Page 31

CHAPTER 30

“A nd what do you think, Lord Gloushire?” the dowager duchess chirped expectantly.

Presently, Her Grace, Penelope, Mother, and Lord Gloushire were gathered around the dining table at Blackmoore Manor discussing the final outcome of the wedding breakfast trials.

“It truly is perfect this time! I thank you all ceaselessly for your hard work.” The viscount dabbed the corners of his mouth as he gestured to the food in front of them. “And did you say that your cook will share all of her notes and recipes with our cook?”

“That is correct!” The dowager duchess beamed with pride. “I had also mentioned to Lady Penelope that if it were agreeable to you, it might be easier to have some of our kitchen staff assist yours on the night before and the day of the wedding breakfast. It might prove-”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Your Grace!” Penelope’s fiancé waved a sheepish hand. “We’ve troubled you more than enough as it is and-”

“Nonsense!” Her Grace cut him off. “As I explained to Lady Penelope before, it is my pleasure and honor to be able to play a role in this momentous occasion.”

However, the viscount remained firm and unyielding. Perhaps it was a matter of pride, or perhaps he worried that the convoluted arrangement would invite disaster, but whatever his reasons, he remained adamant.

“What do you think, pet?” Her Grace finally turned to Penelope looking for some support. “What would you prefer?”

Penelope sucked in a deep breath. Ever since the day Lord Gloushire told her off for not trusting him, Penelope had been working extra hard to remain on his good side.

So even though she personally agreed with the dowager duchess, she found herself taking Lord Gloushire’s side when her lips finally answered, muttering something along the lines of how the dowager duchess had already done so much for them and so on and so forth.

Their generous host did not appear fully convinced, as evidenced by the manner in which her eyes silently queried Penelope about her sudden change of heart. But like the elegant and dignified woman she was, the dowager duchess acquiesced on the matter and declared that she would have the collection of notes and recipes placed in Lord Gloushire’s coach straight away.

The party moved to the parlor where they washed down their meal with fresh cups of tea and nibbles of various fruits and biscuits.

Just as Lord Gloushire stood up to leave—his thanks for the hospitality and praises for everyone’s hard work falling from his lips—the Duke of Blackmoore happened to arrive.

Penelope hadn’t had the chance to properly speak with His Grace since he had saved her from Uncle Winston. Her suspicions that something about him had changed since his trip were proven all the more correct through the overly cordial smiles he would throw her way at the dinner table or whenever they happened to pass each other in the hallways.

In a way, it worked in Penelope’s favor because it made it easier for her to put him out of her mind. But just because it was easier these days did not mean that it was completely effortless, especially when his cryptic plea would echo within the walls of her mind at the most unexpected moments: “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

Do what? she wanted to ask—to scream—at him.

He had looked at her so desperately then. But not a hint of that desperation could be found in the distant politeness he showed. So thorough was the duke’s calm and collectedness that a part of Penelope began to wonder if she had imagined the vulnerability in his words, the earnestness in his face, and the gentleness of his plea.

The two men exchanged greetings without much fuss—even His Grace’s manner of dealing with Gloushire had changed, but at least for the better rather than decaying further.

His Grace continued to hover in the entrance hall, politely making conversation with everyone until the viscount finally managed to take his leave, flashing a playful wink at Penelope and waving a final time as he did so.

When the door closed behind him, the dowager duchess called after her son, who was already out of the doorframe’s line of sight—likely already striding down the hall towards his office.

“Duncan? Dearest?” the older woman called in vain. “Are you hungry? We still have some leftovers from the wedding breakfa-”

“No, thank you, Mother!” his distant voice simply replied.

As the servants cleared the table and the two older women switched their topic of interest to the breakfast’s flower arrangements and when they would arrive, Penelope declared that she would like to walk around the garden to get some fresh air—a declaration that was met with hearty encouragement as both older women urged Penelope to take as much care of her constitution as possible.

Similar to how she had done last week, Penelope followed the winding garden path—making sure to stay under the cool, shady side over where the trees stretched their limbs—as she went around and around the manor.

Several minutes into her walk, a high whistle rang in Penelope’s ear. Eyebrows furrowed, she looked around for the source and her eyes landed on the Duke of Blackmoore, leaning on the windowsill of his office as he beckoned her closer.

As she approached the window, Penelope was suddenly painfully aware that she did not know what to do with her hands—so she chose to neatly clasp them together over the front of her stomach.

As she endeavored to conceal her self-consciousness, Penelope quietly cursed His Grace for his ability to appear so casual and confident no matter the circumstances. It seemed as though even Mother Nature was partial to him because the wind gleefully toyed with his dark locks, a small detail that raised his charm and appeal to almost otherworldly heights.

“Yes, Your Grace?” she murmured when she was finally close enough, her feet now treading soft grass instead of the paved path.

“Did Gloushire receive confirmation about the final reading of the Banns in your parish?” inquired the duke, his tone and expression alike remaining all too neutral.

Penelope didn’t know what she had expected him to say when she approached the window, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“The reading of-” she echoed and then trailed off as she fully registered his question. “Oh! Yes, Your Grace. In fact, that was one of the reasons why Lord Gloushire dropped by earlier, to let us know that the final reading of the Banns had been carried out and accepted in Mother and I’s home parish.”

“That’s good.” The duke nodded solemnly. “But we should still keep an eye out for your wretch of an uncle. If you agree to it, I suggest that you stay indoors as much as possible for the remainder of today. It’ll be easier for us to ensure your safety.”

His words flowed from him so easily, too easily—too quickly for Penelope’s nervous and addled mind to keep up with.

Not wanting to look even more foolish than she already had, Penelope took her time mulling over each of His Grace’s remarks. First, he had asked about the final reading of the Banns—the mere fact that he remembered it at all was intriguing in itself given his clear lack of interest in all things connected to her wedding.

But perhaps that could be explained by the remarks that followed: he had been worried about the reading of the Banns because—like Penelope—he probably worked out that that was what had alerted Uncle Winston and prompted him to visit.

His final remark about ensuring her safety, however, had been the most interesting of all. Despite the distance he had kept her at, there was no denying that-

“You still want to protect me...?”

“Of course,” he answered like it was the most natural thing in the world, jolting her out of her thoughts as she realized that she had stated her conclusion out loud .

How could he say it so easily and naturally when he had behaved so indifferently towards her this past week?

Penelope studied his expression carefully, but the duke was quick to return the favor, his blue eyes running over every inch of her face almost as though it was the last time he would get to see her.

The only thing to break the spell was the upward curl of his smirk as he asked, “What are you contemplating so deeply, Lady Pen?”

The sudden use of his pet name for her felt like an arrow to Penelope’s poor heart.

“ You can’t keep doing this to me!” she wanted to scream at him, wishing to throw his words back in his face, even if that meant contorting whatever their original meaning was to suit her own purposes.

But His Grace appeared completely oblivious to the thoughts that galloped through her mind, continuing to stare at her expectantly as he waited for her to answer his question.

“I-” her voice got stuck, so she cleared her throat to try again, “I wanted to thank you for...” she looked down at her fidgeting hands, “...everything you did last week, and I’m sorry for always causing you trouble no matter how I-”

“It was no trouble at all.” He cut her off, sounding very much like his mother.

His voice wavered for just a moment, giving Penelope the nerve to raise her eyes to him where she now found him being the one to avert his gaze.

“How are you?” he coughed out. “We were... worried when you collapsed.”

“Better now, Your Grace.” She smiled, mustering some more bravery to add, “But of course, you would have already known that if you were around more often.”

Her tone had been teasing but there wasn’t a sliver of amusement in the way his eyes returned to meet hers.

Penelope dropped her smile at once. “I-I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she barely managed to choke out, “I was only trying to jest-”

He let out a sigh—it sounded more like it was out of defeat rather than annoyance, “I know.”

Suddenly, the tense, awkward air between them had returned in full force, stifling Penelope’s thoughts and leaving her at a loss.

He let out a bitter laugh, “Sometimes I ask myself if you’re doing it on purpose, you know.” The sound of his voice—now low and gruff—grounded Penelope once again. “But I know you would never be so cruel.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him, completely unconcerned with how plainly her bewilderment must have been written on her face. She also finally found the will to voice it. “I... never understand you, Your Grace,” came her frank confession. “Nothing you ever say or do makes sense.”

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” his past voice echoed in her mind yet again.

“I have the very same complaint against you,” his voice said in the present, and for just a moment, the familiar glint in his eyes returned. “You... you’re unbelievable,” he exhaled.

As soon as the words left his lips, Penelope knew in her heart that she had been cursed with another cryptic phrase that would haunt her in her quietest moments.

“I have the same complaint against you,” she somehow managed to retort, finally fulfilling her wish from earlier to use his own words against him. “What should we do?” she asked, surprised at the unmistakable vulnerability that her question carried.

“What is there to do?” he replied tiredly. “Even if-”

The shrill creaking of the front gates opening cut him off. Penelope stepped aside as His Grace immediately leaned his upper body out of the window, and craned his neck to see who it was that had arrived—he looked just about ready to climb out of the window right then and there.

“Ah. It’s just the seamstress,” he exhaled in relief before returning his attention to Penelope. “You should go,” he stated matter-of-factly, that irritating cordiality back in his voice and expression now fully returned.

“Yes...” she mumbled in response, “I should.”