Page 9

CHAPTER 8

P enelope stifled a yawn, barely able to keep her eyes open. Not only was she exhausted, but even the bright morning sun that she usually loved to bask in was quite irritating at the moment.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Mother asked from across the table. “Weren’t you able to sleep last night?”

“It was... an uncharacteristically restless night, Mother,” Penelope confessed. His Grace let out a snort at the other end of the table, causing her to glare at him.

“It’s nice to see that you find my suffering so amusing, Your Grace,” she snapped.

“Not at all, Lady Penelope.” The duke solemnly shook his head. “In fact, I happened to run into Mother late last night because she was suffering from a similar case of restlessness. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“Indeed,” sighed the dowager duchess. “Whatever the cause, it appears to have somehow affected us both, Lady Penelope.”

Penelope flashed a supportive smile at the older woman.

“You see, Lady Pen?” shrugged the duke, “I am, in fact, most sympathetic to your plight. And I do hope that whatever is causing your restlessness soon resolves itself.”

“I thank you,” she mumbled sarcastically, poking at the eggs on her plate, “but somehow, I have a feeling that is highly unlikely, Your Grace.”

In fact, as she recalled last night’s events she knew for certain that it would be practically impossible.

Last night at the library, the pair had exchanged looks of dismay when the dowager duchess knocked.

Grabbing her hand once more, the duke—inexplicably—led Penelope closer to the library door instead of away from it.

Panicked, she whispered, “What are you doi-”

With his free hand, he urgently raised a finger to his lips.

“Yes, Mother!” he called back, gesturing to Penelope to stay behind the door. “I just needed to look over a couple of treatises for my meeting with Ashfordshire tomorrow.”

From her spot, Penelope watched as he quickly hid one of the glasses behind one of the armchair’s cushions and hastily gathered the papers together.

She scoffed internally, His Grace has clearly found himself in similar situations before.

After taking a moment to fix his hair and regain his composure, he opened the door fully, thus completely covering Penelope with it.

“I thought you went to bed,” she heard him say innocently.

“I certainly attempted to do so,” his mother sighed, “but I couldn’t stop worrying about Lady Punton. How did she seem to you on the promenade earlier?”

The duke leaned against the doorframe as he contemplated his answer, but it moved the door and slightly squeezed Penelope even tighter against the wall.

Now on her tiptoes, Penelope breathed as slowly and silently as possible. Past the door’s hinges, she could see the dowager duchess in her own robe and carrying a lamp.

After a brief moment of consideration, His Grace answered, “She seemed all right to me, Mother. Still melancholic, but that’s to be expected, of course, given how early it still is.”

Penelope looked upward, silently praying they would cut their discussion short.

The older woman sighed. “This morning, I explained to Lady Penelope that at this point, there's little else to be done apart from waiting for time to work its healing powers. However...”

“However, it wouldn’t hurt to do as much as possible to speed up the process.” His Grace finished her sentence. “I couldn’t agree more, Mother. I tell you what...”

Through the gap, Penelope watched him throw an arm around his mother’s shoulders and slowly walk with her into the hallway. “I still need to prepare for my meeting. However, once that’s done, I shall contemplate the matter in-depth.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” The dowager duchess beamed, reaching up to lightly pat his face. “But don't stay up too late now. Otherwise, you might find yourself snoring in the Duke of Ashfordshire’s office.”

“Of course, good night, Mother.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Do you want me to escort you back upstairs?”

“Nonsense!” She waved a hand dismissively. “I got myself down here, didn’t I? Focus on your work now.”

He watched her depart for a few seconds before slowly closing the library door. Penelope heaved a sigh of relief, which he appeared to mirror because his shoulders relaxed considerably.

Presently, at the breakfast table, as Penelope recalled the depth of Her Grace’s concern for her and Mother, she felt even guiltier about lying.

Last night, she had voiced a similar sentiment to His Grace after the dowager duchess had left them.

“How can you lie so casually to your own mother?” Penelope had asked with a shudder.

“Out of necessity, one finds the strength for anything and everything,” he returned. “What? Would you rather that you and I opened the door together and given her a heart attack? Don’t we have a right to keep some secrets? For example, you're still extremely secretive about the reason you suddenly want to find a husband, yet I’m here covering for you regardless.”

Penelope wrung her hands together. “I know. I was just... pointing out that you make it look so easy.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “To be honest, that’s because it is easier. It is much preferable to lie and shield the ones we love than having to rebuild them once we’ve allowed the truth to shatter them.”

She felt her expression soften upon hearing this.

Naturally, she completely disagreed with his twisted rationale. But Penelope also realized that he did not develop such a distorted view overnight.

“I understand, Your Grace,” she simply replied, before adding, “You may be a bizarre and rakish gentleman, but you’re certainly a good son to her.”

“You’re too kind,” he sarcastically retorted, before adding—in a more sincere tone, “But thank you, Lady Pen. Your mother is fortunate to have you as well. I mean, the fact that you’re adamant about finding a husband who would agree to take her in too, that’s rather admirable as well.”

The two stood across from each other in comfortable silence. Penelope mused whether this was the first time they had complimented each other without any traces of irony or passive aggression.

“I’m glad we found at least one common ground to stand on, Your Grace.” She flashed him a smile.

“Grief and tragedy have an odd way of doing that sometimes.” He returned her smile, but weakly, and wearing an expression that she had never seen on him before.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” She hesitantly reached out to touch his arm.

His expression lit up as he winked. “As long as I’m with you, of course.”

“Ugh!” She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “It’s utterly impossible to have a serious conversation with you.”

“What makes you so sure that I’m not serious about my remark?” he asked, both palms facing upwards.

But she didn’t answer, folding her arms to show her irritation.

“Better yet,” he folded his arms in return, “let me ask you this, why is it impossible to have a playful conversation with you?”

Penelope furrowed her eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I’m not impossible to-”

He clicked his tongue. “I didn't mean any offense, Lady Pen. After all, no one’s perfect. You should be grateful that Providence gave you a flaw that can be easily overlooked.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “What was it that you said earlier? Oh yes, ‘let’s agree to disagree on that point’.”

Retrieving the documents from the center table, he offered them to her before pulling his hand back once more. Removing a single sheet, he folded it and inserted it into his pocket.

“Dear me, I almost accidentally gave you the main three names,” he tutted, handing her the remaining sheets of paper. “Get some rest and study well. I shall test you on your knowledge when I return from my errands tomorrow.”

She accepted them from him with a nod. “Thank you and good night, Your Grace.”

He handed her one of the lamps so she could make her way back upstairs. However, once she stepped out into the darkened hallway, her feet felt as heavy as stone.

He cleared his throat, “Lady Pen, are you... afraid of the dark?”

“No!” she hissed. “I was just considering whether to stretch my legs for a bit before retiring to my room for the night.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow. “Very well, then. I’m sure you don’t want me staring at you as you try to decide, so I’m just going to close the door now and-”

“Wait!” she exclaimed, before remembering to lower her voice. “What time are you going to bed?” she asked over her shoulder. “Perhaps I shall wait until you’re done working and then escort you upstairs.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, fair lady,” he answered with a mischievous grin. “I’m quite used to working late into the night by myself, so please do go ahead without me. Good night!”

He began to close the door again.

“Your Grace!” she called out once more.

The duke partially reopened the door. “Yes?” he asked, clearly enjoying torturing her.

“You were right,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t quite hear-”

“You were right!” she hissed, averting her gaze. “I- I’m afraid of the dark.”

The duke pretended to gasp. “Really? But you conceal your fear ever so well!”

She gave him an annoyed look, prompting him to laugh even harder. He held up a finger and asked her to wait for a moment. The next thing she knew, he turned off the rest of the lamps and closed the library door behind him as he joined her in the hall.

“Oh, are you done working?” She blinked at him.

“Several hours ago.” He took the lamp from her hands. “I was simply making excuses to Mother to preserve her sanity earlier.” he offered her his arm once again, “Shall we, Lady Pen?”

Penelope wordlessly locked arms with him once again.

As they carefully ascended the staircase, he whispered, “If you’re so afraid of the dark, how on earth did you find the strength to go on late-night escapades?”

She scoffed at him, “I know it’s hard to see my face on account of the darkness surrounding us, Your Grace. But in case you’ve forgotten, I am a lady , and proper ladies don’t sneak out for late-night escapades.”

“I don’t mean for anything vulgar,” he tutted. “I just mean killing time in the garden late at night when you can’t sleep. Or perhaps sneaking down into the kitchen when you suddenly wake up with an appetite, you know, that sort of thing.”

They neared the top of the stairs.

“It’s never really been a problem before.” She shrugged, whispering to him, “I’m usually a good sleeper.”

They ambled down the corridor and despite the fact that it was still darkened, Penelope felt much more at ease the closer they drew to her room.

“Well, as long as you’re in this house, expect your nights to get much more interest-” he stopped himself midsentence. “Before you jump away from me screaming, I don’t mean it in that sense.” He cleared his throat. “Just that I’m usually awake quite late, so if you ever need to make a midnight trip to the garden, I’d be more than happy to fight back the darkness for you.”

She squeezed his arm. “Goodness! Be careful, Your Grace, for a moment you actually began to sound like a real friend there,” she teased.

He let out a snort.

At last, they arrived at her door. She had to remind herself to release his arm this time. But perhaps that was to be expected since, given the surrounding darkness, his presence was a comfort—rather than the nuisance that it normally was.

“Good night, Lady Pen.” He winked at her one last time.

“Good night, Your Grace,” she replied, rolling her eyes at him one last time as well.

Little did she realize, however, that she’d barely get a wink of sleep—yet again. This time, every attempt to close her eyes was met with flashes of the excitement that had transpired earlier.

She attempted to lay on her left side, flashes of his self-satisfied smile filled her mind. When lying on her right, her mind flashed back to her embarrassing attempt to demonstrate her flirting prowess. And lying on her back, she got flashes of their lips almost touching.

When she had had her fill of this torture, she sat up and kicked the covers off of her.

If I'm not going to sleep, I may as well study, she huffed to herself.

At least this undertaking proved considerably more successful. By sunrise, she practically knew Viscount Steepwharf better than he knew himself.

With her mind exhausted, it was no longer capable of tormenting her with flashes of the previous night. However, instead of being tortured in her dreams, she found herself being tortured while awake by the glaring sun and the smug air with which the duke carried himself as he appeared completely unaffected from the night before.

As breakfast drew to a close, she asked Mother to pass her this morning's paper in the hopes that it would perk her up. Instead, His Grace rose from the head of the table, grabbed the paper, and floated over to where she sat.

“Here you go, Lady Pen.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, accepting it from him, irritated by the sheer abundance of vigor and liveliness he possessed despite it all.

He turned to one of the maids. “Cynthia, would you please pour Lady Penelope some more tea?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She stared daggers at him for showing off so blatantly. But the duke wordlessly fired back with a completely innocent expression, almost as if to say: What? I’m just being a good friend.

Penelope thanked the maid and took a big gulp of her tea, making a note to kick His Grace as hard as possible the next time she got the chance.