Page 5

CHAPTER 4

P enelope finished stifling a yawn as she returned the hairbrush to its place on the dresser. The clock in the corner told her it was now four o’clock meaning that they had arrived home from the ball no more than forty minutes ago.

The latest their family had ever gotten home from a ball was five o’clock or so, with the sun just about to rise. But that was during happier times when Father and his carefree spirit were still around.

She slowly climbed into bed.

Even I’m beginning to wonder whether my injury was real because why am I so tire-

Two quick knocks on her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Mother?” she called out, concerned.

No response came to affirm her guess, but who else could it possibly be at this time of the night?

Leaping out of bed, called out, “I presumed you were asleep when we arrived, so I didn’t come to say good night. Is something wro-”

But upon pulling the door open, she found—not her mother, but—the Duke of Blackmoore.

“Your Grace!” she gasped, lowering her voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What else? I’m here to discuss the favor I owe you,” came the nonchalant reply.

“At this hour?” she hissed.

“Well, there was nowhere private for us to discuss the matter during the ball, so I figured discussing it at home would be the best option.” He shrugged. “Now do you want my help or not?”

“All right, all right!” Penelope grabbed his arm. “Just get in before someone sees you.”

She checked the hallway one last time before closing the door.

“This couldn’t have waited until the morning?” She turned around to face him.

“I’m not known for my patience,” he confessed. “Besides, with my schedule, you should consider yourself fortunate I’m bothering to make this time at all.”

With his hands in his pockets, he let his eyes wander around the room, her dresser, the books on her nightstand, and so forth. Penelope suddenly realized that letting him in was a huge mistake.

“Stop looking at everything!” She jumped in front of him, arms spread. “I can see the judgment in your eyes.”

But her reprimand appeared to fall on deaf ears as he was too busy amusedly looking her up and down.

The blood rushed to Penelope’s cheeks, she had completely forgotten that she was in her nightgown. With a gasp, she turned away from him.

“So shall I take this armchair?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered through gritted teeth, throwing on her robe.

She took her place on the bed, making it a point to sit as far away from him as physically possible.

At last, he broke the silence. “Right then, what’s this favor that you seem so sure my ‘skills’—whatever you mean by that—would enable me to successfully carry out for you?”

Penelope straightened her back.

There’s no need to be embarrassed. she reminded herself. After all, he owes me a favor.

Lifting her chin, she declared, “You must find me a husband.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Er... that’s- well, I have so many questions, but perhaps it would be best to save them for after you’ve elaborated.”

“What’s there to elaborate on?” She shrugged. “It goes without saying that he needs to be kind, of good social standing, not too-”

“No, no.” He waved a hand. “Not that, I mean, why the sudden interest in finding a husband?”

“I don’t believe my reasons bear any relevance to your success in repaying your debt,” she answered drily. “Just know that I need a husband who’s permissive and kind and will take in and my mother as well, preferably before the end of this Season. Do you think you can handle that?”

“It’s straightforward enough.” He shrugged. “But why enlist my help at all? You’re pretty enough to turn heads all by yourself.”

Penelope felt her face grow hot once more, so she stared at her hands to hide it. “It’ll be faster this way,” she replied, before meeting his gaze again. “Please?”

Perhaps he could hear the desperation in her voice, or maybe he noticed it in her eyes, or maybe it was even in the way she sat. But for whatever reason, to her relief, he said, “All right. I’ll get started tomorrow.”

Penelope clasped her hands in delight. “Thank you, Your Grace! I know someone as well-connected as you are will-”

“On one condition...” He cut her off, bringing his hands together as though he were deep in thought.

“All right...” She hesitantly nodded, “what is it?”

“You’ll follow my lead, and do exactly as I say,” he smirked.

“In that case, I don’t think I will be requiring your help after all,” she retorted.

He sat up in disbelief. “What? You don’t even know what I might ask for!”

“Exactly.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hence my response.”

“Relax, Lady Penelope,” the duke chuckled, “I just meant that you better not embarrass me in front of the gentlemen I recommend you to.”

“How could I possibly embarrass you?” Penelope scoffed, “ You’re the one with a reputation so ghastly that you quite literally have people conspiring against you,” she reminded him.

He waved this remark away. “Clearly, we’re starting to lose sight of why we're here. I owe you a favor, and you want the favor done, yes?”

She nodded.

“Then regardless of everything else, we shall work together to ensure my debt is repaid so that I don’t have it looming over me, yes?” he added.

“That sounds reasonable enough,” she concurred, “then I shall adhere to your condition of following your lead—within reason, mind you!” She wagged a finger. “I intend to wed as quickly as possible, so I won’t have any time or patience for your senseless games.”

“Then it seems we understand each other, Lady Pen.” He winked, rising from the armchair. “That’s my first stipulation, by the way. ‘Penelope’ is absurdly long to say all the time, besides ‘Pen’ suits you.”

She rolled her eyes, also rising from her spot on the bed to see him out. “Usually only very close friends are allowed to speak so familiarly, but fine. I suppose you could have asked for worse, so...”

He paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Surely we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“I’ll consider it,” she chuckled.

“Oh, woe is me!” He dramatically clutched his chest. “I presumed after everything we’ve been through tonight that-”

“Yes, all right,” she yielded, lifting a finger to her lips to remind him to keep his voice down. “We’re friends, Your Grace.”

He flashed her a triumphant smile before turning the doorknob. But just as she thought that she was finally rid of him, he stopped in the doorway to ask, “And do friends get a kiss good night or...?”

“Ugh, just leave !” She impatiently shoved him in the chest before slamming the door shut.

Despite her heart beating so loud, she could still hear him chuckling through the door. She touched a hand to her face, which—annoyingly—had grown hot once again.

He truly is unbearable!

* * *

Duncan kicked off his boots and threw himself onto his bed. But only when he landed face-first into a pillow did he realize how much he was smiling.

He turned onto his back, staring at the canopy above his bed as he racked his brain endeavoring to remember the last time a woman made him laugh like this.

Well, there was Lady Kingsbrook the other day...

But no, he realized he hadn’t used his real laugh. Instead, it was one of the laughs he had developed to perfect his flirting technique.

Ah! Lady Crestwell did make that clever quip about the final number in the opera the other day, and that was-

He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration.

In hindsight, it was more likely that she had rehearsed that joke beforehand—not that there was anything inherently wrong with that, of course. Providence knows that Duncan had done the exact same thing himself.

However, none of those instances were comparable to Lady Penelope’s authentic, spontaneous quips and wit. Her honest responses were a refreshing change from the calculated, convoluted maneuvers that flirting usually entailed.

To his dismay, he heard the familiar sound of a pebble hitting his window. After a long night of dancing, flirting, small talk, and cardplaying, didn’t he deserve some peace and quiet alone with his thoughts?

The tap of another pebble hitting the window answered his inner question with a resounding “No”.

Dragging himself out of bed, he let out a deep exhale as he lifted the window open.

Directly below stood none other than Philip Oakley—Marquess of Harlington—and Matthew Leeson—the Duke of Fairhaven.

“To me, fair friend, you never can be old...” Harlington declaimed.

“Shut it!” Duncan hissed.

But his best friend paid no heed to this, plowing ever onwards in his Shakespearean quotation, “For as you were when first your eye I eyed, such seems your beauty still-”

“Keep it down, buffoons!” Duncan waved his arms. “We have house guests with us!”

“Three winters cold!” Both friends simultaneously erupted below, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders, “have from the forests shook-”

Realizing that they weren’t going to stop on their own, Duncan reached for whatever was closest to him—a combined volume of the Iliad and Odyssey that he had been skimming through whenever he got the chance—and hurled it at them.

The pair separated with a series of yelps and choice words thrown in his direction.

“As expected, you’re broody as usual,” tutted Fairhaven—at least this time with the decency to lower his voice, “and that is exactly what we’re here to fix!”

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out not one, but two whiskey bottles and held them above his head.

Duncan shook his head. It was a long-standing practice between the friends that at least one of them should remain sober during important events to keep the others out of trouble—tonight had been Duncan’s turn.

Naturally, the sober friend would be rewarded for his valiant efforts after the event was over, which was what his two companions were attempting to do right now.

“With how I had to practically fold you into your coaches, I thought I wouldn’t see either of your faces until early next week.” Duncan crossed his arms.

“How dare you!” slurred Harlington as he stooped over to pick up the volume that Duncan had hurled. “We were just resting our eyes.”

“Sure you were.” Duncan chuckled. But his smile faded upon seeing Fairhaven trip over his own feet.

They’re in no condition to be out here, let alone to carry out their intentions of taking me out and about. He sighed.

“Hurry up, Blackmoore!” Fairhaven called out, stumbling to his feet. He suddenly gasped in realization and slapped a hand on Harlington’s shoulder. “It’ll be faster if he leaped out the window and we caught him!”

“I can’t seem to find my coin purse,” Duncan lied. “Come upstairs while I search for it.”

His friends scoffed at his plight but agreed nonetheless to come upstairs and perhaps even help him search for his coin purse.

When they were finally inside the room, Duncan casually reminded them to remove their boots.

“But then we shall have to put them back on again when we leave.” Harlington waved a dismissive hand. “Just gather your things already so we can be on our way.”

“And you call me the grouch.” Duncan chuckled, pretending to search through his personal effects. “It’s been a long night, why don’t you ‘rest your eyes’ while I conduct my search? It might improve your mood.”

“Perhaps I shall,” His friend stifled a yawn. “But only because you’re so absurdly slow.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “You're far less annoying when you’re sober,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, Harls.” He smiled innocently. “Use my bed, and will you take your boots off?”