Page 25

CHAPTER 24

P enelope knew she should have listened to her first instinct.

She shouldn’t have let His Grace convince her to wait. She should have freed herself when he hugged her close.

True, he was considerably stronger than her—as his muscled arms around her waist had reminded her—but he would have let her go quite easily if she had insisted, if she had spoken up, if she had protested even slightly.

But she didn’t.

She gave in to the warmth of his hands, the tickling of his breath over the shell of her ear, the intoxicating gruffness of his voice—which his sickness had rendered much deeper than usual.

Now here she was, a chair pulled up to his bedside with a heavy combined volume of the Iliad and the Odyssey sitting on her lap.

“Didn’t you claim to be feeling ‘much better’ just ten minutes ago?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow as she thumbed through the pages. “In that case, I see no reason to-”

“Is it not expected for friends to want to help each other?” he smugly interrupted, weaponizing her question from earlier against her. “Besides, I thought you said that you wanted me to get some rest?”

He annoyed her, he truly did.

Even when he wasn’t speaking, the smugness of his current stance alone—casually lying on his side, head propped up on an elbow to face her as the covers bunched up around his waist—was irritating enough.

How was it possible that even when he was sick, he exuded such easy confidence that overwhelmed and washed over her?

But Penelope wouldn’t allow herself to get lost in it, not this time.

“So, your first response is to ask me to read to you as though you’re a child who needs a bedtime story?” She let out a chuckle, pinching the bridge of her nose to feign disappointment. “You truly are one of the most preposterous men I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

“Perhaps.” His body shuddered as he attempted to stifle a yawn. “But it’s been weeks since I’ve gotten to properly hear your voice, I might as well take full advantage while I have the chance.”

“Careful, Your Grace,” she teased. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d posit that you missed me.”

His ocean-blue eyes rose to meet hers, his gaze so strong it pinned her to her seat. She swore she saw his eyes flicker downwards before locking with her own once again, his expression completely—and annoyingly—unreadable.

Unable to take another moment of whatever this was, Penelope took it upon herself to break the spell. “I- I was merely joking, Your Grace.”

He let out a soft “Hmm!” before dropping his head onto the pillow. “Well?” he asked, now lying flat on his back with his eyes shut, “I’m waiting.”

The sun had been hanging low in the sky when she first entered the room, but now it had completely set, and she suspected she would soon be called for dinner.

But none of that seemed to cross the duke’s mind. Besides, his own sleeping and eating schedule were likely quite erratic now that he had fallen sick.

She took another moment to examine his features—sharp, rugged, handsome .

Even with the dark circles under his eyes that betrayed the late nights he had been putting himself through these last few weeks, even with the stubble that had crept up his pronounced jaw over the last few days, even with his hair unbrushed, he was handsome.

To her dismay, a curious eyelid flew open to silently ask why she hadn’t started, catching her in her examination of him.

“When I asked you to read to me...” he smirked, “I thought it was obvious that I clearly meant that you do so out loud .”

Penelope huffed, adjusting the book on her lap as she thumbed through it once more. “What page did you say you were on?”

“Any page will do, just make sure it’s an interesting one,” he answered. “We all know how it ends, so I like to jump back and forth between chapters.”

Eager to put him to sleep so that he would finally stop torturing her, Penelope stopped turning the pages and just started reading.

She recognized this part of the story at once, it was when the sorceress Circe had tricked Odysseus’ men and turned them into pigs, forcing him to devise a plan to rescue them.

“You sound almost delighted at their plight,” His Grace accused, his brows frowning over his closed eyes.

“Of course not!” Penelope assured him, before resuming her reading.

In the next section, Hermes gifted Odysseus a portion of the herb moly so that he could resist Circe’s powers and charm.

“If only it was so easy,” the duke mumbled under his breath, interrupting her once again.

Penelope flashed him an amused smile, even though he wasn’t looking at her face. “You say that like the moly actually worked, Your Grace.”

“It did, didn’t it?” He frowned. “Odysseus escapes being turned into a pig like the rest of them.”

“True...” Penelope sighed, turning the page, “but I just meant that she charms him anyway. Here!”

She ran a finger below the words as she read. “‘A year with Circe all remain, And, then their native forms regain.’ She still becomes Odysseus’ lover, even if only for a year.”

“Ah... that’s right,” sighed the duke. “And then his men had to beg him to continue the journey homeward afterward, correct?”

“Exactly.” Penelope nodded, skimming over the rest of the page. “It’s not mentioned in this edition, but I remember reading it in Sir Alexander Pope’s translation that one of my tutors lent me. If it weren’t for his men’s outcry, Odysseus would have happily lived the remainder of his life with Circe without sparing a second thought for the wife that awaited him at home.”

A twinge of bitterness crept into Penelope’s words, and it did not go unnoticed. A movement in the upper corners of her eyes told her that the duke was propping himself up on his elbows.

“I take it that you are one of the few people who lament that Odysseus managed to get home in the end, then?” he asked, his eyes carefully searching her face.

“I wouldn’t say that I lament it.” She gently dragged her fingers against the book’s ragged edge. “But I wouldn’t have been too heartbroken if he hadn’t gotten home in the end. After all, I am quite sympathetic to Odysseus’ wife given how my father was a-”

She stopped herself in time.

His Grace shuffled towards the edge of the bed before swinging his long legs down so that his feet met the floor with a dull thud. “Do you... resent him that much?” he asked gently.

“No! Of course not!” Penelope answered immediately, making it sound as though she was certain. But as she wrung her hands together, she felt the need to clarify. “I don’t resent him , I just resent that part of him, if that makes any sense at all,” she mumbled.

“Of course it does.” A moment of silence passed before he continued, “It was—and please excuse my frankness—absolutely abhorrent behavior from your father. If he were still here, I would have no problem telling him to be ashamed of the agony he brought to you and your poor mother.”

“Thank you.” Penelope sighed, “But Mother would never forgive you if you ever did such a thing. Her willingness to excuse his behavior used to infuriate me to no end, but she made a very good point when we reconciled that love isn’t a necessary requirement for a marriage to succeed, but at least Father had some measure of it for her even if he-”

“I’m sorry.” The duke raised a hand to stop her. “Are you... saying that you’re beginning to agree with her point of view?”

“Well...” Penelope shrugged, “It wasn’t a perfect marriage, but she says she still doesn't regret it at all. I think she understands that we must make do with the cards we are dealt and I’m beginning to see that that is a rather... practical view of the world.”

“It’s practical, but that doesn’t make it right,” pushed the duke, his features now devoid of the air of drowsiness that had hung over them earlier. “If you love someone enough to marry them, then it means that you love them enough to remain steadfast, loyal to them and only them.”

“I agree, of course, Your Grace, but-”

“But what?” he asked, his shoulders and back straightening, “Are you saying you’d tolerate the same contemptible treatment from Gloushire if he ever dared to pull it?”

“If he did, what other choice would I have?” Penelope challenged, her voice rising unexpectedly, surprised to find herself echoing her mother's sentiments. “Sometimes love is settling for-”

“That isn't love.” His Grace cut her off. “Love isn’t ‘settling’. Love is-” His eyes searched around the room, even as he inwardly searched his mind for the right word, “Love is... all-consuming.”

Penelope held back, curious to see where his argument was leading.

“Love is when nothing and no one else in the world matters,” he continued, a fist clenching the covers by his side. “Love is when you get the breath knocked out of you when they look at you, and then it’s struggling for air again the moment they leave.”

The sincerity of his words caused Penelope’s breath to hitch in her throat.

“Love is-” His fury faltered when his eyes clashed with hers. “It’s just- It's a lot of things,” he concluded. “But it is not settling.”

A myriad of questions swirled inside Penelope’s mind.

Where did those tender assertions come from? How was it possible for someone to be a rake while clinging to such naive notions of love and attachment? How much of this was just his illness talking?

In the end, Penelope won the battle against her curiosity and decided against asking any of them.

“You’re right, Your Grace,” she acquiesced with a nod. “And of course, who wouldn’t want to be loved as you say? But given the circumstances, I would be perfectly all right in a more... cordial—less romantic—marriage.”

“Aren’t you certain that Gloushire loves you?” The concerned inquiry hung in the air.

“I... honestly don’t know.” Penelope flashed him a weak smile, “But I also want to be careful that I’m not expecting too much of him. After all, it hasn’t even been two months since we started courting.”

He gave her an understanding nod. “But he treats you well, yes?”

“He's a perfect gentleman.” She nodded in return.

The duke exhaled what appeared to be a sigh of relief, warming Penelope’s heart that he had been so concerned for her despite it all.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “If he ever, erm...” he cleared his throat, “If he ever hurts you, be sure to tell me, all right?”

“I will,” Penelope promised. “But I don’t think he would. He isn’t exactly the adventurous type.”

“Even so, make sure you’re always careful,” he warned her regardless. “Don’t you remember Fernside from the Sunbournes’ ball? It isn't uncommon for the timid ones to turn out to be some of the biggest troublemakers.”

“Yes, but Lord Gloushire has the advantage of being somewhat older. He's got the adventure and mischief out of his system by now.”

His Grace placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be hurt. “I beg your pardon? I’ll have you know that he’s only about five or six years older than me, but you’re making him sound like some kind of tired old man.”

Penelope laughed along, the long-forgotten book shaking in her lap as she did so. “I meant in comparison to Lord Fernside, who I believe is around my age, which would make him about ten years Lord Gloushire’s junior.”

She stifled a yawn before continuing, “Besides, one can hardly blame Lord Gloushire for being a bit worn out. By your age, he was already married and had a daughter. While you on the other hand...” her voice trailed off teasingly.

“Just because your own marriage is imminent doesn’t give you the right to heartlessly bully the rest of us lonely souls,” he tutted, pretending to be hurt once again.

“But didn’t you say you never wanted to get married at all?” she reminded him. “You said you didn't want to get hurt.”

“That is still true.” He pursed his lips, falling onto his back against the bed. “But it’s only natural for one’s mind to sometimes wander to scenarios—no matter how incredulous or impossible they might seem.”

“So, you’ve imagined yourself married then?” Penelope asked, propping her head up with her elbows as she leaned forward on her lap.

“Many times,” the duke sighed lazily, eyes towards the ceiling. “And then I thank Providence that I’m not because otherwise, I would only end up spoiling her.”

“Is that so?” Penelope raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “So I take it that you wouldn’t torment her the way you tease and torment me, then?”

“I’d torment her double.” He tilted his head to face her, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Then I’d have an excuse to make it up to her and smother her in everything she could ever ask for.”

“Perhaps you should get married, after all, Your Grace.” Penelope smiled. “Because that sounds absolutely wonderful.”

“Do you know what else I’d do?” he asked, his voice airy, his gaze direct and unyielding.

“What else, Your Grace?” her voice taking on the same breathless quality.

“I would make sure she knew everything.” He raised a hand to run through his hair as he clarified. “I would spend every waking moment telling her—showing her—exactly how much she deserves, exactly what she does to me, exactly how terrified I’d be to ever lose her. On my life, there wouldn’t be an ounce of doubt left in that beautiful mind of hers.”

Penelope faltered under the steadiness of his gaze, unsure why it was causing her cheeks to flush a deep red and her knees to buckle beneath her—thankfully, however, she was sitting so he hopefully wouldn’t have noticed.

Penelope mustered the little strength she had left to say, “Your wife would have been a very fortunate woman, Your Grace.”

“Not nearly as fortunate as I,” he answered, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But as we said, it's all just... wishful thinking.”

“Not necessarily,” Penelope urged. “You’re young enough to get married if you wanted to. It's not like you would be short on willing prospects to-”

“No,” he resumed absent-mindedly running his hand through his hair again. “Too much risk of pain—for either of us. It’s... easier this way.”

His handsome features suddenly scrunched together into a sneeze. “Curses!” he exclaimed. “This cold is utterly insufferable!”

Seeing her chance, Penelope closed the volume on her lap and slipped it onto his bedside table, so she could get up.

“I really should be letting you get some rest, Your Grace.” She straightened her skirt.

“Very well.” He nodded, before rising from his place on the edge of the bed along with her. “Thank you for your reading, Lady Pen, and for listening to the ramblings of an ill gentleman.”

“Do your best to recover as quickly as you can.” She smiled. “Lord Gloushire has recommended a picnic in Old Grove and has even invited the dowager duchess. It would be nice if you were well enough to join us by then.”

“I shall gladly pass up the opportunity,” he said through pursed lips.

“Come now, Your Grace.” She landed a light punch on his arm. “I need to get you two on as civil grounds as possible soon, otherwise how am I going to convince him to invite you to the wedding —if he proposes, that is? ”

“You would want me there?” He cocked up an eyebrow in surprise.

“For certain!” Penelope smiled. “After all your help with my quest for a husband, it should only be fair that you get at least a slice of cake for all your efforts.”

His Grace exhaled slightly through his nose at this remark, “I shall do my best, Lady Pen. I take it that we’re friends again, then?”

Penelope hesitated for just a moment. There was no doubt that he still had such a dangerous effect on her. The wise and prudent step would be to continue avoiding him unless absolutely necessary—as today had been.

But this one afternoon with him made her feel more alive than the countless excursions with and morning calls from Lord Gloushire over the last few months.

His presence was like an intoxicating fragrance, and she wanted—no, needed —to breathe him in as much as she could, even if it was only at arm’s length.

“Of course, Your Grace.” She offered him a weak smile. “Friends.”