Page 17

CHAPTER 16

“C ome in!”

Penelope pushed the door open to find His Grace standing in the middle of a—mostly—empty ballroom. As she entered, His Grace bowed dramatically.

“Is there a reason we're having our lesson here , Your Grace?” she chuckled, returning his bow with a curtsy.

“Tsk, tsk, Lady Pen.” He clicked his tongue. “You should know by now that I prefer that our rehearsals be as realistic as possible.”

The duke strode towards one of the windows and finished pulling back the last of the curtains, allowing the golden sunlight to flood every corner of the room.

Penelope stretched her arms above her head, bathing in the comforting warmth of the yellowish-orange glow.

“Is Her Grace going to host a ball this Season?” she asked, inspecting the ornately decorated walls.

“Oh, we haven’t hosted a ball since Father passed away,” explained His Grace. “We still attend them, of course, but he and Mother used to revel in their hosting duties rather seriously, so planning a ball without him is too unbearable.”

His reply reminded Penelope of her own mother, who still seemed to be avoiding her.

“Right.” He clasped his hands together signaling that they were ready to begin. “Any guesses as to what today’s lesson shall cover, Lady Pen?”

She looked around the room once more for a clue, but the only one she had at the moment was right where they stood—in the center of the ballroom floor. “Er... is it dancing?” she asked half-jokingly.

“Well, dancing does fall under it, yes,” the duke shrugged, “but based on the events of the dinner party, I thought it would be best if we covered how to differentiate between viable prospects and unsuitable ones.”

“Your Grace...” Penelope let out a sigh, “I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t you think this lesson would be better suited for younger women with prospects queuing out the door for the—as opposed to a spinster like me with very few options to begin with?”

“Whether you have two suitors lined up or a hundred, you still need to learn how to discern the best option,” he reminded her. “And stop being so hard on yourself. Yes, you may technically be considered a spinster, but you are first and foremost a noblewoman of good standing and breeding. As such, it is your birthright to marry well.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” She smiled, “But you’ll forgive me for worrying that I’ll be able to get married at all at this rate.”

He scoffed at this remark. “If our combined strengths somehow fail to land a husband for a lady as fair and intelligent as you, then it means you really were destined by Providence to be a spinster.”

She folded her arms. “So generous with the compliments today, Your Grace. I presume you had a rather profitable day at the Stock Exchange?”

“At the races yesterday actually,” the duke sheepishly answered, “but let's not get side-tracked. What is the first thing you notice about a gentleman who approaches you?”

Penelope paused to think her answer over. “Er, I suppose I tend to look at his face?”

“That is, of course, the move that comes most naturally to us.” He raised a finger. “But it is, however, a mistake to rely on this as your main source of a person’s intentions.”

“I see.” Penelope tilted her head, unable to stop herself from smiling at how seriously His Grace was taking this.

With both hands behind his back as he paced to and fro, her instructor continued, “For you see, when a gentleman addresses you directly, most of the movements on his face are calculated: his polite smile, extra attentive eyes, and so on and so forth.”

“So then where else am I supposed to look?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Everywhere,” His Grace answered. “The uprightness of his shoulders, what direction his feet are pointed in, how carefully—or carelessly—he grips his glass. These actions shall tell you the truth because he himself isn’t thinking about them, and therefore can't use them to lie to you.”

“In other words...” Penelope interjected, “there’s intentional body language that people use for flirting—as covered in our first lesson. But then there’s unintentional body language, that is, behavior that people themselves aren’t even aware of?”

“Now you’re getting it.” Her instructor beamed at her.

“As fascinating as this sounds , Your Grace...” Penelope allowed her shoulders to slump, “I have an inkling it will be rather tedious to execute.”

“It won’t be if you focus on one target at a time,” he assured her. “If we try it out, you’ll be able to see what I mean. Let’s say you have just arrived at the ball and the host introduces you to a gentleman. See what you can learn about me from our ‘first’ exchange.”

Humoring him, Penelope did as she was told and exchanged greetings with this ‘new gentleman’.

“So how do you know the host and hostess?” he asked, prompting her to make something up.

“Oh, the hostess and I have known each other since we were children,” Penelope answered, noting that her companion stood casually, one hand in his pocket while the other nursed a pretend drink. “What about you, my lord? How do you know them?”

“The host and I go hunting together every Season,” he answered, puffing his chest out—a possible sign of his arrogance or perhaps that he was attempting to appear more important than he really was.

Their pretend conversation carried on for another minute or so before His Grace finally stopped the rehearsal to ask, “So... viable prospect or an unsuitable one?”

“Unsuitable, most certainly,” Penelope huffed.

“Good.” He gestured invitingly. “And how, pray tell, did you arrive at that conclusion?”

Penelope repeated whatever details she had picked up on, even though she was sure that there were probably others that she had missed.

“Ever the fast learner,” he remarked with an approving nod. “Naturally, in this case, I was being deliberate with most of those undesirable signals, so some of them may have come across as slightly exaggerated but the principle still stands.”

Penelope couldn’t help but tilt her chin upwards upon receiving such a favorable assessment, but it turned out that His Grace wasn’t quite done.

“But you forgot one thing,” he added with a mischievous grin. “While you are observing your companion, you can be sure that they are observing you too.”

“Come now, Your Grace,” Penelope despaired, “you can’t seriously expect me to hold a conversation with a gentleman, observe the minutia of his movements and mannerisms, and keep track of my own unintentional mannerisms as well?”

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt to try.” He shrugged, “Besides, I thought you wanted to do everything in your power to improve your chances of landing a husband. Paying attention to such minutia would serve you well.”

Penelope threw her head back in frustration. “Out of all the people I could have asked help from regarding this quest, why did it have to be you ?” she groaned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he huffed, crossing his arms. “And after I graciously shared such precious insights with you as well.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” She offered him a weak smile. “You’ve been so wonderful in this endeavor. But in truth, when I asked for your help, I didn’t expect it to be this... intensive.”

This elicited a snort from the duke. “As the old adage goes, one must be careful about what one wishes for.” He waved for her to follow after him. “Perhaps some refreshments will help renew your resolve.”

Unsurprisingly, His Grace had had a tray of tea, biscuits, small fruits, and pastries prepared for their lesson, but this time he had added a pitcher of orange juice and slices of blueberry pie.

“We’ve come quite some way from plain glasses of water in the library,” she laughed, accepting a glass of orange juice from him.

“Perfection may be out of reach, but that shouldn’t stop us from getting as close as we can to it.” He winked, raising his own orange glass towards it. “Besides, I had a hunch you might not enjoy being pulled away from your afternoon nap.”

“Afternoon nap?” Penelope scoffed. “Your Grace, need I remind you that I am neither seven nor seventy years old.”

He squinted at her suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re not simply denying it because you’re embarrassed? It’s not that embarrassing of a habit, you kno-”

She shook her head. “I use my afternoons to paint,” she clarified, turning towards the nearest window, “The golden afternoon light is simply divine.”

Penelope felt the duke step closer toward her, joining her in looking out of the window, a biscuit in hand.

“It’s easy to see why.” He gestured to the window, his right hand still holding a biscuit. “The afternoon sun is much gentler than its morning counterpart.”

“Exactly!” she beamed, turning her head to look up at him. But without any warning, she felt her heart stop in her chest.

At this moment, everything about him seemed at ease. The golden-orange rays lit up his carefree smile, the waves of his hair, and gentle eyes. She had always known he was handsome, but right now he looked almost celestial.

Surprised to find her staring at him, he let out an awkward laugh, “What’s the matter? Are there any crumbs on my cheek?” he asked, touching his cheek with the back of his hand.

“N-Not at all.” Penelope averted her gaze. “I was just thinking about my paintings,” she lied.

“Ah.” He raised an eyebrow. “By any chance, were you considering asking me to pose for you?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “With your proclivity for boredom? Not a chance! I’d have to reposition you every five minutes.”

“But I’d make an excellent subject!” he protested, striking a dramatic pose. “I’d certainly be more exciting than whatever fruits or animals you usually paint.”

She nudged his side. “For your information, I paint landscapes, Your Grace.”

“Then paint me into one of them,” he teased. “People are always the most interesting elements of a painting.”

Penelope pretended to sniff her glass, “Just how much sugar did they put in this?” she joked.

“Thanks to our intermission, you’ve clearly regained some of your fire, Lady Pen.” He returned his glass to the tray. “Shall we put that energy to productive use?”

With only some hesitance, Penelope returned her glass as well and followed him to the center of the room.

“You expressed concerns that this is overwhelming.” Her instructor resumed their lesson. “But you don’t have to worry about controlling every tiny movement all the time because certain details are more likely to stand out to your suitor depending on the activity.”

“Er.... All right, Your Grace. Though I feel as though this remark contradicts your earlier statements.”

The duke tapped his chin as he thought of an alternate way to put it. “How about this, let's say we’re dancing at the ball...” He gestured for her to step closer.

She obliged, albeit somewhat nervously.

“...so, as we dance,” he continued, holding her hand and waist in position, “you’ll be observing your suitor’s behavior, of course. But can you clearly see everything when we're positioned like this?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head. “The first rule of dancing is to never look down at one’s feet, so for now, I can’t really observe his entire body, just the top half.”

“That's right.” The duke nodded, beginning their dance despite the lack of music. “And the same is true vice versa. As we sway and step, your suitor will also be limited to focusing on your face and the top half of your body. Meaning-”

“Meaning that I only have to be extra vigilant about what my upper body is doing—both intentionally and unintentionally!” she interjected, finally getting the point. “Even so, that still sounds like a lot of work.”

“The more you practice, the easier it’ll become,” he promised, suddenly deciding to twirl her around. “But if I were to simplify it even further, I’d say you could be more careful with your eyes.”

“My eyes?” she frowned, returning her hand to his shoulder after her twirl. “What’s wrong with them?”

“It’s not that there’s something wrong per se,” he laughed at her concern. “I've simply noticed that yours are far more expressive than those of any other lady I’ve met. As a result, I’d advise you to be more-”

He froze so suddenly that he almost tripped Penelope up. She looked over her shoulder in search of the cause and was horrified to find both the dowager duchess and Mother standing by the door.

She practically leaped out of His Grace’s arms, abashedly tucking her hands behind her back.

“Excited for the upcoming Duke and Duchess of Sunbourne’s ball, are we?” grinned Her Grace.

“As usual, it’s been predicted to be one of the biggest events of the Season,” the duke answered. “I suggested to Lady Penelope that it would be prudent to be as best prepared as possible and she agreed, hence our little rehearsal.”

“How prudent indeed, darling,” the dowager duchess replied with a knowing smile. “Please don’t let us hinder you. I shall have Rowley retrieve chairs for the two of us and we could watch you pra-”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Mother.” His Grace hastily cut her off. “We were practically already done anyway, right, Lady Pen?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Penelope answered, a little unsure whether she should be addressing the duke or his mother. Regardless, she found it necessary to keep her eyes trained straight ahead lest she accidentally meet her own mother’s gaze.

“In that case, are you two ready to take tea?” Her Grace suggested.

Penelope heaved a sigh of relief at this subject change while His Grace accepted the offer on both his and her behalf.

As they left the ballroom, she locked eyes with him one last time. With a wink, the duke pretended to wipe sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Penelope grinned, raising her hand to copy and return his gesture.

Being friends with someone so persuasive certainly has its strengths.