Page 32

CHAPTER 31

“M other, please...” Penelope let out a chuckle, slightly embarrassed in front of the seamstress despite knowing that she had likely witnessed countless similar scenes before. “It’s still only the fitting...”

“I- I know,” Mother sobbed out as the dowager duchess gently stroked her back. “But yo-ou look so beau-utiful!"

Penelope watched her mother through the reflection of the mirror, patiently waiting for the seamstress to finish pinning a portion of the dress near her lower back that was evidently a bit too loose. Then, with the seamstress’ hesitant approval, Penelope carefully lifted her skirt a bit higher so that she could descend from the stool.

“Come now, Mother...” Penelope scooped her skirt up a bit more as she carefully joined them on the sofa, “let us save some of the tears for the wedding or the guests might wonder at our lack of fervor on the day itself.”

“What do you think of your dress, pet?” the dowager duchess smiled from the other end of the sofa. “Because I believe your mother’s view is very clear.”

“It’s perfect, Your Grace,” Penelope answered. “I hardly recognized my reflection earlier.”

Her Grace’s attention was distracted by the sound of the manor’s front door creaking open.

“Is that you, Duncan dear?” she called out.

The door to the parlor had been shut to afford Penelope some privacy while she got changed.

A moment of silence elapsed before the duke’s muffled, hesitant answer came through the door, “Yes, Mother. I agreed to meet Fairhaven and Harlington, I shall return shortl-”

“Perfect!” the dowager duchess called out, straightening her skirt as she stood up from the sofa to cross the room. “Before you see them, could you please take Lady Everbrook this parcel? We need to thank her for her help with the flowers and bits last week.”

The parlor door opened, and His Grace stuck his head through the door. “Did you say parcel, Mothe-”

His eyes landed on Penelope and her weeping mother.

Penelope smiled sheepishly as an apology for the commotion and tears. But he seemed concerned with an entirely different matter.

It took a moment of the duke running his eyes over her, mouth slightly agape before Penelope remembered that she still had her wedding dress on.

And his positive response wasn’t just her imagination because a playful smile spread across the dowager duchess’ face as she handed her son the aforementioned parcel,

“Doesn’t Lady Penelope just look lovely?” she cooed.

Her question evidently snapped the duke out of his daze, and he instantly straightened up as he accepted the parcel from her. “Indeed, she does, Mother.” His tone indiscernible. “Many gentlemen would envy Lord Gloushire’s position.”

Penelope valiantly fought the blush that pushed its way up her cheeks, but it was all in vain.

“Well, perhaps if you finally stopped your foolishness and searched for a wife of your own, you would be the one in an enviable position,” tutted Her Grace. “Isn’t that right, Lady Penelope?”

Penelope’s fingers suddenly tightened on her skirt. “Y-Yes, Your Grace,” she answered, before cheekily adding, “Although many gentlemen would certainly envy His Grace, I know I certainly wouldn’t envy his unfortunate bride.”

Her remark elicited a hearty laugh from the dowager duchess, prompting the duke to place a hand over his heart to feign being hurt. “Mother! Do you betray your own son?”

“You betrayed yourself.” The older woman clicked her tongue. “If you were more of a gentleman to Lady Penelope, then perhaps she wouldn’t have such a... frank appraisal of you.”

Another smile tugged at the duke’s lips before he returned his gaze to Penelope. “Could you... stand up, Lady Pen?” he coughed.

“Er, of course.” Penelope complied, straightening her skirt as she did. “Why, Your Grace?”

The gentleman didn’t answer right away, his wide eyes too busy studying her from top to bottom and vice versa.

“Your Grace?” Penelope asked again.

“Never mind.” He cleared his throat. “For a moment I thought your skirt was swallowing you whole and just wanted to make sure you could still stand amidst all that fabric.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re as funny as ever, Your Grace,” she retorted sarcastically.

“Duncan!” the dowager duchess chided, smacking his arm playfully. “This is exactly the sort of thing that Lady Penelope was talking about earlier.”

Having stated his piece, the duke took his leave with a mischievous bow whilst declaring that he did not wish to be late.

“Shall we resume the fitting, Lady Penelope?” the seamstress politely asked once the parlor door had fallen shut once more.

“Yes, please,” Penelope answered, her gaze lingering on the door just a moment longer than she meant it to.

* * *

“Thanks, Harls!” Duncan leaned forward to ensure that his whisper could be heard—given the lateness of the hour, it was probably wise to make as little noise as possible for the neighbors’ sakes.

“M-hmm!” Harlington groaned from somewhere within the darkness of the coach. “G’night!” he slurred.

Duncan gently closed the coach's door with a nod of thanks to the driver. Rubbing the back of his neck as he climbed the steps up to the manor.

He had met Fairhaven and Harlington at the Stock Exchange just after it had closed so that the three of them could approach Lord Embersfield with their proposal.

Thank Providence, it all went well—so well that Lord Embersfield had invited them all for drinks, but he seemed to have a penchant for Harlington specifically and basically ensured the poor marquess’ cup was always overflowing for the entirety of their visit.

Ever since drinking himself to the point of illness a few weeks ago, Duncan found it necessary to exercise extra restraint lest he somehow slipped back into it again.

The slight tipsiness gently humming behind his eyes, Duncan began to climb the steps to the house, now plunged in darkness given the hour.

Letting himself in, he exhaled as he began to remove his coat. But his relaxed muscles quickly tensed when he spotted an orange glow coming from down the hallway. He craned his neck to get a better view and noted an orange glow seeping from the slightly ajar kitchen door.

He immediately checked the grandfather clock to his right and it told him it was currently a quarter to midnight.

All of the servants should be asleep by now.

This naturally meant that whoever it was rummaging around in the kitchen had to be an intruder. Duncan looked around for a weapon he could use in case the unwelcome guest was armed, but the best he could find on such short notice was an umbrella.

He flipped it around so that he could grip it by its tip, knowing the hardened handle would be more effective in deterring any trespassers.

It’ll have to do, he supposed. Once I’m in the kitchen, I can grab one of the pans on the shelves.

Duncan inched his way towards the kitchen, stepping as quietly as he could. He pressed his back against the wall so he could peek through the ajar door and count how many intruders he would have to fend off.

Duncan knew he should have been expecting the unexpected, but seeing the kettle on the stove still surprised him. After all, what sort of intruder would-

He almost jumped out of his skin when a delicate arm came into view, a folded rag in hand to help lift the kettle from its place.

Lady Penelope?

He didn’t think it was possible, but the sight of her suddenly made him even more nervous than the thought of an intruder.

She must have been unable to sleep. Duncan concluded, I should let her brew her tea in peace.

He turned to leave as quietly as he had arrived, but a terrible thought halted him in his tracks. Given the lateness of the hour and the fact that no other staff were around, what if an intruder did happen to break in whilst Lady Penelope was alone in the kitchen?

What are the chances of such a significant coincidence happening? he argued with himself. But then again, he knew that if he went upstairs now, he’d hardly be able to sleep from the worry and then he’d likely come all the way downstairs again to watch over her until he was certain that she had returned to bed safely.

I might as well stay here and cut out all of that unnecessary hassle, Duncan finally decided, reasoning that Lady Penelope was unlikely to stay too long in the kitchen anyway.

He stifled a yawn as he leaned across the wall, allowing himself to gradually slump onto the floor—exhausted after the long day he had had.

A few minutes passed in serene silence, the umbrella now lay on Duncan’s lap as he—thankfully—found himself fighting off his drowsiness rather than any possible intruders.

A noise to his left suddenly alerted him. It sounded like sniffling. Slowly rising to his feet, Duncan inched closer to the kitchen door.

Sure enough, he had heard correctly. He couldn't see Lady Penelope from here, but he could hear her much clearer. Once again, a conflict arose within him.

On the one hand, he was probably the last person she wanted to see. But on the other hand, he worried that something serious might have happened to her since he had left the house earlier today.

Each of Lady Penelope’s sniffles felt like heavy stones crushing his chest and when a muffled sob rang in his ears, Duncan decided that was it.

After steeling himself and putting on a polite smile, Duncan landed three polite knocks on the door before pushing it open. “Are you still awake, Mrs. Humphrey? You shouldn’t work yourself too har-”

He pretended to freeze in surprise when his eyes landed on Lady Penelope, her hair pulled into a low chignon and a robe pulled over her nightgown. Her cheeks appeared dry—perhaps she had wiped them on her sleeve when she first heard his knocks? But their redness betrayed that she had been crying.

“Ah, Lady Penelope!” Duncan feigned surprise. “Hosting a private tea party, I see.”

She sat up straight in the rickety chair, a hand wrapped around the warmth of her teacup as she flashed him a pleasant smile. “Yes, Your Grace. I do hope my uproarious celebration didn’t wake you from your slumber.”

Her witty banter eased some of Duncan’s worries about her, but he wondered how he would broach the topic regarding the cause of her tears.

“May I ask what we’re celebrating?” he said with a forced grin.

“We?” she chuckled, raising a taunting eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” he answered firmly, grabbing a teacup of his own from the drying rack before joining her at the work table where she sat. “It must be a momentous occasion if you were willing to fight off your fear of the dark and journey all the way here from your room.”

A lock of hair fell in front of her face as Lady Penelope looked down at the teacup in front of her.

Duncan resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear, it was the sort of thing he would have done without thinking twice during the early days of their friendship. But Duncan had learned to be extra cautious since returning from his trip.

So instead of reaching for her, he reached for the teapot instead and began filling up his cup, refilling Lady Penelope’s as well while he waited for her response.

“I've found myself more afraid of... other things lately,” Lady Penelope finally answered, her honesty catching Duncan completely off-guard.

“What things? Is it your uncle again? Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered rashly before getting the chance to properly consider what he was saying.

“You said it best yourself...” she sighed bitterly. “What is there to be done?”

Duncan pressed his cup to his lips, hoping to buy himself more time to think of a response. After taking his sip, he offered her a smile that he hoped was reassuring. “Well, I doubt you are referring to the same issue as me when I made that remark. Surely, whatever’s bothering you now has a solution.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, framing her doe eyes which—much like his own—appeared exhausted. “Why, Your Grace? What exactly were you referring to when you made that remark?”

Duncan’s hand froze around his cup as he realized that he had made a grave error.