others before.

“But when I tried to do the same with her, she leaped to your defense at practically any chance she got.” Steepwharf smiled to himself. “In hindsight, I’m not entirely sure if she even realized what she was doing. I had initially assumed that it was because you had tricked her into loving you but-”

“But…?” Duncan prompted him, barely able to contain his curiosity.

“I’ve seen your effect on the women you leave behind, Blackmoore,” shuddered the other gentleman, “but based on her demeanor and genuine fondness for you, I believe you’ve spared Lady Penelope. So, I started to wonder if perhaps—by some miracle—you really have changed.”

His quandary was so potent it prompted Duncan to question himself as well. First Harlington claimed that he was behaving differently, now even Steepwharf was expressing the same thought.

Is it really possible that I have changed so drastically in so short a time?

Duncan hesitantly began, “It’s not that I’ve changed as much as you think, Steepwharf.” He blew out a drag of smoke. “The truth is that while I have certainly been a scoundrel and a fiend towards certain women. Many stories of my exploits have been greatly exaggera-”

“Here we go again!” the viscount exclaimed in irritation. “Why do you have to do this, Blackmoore? Just when things between us were starting to go-”

“Why do you have to do this, Steepwharf?” Duncan rebutted, “Why do you have to assume the worst about me every time? You know me better than that, we were friends, damn you!”

“It’s precisely because I know you so well that I can hardly believe you,” the other gentleman spat out, backing away from him. “You’re a brilliant liar, Blackmoore, always have been. And I didn’t mind when it was the small things, but when it came to Henrietta-”

“I didn’t lie about Henrietta!” Duncan placed his free hand on his chest. “I swear it! Her family took advantage of my terrible reputation to cover up who the real culprit was. But I swear I would never do that to your fiancée—or to you. Deep down, I think a part of you still knows that.”

Steepwharf’s expression wavered, but only for a moment. “Then why would Henrietta herself say it was you?”

“Because being ensnared by a cunning and ruthless rake is a much more palatable story than having to publicly admit that she was unfaithful to you,” Duncan pointed out, “And maybe- maybe that’s why you still choose to believe her over me.” His shoulders slumped.

As Duncan strode away, he looked over his shoulder one final time. “Thanks for returning my pipe. I know you probably remember that it was a gift from my father.”

Upon rejoining the garden party, Duncan completely immersed himself in polite conversations, slices of cake, and cups of tea.

Every once in a while, he stole a glance at Lady Penelope, but she seemed to be handling herself quite well with the other guests.

Not wanting to disrupt the rapport that she was building, Duncan decided to keep his distance for the remainder of the party—lest his wretched reputation ruin it for her.