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CHAPTER 25

“T his seems like an all right spot, doesn’t it, dearest?”

“It’s perfect,” Penelope answered the viscount, who at once reached into one of their several baskets to retrieve their picnic blankets.

“Father, may we please swim now?” Lucy asked, pointing to the river just a few yards away from them.

“We haven’t even properly set up yet, Lucy,” he grunted, flapping the first picnic blanket open.

“Please!” whined the two children.

He looked into their pleading eyes and then at Penelope to wordlessly ask her thoughts. With a chuckle, Penelope set down her basket. “I’d be happy to help you get changed into your swimming-”

“I’ll do it, darling,” Mother cooed from behind her. “That way you young ones can focus on setting up our spot.”

Penelope planted a kiss on the older woman’s forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mother.” Penelope was unable to contain her joy that Mother had agreed to join them at all instead of hiding away in her room.

“What a splendid choice of a spot!” exclaimed the dowager duchess, leaning on His Grace’s arm. Her knees had been giving her a harder time than usual today, so she had encouraged the rest of the party to walk ahead.

“Have you used this spot before?” asked the duke, eyes on the ground as he aided his mother.

“No, Your Grace,” answered the viscount, his tone civil but dry. “But I doubt we’ll be seeing any bears here in Old Grove, so we’re perfectly safe.”

“It’s not that.” The younger man shot him a glare. “I meant have you checked the strength of the current in this part of the river before you send your young, delicate children to giddily splash around in it?”

At this remark, Lord Gloushire dropped everything he had been holding to dash towards the water’s edge. In the meantime, Penelope shot His Grace a tired look.

“What?” he asked innocently, “I’m only trying to help.”

Penelope looked towards the river to find Lord Gloushire and Mother holding the children back while the former rolled up a sleeve to check the current.

Even from this distance, she could see his shoulders relax with relief before he made some final remarks to the children, no doubt warning them to be careful and avoid going too far.

Once he returned, he, Penelope, and His Grace continued to spread out the blankets and brought out the food.

“Thank you, dear,” breathed the Dowager Duchess as His Grace helped lower her onto the cushion he had brought for her. “Will you be swimming as well?” she joked, nodding towards the children splashing each other in the river.

His Grace pretended to check his pockets and then the basket nearest to him. “How unfortunate! I seem to have forgotten my swimming costume,” he grinned, eliciting light laughter from Penelope and Her Grace.

“A pity,” mused Lord Gloushire. “It would have been a wonderful opportunity to spend time with your intellectual equals.”

“Lord Gloushire...” Penelope elbowed his side, “with childish jabs like that I have half a mind to declare you as Lucy and Reggie’s intellectual equals.”

“It’s all in good humor, my love,” answered the viscount, pressing an apologetic kiss to her hand. “Besides, the Duke of Blackmoore doesn’t mind my joke, isn’t that right, Your Grace?”

“Not at all,” the duke answered, his expression stiff. “My uproarious laughter should be more than enough proof as it- Ouch.” He yelped as the dowager duchess pinched his arm.

“What has gotten into you two today?” tutted the older woman.

Penelope grimaced at the question, knowing that it was her idea to attempt brokering a truce between the men. But in her defense, each one had separately promised her that he would put in his best effort to achieve peace.

“Are you absolutely sure that you want to let him tag along, dear?” Lord Gloushire had asked when Penelope had informed him that His Grace was well enough to join them after all. “In truth, I only invited him out of courtesy to his mother, who I know is very dear to you.”

“They’re both dear to me,” Penelope had explained. “As my godmother, the dowager duchess has done so much for us this year, but His Grace has also been a wonderful friend. Not to mention, this Season has been quite taxing on him as well. So, it would mean ever so much if you would let him-”

“Very well,” acquiesced the viscount. “How could I deny those pretty eyes anything? But he better not ruin my surprise.”

“Surprise?” she had gasped. “For me?”

“Don’t you dare try to pry it out of me.” He wagged a finger at her. “Especially not when this weekend is so close already.”

“Is there no way I can convince you?” she pouted, playfully batting her eyelashes at him. “Even for just a hint?”

The viscount raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Begone, you doe-eyed enchantress! I refuse to gaze into the depths of your hazel eyes any longer.”

Penelope let out a chuckle. “All right. I promise I won’t force you to reveal what it is as long as you promise me something in return.”

Her suitor peeked at her through his fingers. “And what would that be, my beloved?”

“That you’ll be nice to His Grace during our excursion.” She folded her arms. “I don’t know why you two are so hostile towards each other in the first place, but like you, I want to have as pleasant of a picnic as possible.”

The viscount had groaned, before dropping his hand to squeeze hers. “For you, my dearest, I promise I shall do my best.”

Penelope had then received a similar promise from His Grace once she conveyed that Lord Gloushire was looking forward to having him join the excursion.

“Friends aren’t supposed to lie to each other,” the duke had tutted. “So tell me what you’re leveraging against Gloushire in order to convince him to let me join?”

Penelope had rolled her eyes. “All right, I may have rephrased his words slightly,” she admitted, “but the fact remains that he himself said that you should be there.”

His Grace let out a scoff of disbelief, “You know, I only accepted the invitation because I had full confidence he’d make up some feeble excuse at the last minute to turn me down.”

“I still don’t understand why you both dislike each other so strongly!” Penelope sighed exasperatedly. “What could you two possibly have disagreed about? Was it something pertaining to business?”

But instead of receiving a direct answer, His Grace merely flashed her an amused look. “I’ll join you all, but only to assist Mother.”

“And you promise you won’t provoke him?” Penelope prompted, narrowing her eyes.

“I promise,” he mumbled, before dropping his gaze to return to the morning paper in his hands.

“What was that?”

“I said, I promise!” he snapped.

Some promise. Penelope sighed to herself presently, as she watched both men give each other the cold shoulders from their respective picnic blankets.

“What book is it today?” Lord Gloushire asked as Penelope carefully lowered herself onto the other side of the blanket he had claimed and began going through her basket.

“An abridged collection of the works of John Donne,” she answered, successfully retrieving the volume. “Shall I read it out to you?”

“Please do,” her suitor encouraged.

“I shall go check if Lady Punton requires any assistance minding the children,” the duke declared as he suddenly jumped to his feet.

Penelope bewilderedly watched him leave. Wasn’t he excited to hear her read just the other day? Why did he suddenly look as though he couldn't wait to get away from her now?

“Sit closer so I can hear you better, dear.” The viscount patted the spot next to him, before turning to the dowager duchess. “That is, of course, if our acting chaperone would be so kind to allow it?”

“I'm not that strict,” chuckled Her Grace, “and far be it from me to get in the way of young love.”

Penelope flashed her a polite smile of thanks and crossed the blanket to sit next to the viscount, but still at a respectable distance, of course.

Opening the volume, Penelope let out a delighted squeal, “Oh, ‘The Good-morrow'!” she excitedly exclaimed,. “Certainly one of my favorites from him!”

Despite having developed a rather... bitter view of love and marriage, even she could not resist the pure love that overflowed and shone forth in every line of the poem.

“It was certainly an early marker for the talents that Donne possessed,” smiled the viscount. “Even if it was just a tad fanciful.”

“Fanciful?” Penelope frowned. “On the contrary, Lord Gloushire, Donne clearly meant every word he wrote. Can’t you feel the awe for his partner dripping off of his words? The yearning and-” she paused to find the right word, “-and hunger his soul harbored for hers?”

“Oh, I’m certain that he loved his partner very deeply, Lady Penelope,” chuckled her companion. “I suppose it is just that such passions are more commonly found among the young, whereas people my age are inclined to a more... realistic view of such matters.”

“I beg to differ, Lord Gloushire.” piped up the dowager duchess. “I'm more than happy to share that my husband and I were giddily in love—almost maddeningly so—right until he was taken away from me.”

She continued with a sentimental smile, “While you are right that such devoted acts of passion are normally tied to the young, I can wholeheartedly attest that we do not lose them even when we grow old.”

Her words reminded Penelope of the conversation she had had with His Grace the other day and her eyes wandered to land on him as he playfully splashed water onto the children.

Would he understand The Good-morrow's appeal?

Perhaps that was why he was able to speak so confidently about the properties of love as well as the tender affections he would show if he were married—he had witnessed it in his parents.

“I shall take your word for it, Your Grace,” chuckled the viscount. “I’m afraid I’m more serious than romantic.”

“Everyone has their strengths,” the dowager duchess assured him. “Besides, Lady Penelope doesn’t seem to mind one bit, isn’t that right, pet?”

Penelope tore her eyes away from the river’s edge to meet her suitor’s eyes once more. “Not at all! Especially since Lord Gloushire is quite sweet in his own way.”

“I’m the most fortunate man in the world.” He beamed, kissing her hand once again.

“Not nearly as fortunate as I,” Penelope answered.

The duke’s voice from the other night echoed in her head. “ Not nearly as fortunate as I,” it said.

With one more chaste kiss on her hand, the viscount released it as he urged, “Right, well, I’ve delayed your wonderful reading for more than long enough. Please do carry on, my beloved.”

Penelope looked down at the page before her.

A small part of her had been looking forward to hearing Lord Gloushire’s thoughts on the classic work—similar to how His Grace had offered his thoughts, albeit unprompted, as she had read the Odyssey to him.

But she had already heard more than enough of his—somewhat disappointing—sentiments regarding this particular piece and doubted it would get any better than what he had already offered.

“I'll tell you what,” she began flipping through the volume, “why don’t we find a poem that we would both like? Something less... fanciful.”

“Goodness, how considerate you are today, dearest Lady Penelope,” the viscount chirped happily. “What is the next poem in the collection?”

“‘Death Be Not Proud’,” she answered.

“Ah!” His eyes lit up. “Now this is a most interesting piece. Please do read it for us, my beloved.”

Penelope did as she was told and began right away. He was right, of course, the poem itself was a rather thought-provoking piece.

And in fact, Penelope had happily discussed the work with party guests several times before. But for whatever reason, the usual eagerness that welled up inside her as she read each line was absent today.

When she had finished reading it, her suitor was quick to share his fascination regarding the very last line: “Death shall be no more; death, thou shall die.”

“Isn’t the first half of the line from a Bible verse?” the dowager duchess asked—like Penelope, she most certainly already knew the answer to her question, but asked it regardless to indulge the viscount.

Penelope made sure to interject with a comment or two of her own, lest Lord Gloushire notice her sudden surliness.

Once every possible discussion point regarding the poem had been exhausted, her suitor politely urged her to do another one.

“Forgive me...” Penelope flashed a sheepish smile, “but given the irresistible weather and the immaculate spot that you had chosen for us, Lord Gloushire, I have the sudden urge to sketch instead.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, dearest Lady Penelope.” He extended a hand toward her. “If you’d like, I can hold onto the volume and read to you instead while you work away?”

His kind offer elicited a pinch of guilt in Penelope’s chest as she was only using her painting as an excuse to avoid discussing the poems any further—lest she find herself disagreeing with more of his views.

But turning down his well-meaning offer would be far too cruel.

“Thank you, Lord Gloushire.” She nodded, passing the volume to him. “That would be quite lovely.”

“Oh, you two!” the dowager duchess beamed.

All Penelope could do was flash another sheepish smile as she retrieved her drawing materials.

Yes... us two.