Page 2 of Trusting Her Duke
The morning sun streamed through the library windows of Stanyon House, catching golden glints in Lady Penelope Whitmore’s fair curls as she bent over her account books. Dust motes danced in the warm light, and the soft scratch of her quill provided counterpoint to birdsong from the gardens below. The familiar scents of leather bindings and beeswax polish wrapped around her, comforting in their constancy. She paused in her careful notation of figures, touching her quill thoughtfully to her lips. The numbers before her represented more than mere calculations - each carefully inked entry stood for a family’s welfare, a child’s hunger, a widow’s comfort. The leather-bound volume under her hands might look like any estate account book, but its contents held the promise of real change.
If only everyone could see it that way. The memory of cold green eyes and cutting words intruded, making her hand clench slightly on the quill. The Duke of Ravensworth’s voice seemed to echo in her mind, as clear as it had been that day at Lady Ashworth’s.
“Reckless sentiment that will destabilise every estate foolish enough to participate.”
The quill snapped. Penelope stared at the broken feather, ink staining her fingers, and forced herself to take a calming breath. She would not allow that arrogant man’s opinions to affect her so. Yet even as she reached for a fresh quill, she could not completely suppress the memory of how his words had stung, not for herself, but for her father.
“My Lady?” Mary’s voice drew her from her brooding thoughts. Her maid stood in the doorway, sunlight catching the pale threads in her dark hair. Despite her relatively young age, Mary Harper carried herself with the dignity of a much older woman, her practical nature reflected in every aspect of her neat appearance. “The ladies are beginning to arrive.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Penelope carefully blotted her last entry before gathering her papers into a leather folder. The tooled leather was worn soft with age and use - it had been her mother’s, and using it made Penelope feel somehow closer to the woman she barely remembered. “Is everything prepared in the morning room?”
“Yes, my Lady. Mrs. Wilson has arranged tea and those little almond cakes that Lady Prescott favours.” A hint of amusement touched Mary’s usually serious face. “And your father asked me to tell you that he will join you briefly before retiring to his study.”
Warmth bloomed in Penelope’s chest at this evidence of her father’s thoughtfulness. The Earl of Stanyon’s support had never wavered, even when his peers criticised his ‘excessive’ concern for tenant welfare.
“He always knows exactly how to help, doesn’t he? His presence will lend weight to our proposals, yet by withdrawing early, he’ll allow the ladies to speak freely.”
“Indeed, my Lady.” Mary stepped forward to straighten a ribbon at Penelope’s sleeve that had come loose during her writing. “Though some might say you have inherited his gift for managing people.”
“Mary!” Penelope tried to look scandalised, but couldn’t quite suppress her smile. Few would dare to suggest that a young lady might ‘manage’ anyone, let alone her social equals. Yet Mary’s steady presence and quiet understanding had long since earned her the right to speak freely with her mistress. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Whyever not? It’s true enough.” Mary’s capable hands smoothed Penelope’s skirts with practiced efficiency. “Now, shouldn’t you proceed to the morning room? Lady Prescott always arrives early, and you know how she dislikes waiting.”
Gathering her papers, Penelope rose and made her way through the familiar corridors of her home.
Portraits of Whitmores past looked down from the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow her progress. She had often wondered what these ancestors would think of her charitable endeavours. Would they approve of this new approach to noble responsibility, or would they share the Duke of Ravensworth’s disdain? The morning room presented a welcoming aspect as Penelope approached. Spring sunshine poured through the tall windows, highlighting the fresh flowers Mrs. Wilson had arranged on every surface. The subtle scent of lilacs mixed with brewing tea, creating an atmosphere both elegant and inviting. As Mary had predicted, Lady Prescott already occupied her favourite seat near the fireplace, despite the warmth of the spring day.
The elderly lady’s sharp eyes brightened at Penelope’s entrance.
“Ah, there you are, my dear. I was just telling Mrs. Bellingham about your clever management of the grain distribution this past winter.”
Mrs. Bellingham, the vicar’s wife, sat nearby, her kind face creased with concern as she nodded a greeting.
“Indeed, Lady Penelope. Your organisation made such a difference to so many families.”
“You are too kind.” Penelope settled into her chair as one of the maids began directing the arrangement of tea things. “Though I must say, your husband’s assistance was invaluable. Having the church participate in distribution helped ensure that we reached those most in need.”
Lady Morton, who had been gazing out the window, turned at this.
“That’s precisely what we need to discuss. This past winter revealed gaps in our understanding of who truly needs assistance. Some are too proud to ask, while others...”
She left the sentence delicately unfinished.
“Exactly so.”
Penelope opened her leather folder, drawing out her carefully prepared notes. The paper was of excellent quality - she had learned that presenting information properly could make the difference between being taken seriously and being dismissed as a romantic girl with impractical notions.
“I have been analysing the pattern of hardships over the past three years, and I believe that we can be far more effective if we coordinate our efforts.” More ladies filtered into the room as she spoke. The maid moved efficiently among them, ensuring that each had tea and refreshments while Penelope continued. “For example, I have noted that grain prices follow a predictable pattern throughout the year. If we pool our resources for bulk purchase in summer...”
“But surely,” Mrs. Bellingham leaned forward, her tea forgotten in her earnestness, “the issue is not just preparation? The problems run deeper than that.”
“Indeed, they do.” Penelope drew out several sheets covered in her neat handwriting. “I have been visiting tenant families throughout the winter, learning about their specific challenges.”
A slight murmur ran through the assembled ladies at this. Such direct involvement was unusual for a young lady of Penelope’s station. She lifted her chin slightly, prepared to defend her actions, but Lady Prescott’s voice cut through the whispers.
“Very sensible. How else is one to truly understand the situation? Though I imagine some would consider such visits... unconventional.”
The unspoken reference to the Duke of Ravensworth hung in the air. Penelope could almost hear his scathing commentary on ‘interfering females who don’t know their place’. The memory of that day at Lady Ashworth’s rose again unbidden... She had been seated with several other young ladies, presumably considered too young to have opinions worth hearing, when the Duke had started his tirade. His commanding presence had dominated the room as he condemned her father’s support of tenant improvements.
“It is this sort of soft-headed mismanagement that weakens estates,” he had declared, his deep voice carrying clearly across the drawing room. “Tenants must learn to manage their own affairs, not depend upon charitable handouts that encourage idleness.”
Penelope had gripped her fan so tightly that one of the delicate ivory sticks had cracked.
The Duke’s dramatic good looks - which had caused several young ladies to sigh over him despite his notorious severity - had only made his cold words more shocking. How could someone blessed with such advantages be so utterly devoid of compassion? The gentle opening of the morning room door drew Penelope from her memories. Her father’s distinguished figure appeared, his silver-streaked hair catching the sunlight as he entered. The Earl of Stanyon’s presence always brought a sense of calm stability with it, and Penelope felt her tension ease as he smiled warmly at the assembled ladies.
“I trust that I am not interrupting anything too secret?”
His eyes twinkled as he spoke, drawing appreciative chuckles from several of the older ladies. The Earl had long been considered one of the most charming men in the county, his genuine kindness making him well-loved despite what some called his ‘eccentric’ views on estate management.
“Not at all, my Lord,” Lady Prescott declared firmly. “We are merely allowing your daughter to show us how thoroughly she has thought through these proposals. I must say, the girl does you credit.”
“Rather, Lady Prescott, I hope that I do her credit.” The Earl moved to stand behind Penelope’s chair, resting one hand gently on her shoulder. “I find my daughter’s practical approach to charitable works most enlightening. But pray, do not let me interrupt. I merely wished to express my support before retiring to my study.”
Penelope reached up to touch her father’s hand, remembering how he had defended her that day at Lady Ashworth’s, after the Duke’s cutting remarks. The Earl had merely raised one elegant eyebrow and observed that some men might do better to examine their own management choices before criticising others. His mild tone had made the rebuke all the more pointed.
“Thank you, Papa.” She smiled up at him, drawing strength from his unwavering support. “I shall find you there when we are finished?”
“Indeed.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before withdrawing. “Ladies, I leave you in my daughter’s capable hands.”
As the door closed behind him, Penelope returned to her papers with renewed determination.
“Now, as I was saying, I believe we can achieve far more by coordinating our efforts. I have prepared detailed proposals for how we might structure this.” She drew out several carefully written sheets, passing them to Lady Prescott first, as the most influential of her supporters. “You’ll see that I have outlined a system for verifying genuine need without causing embarrassment to the families involved.”
“Quite thorough,” Lady Morton observed, leaning forward to examine the papers as they were passed to her. “Though I notice that you have not included Ravensworth in your calculations of available storage space.”
A slight tension crept back into Penelope’s shoulders.
“The Duke has made his position quite clear on such matters. I saw no point in including resources that would not be available to us.”
“Hmph.” Lady Prescott’s disapproving grunt spoke volumes. “That young man needs a lesson in proper nobility. His mother would be quite disappointed by his current attitude.”
“You knew his mother?”
The question escaped Penelope before she could stop it. She had heard little of the previous Duchess, save that she had died when the current Duke was quite young.
“Indeed I did.” Lady Prescott’s eyes grew distant with memory. “A lovely woman, with a true understanding of noblesse oblige. She did a great deal of good in the county before her death. The old Duke never quite recovered from losing her, they say.”
“The current Duke was quite young when she died, was he not?” Lady Morton asked quietly.
“Eighteen.” Lady Prescott nodded. “And his father followed within the year - hunting accident, though some said grief played its part. Then the elder brother’s death just as the current Duke returned from war... well, perhaps one can understand his rigid attention to duty and finance.”
Penelope found herself unconsciously softening towards the Duke, before firmly reminding herself that tragic circumstances did not excuse cruel behaviour.
“Understanding the source of his attitude does not make that attitude correct,” she observed, more sharply than she had intended.
“No indeed,” Lady Prescott agreed, her shrewd eyes studying Penelope’s face. “Though I suspect that you might be just the person to show him that.”
Heat rose in Penelope’s cheeks.
“I hardly think that the Duke of Ravensworth would welcome any suggestion from me, Lady Prescott. Now, shall we examine the proposed schedule for grain purchases?”
For the next hour, the ladies discussed possibilities and challenges. Penelope guided the conversation carefully, noting both supporters and those who seemed hesitant. She was particularly pleased when Lady Morton offered the use of several empty barns on her estate for storage.
“The question of distribution remains crucial,” Mrs. Bellingham observed, accepting a fresh cup of tea from the maid. “We must find a way to help those truly in need without encouraging... dependency.”
Penelope had expected this concern.
She drew out another carefully prepared document.
“I have given that considerable thought. You’ll see here that I propose regular visits to tenant families by those who know them best. Not as interference, you understand, but as friendly support that allows us to truly understand their circumstances.”
“Rather like your own visits to our tenants,” Lady Prescott observed shrewdly. “I had wondered about your frequent rides about the estates these past months.”
Penelope met the elderly lady’s knowing look steadily.
“I believe it important to understand the real situations we face, not merely discuss them in drawing rooms.”
“Very sensible,” Lady Morton nodded approvingly. “Though I imagine some might consider such direct involvement... inappropriate for a young lady of your station.”
“I cannot think it inappropriate to understand the responsibilities we hold,” Penelope replied, her voice firm despite her racing heart. She had rehearsed this argument many times in her mind. “How can we make informed decisions about assistance if we do not know the true circumstances of those we aim to help?”
“Well said!” Lady Prescott thumped her cane enthusiastically against the floor. “Now, my dear, tell us exactly what you need from each of us.”
As the meeting continued, Penelope felt a growing sense of accomplishment. Most of the ladies agreed to participate in some capacity, and several offered resources she hadn’t dared hope for. Even Mrs. Bellingham, despite her initial reservations, volunteered to help coordinate with other parishes. When the last lady had departed, save Lady Prescott, Penelope began gathering her papers with hands that trembled slightly from relief and excitement.
“You handled that very well, my dear.” Lady Prescott remained seated, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “But do be careful. Not everyone will appreciate such capable organisation from a young lady.”
“Thank you for your concern, Lady Prescott.” Penelope helped her elderly friend adjust her shawl. “But I cannot let fear of criticism prevent us from doing what is needed.”
“Brave words.” Lady Prescott’s voice softened. “Just remember that some men feel threatened by a woman who thinks too clearly for their comfort. Particularly men who are unused to being challenged.”
The unspoken reference to the Duke hung between them. Penelope busied herself with collecting the last of her papers.
“The Duke’s opinion matters little to me, Lady Prescott. I doubt our paths will cross often enough for his disapproval to be relevant.”
“Do not be too certain of that, my dear.” Lady Prescott allowed Penelope to help her rise. “In my experience, fate has a way of bringing together those who most wish to avoid each other.”
Before Penelope could respond to this cryptic observation, the maid appeared to escort Lady Prescott to her carriage. Gathering her papers, Penelope made her way to her father’s study, her mind already turning to the next steps in implementing their plans.
She found the Earl at his desk, reading correspondence through his quizzing glass. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the study windows, highlighting the silver in his hair and the fine lines around his eyes - lines that spoke of both laughter and care.
“Well, my dear?” He looked up with a warm smile that always made her feel safe and understood. “Was your meeting successful?”
“Very much so, Papa.” Penelope settled into her favourite chair near his desk, smoothing her skirts around her. The leather of the chair was worn soft with age, its familiar comfort welcome after the tension of the meeting. “Though Lady Prescott warns me that I must be careful not to appear too... capable.”
The Earl set aside his letters, giving her his full attention. The afternoon light caught the subtle pattern in his navy coat as he leaned back, studying her face.
“Ah. You are thinking of young Ravensworth’s outburst at Lady Ashworth’s.”
“He is hardly young, Papa. He must be at least thirty.” Penelope smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her skirts, trying to hide her agitation. “And his opinion matters little to me. I simply cannot understand how anyone could be so coldly dismissive of genuine need.”
“The Duke has his reasons, my dear.” Her father’s voice held that thoughtful tone that usually preceded some piece of wisdom she wasn’t quite ready to hear. “The old Duke’s death, followed so quickly by his elder brother’s... well, I understand that the current Duke inherited quite a tangle of financial difficulties. Perhaps that colours his view of charitable expenditure.”
“That hardly excuses his rudeness to you, Papa.” The memory sparked fresh anger in her chest. She could still see the Duke standing in Lady Ashworth’s drawing room, his tall figure commanding attention, those striking green eyes cold as he had condemned her father’s management choices. “To publicly declare your decisions ‘foolishly sentimental’ was unconscionable.”
“Your loyal defence of me warms my heart.” The Earl's eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement. “Though I seem to recall that you were rather forceful in expressing your opinion of him afterwards.”
Heat flooded Penelope’s cheeks as she remembered her sharp comments to Lady Ashworth about the Duke’s apparent lack of basic manners and humanity. She might have gone further, had her father not caught her eye across the room.
“I spoke only truth,” she muttered, examining the embroidery on her handkerchief with sudden intensity.
“Perhaps.” Her father rose and came around the desk to kiss her forehead. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around her comfortingly. “But come now, you have achieved much today. Don’t let thoughts of Ravensworth spoil your triumph. Tell me more about Lady Morton’s offer of storage space.”
Grateful for the change of subject, Penelope drew out her notes.
“I believe that we can coordinate between her barns and the old tithe barn at Stanyon Cross. If we time the purchases carefully...”
They spent the next hour discussing practical details, the Earl offering subtle suggestions that Penelope knew would strengthen her plans. This was what she loved most - working through problems methodically, finding solutions that would make real differences in people’s lives. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the study floor, her father sat back with a satisfied smile.
“You've thought this through very thoroughly, my dear. I am quite proud of you.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Penelope began gathering her papers. “Though I fear that not everyone shares your approval of a lady involving herself in such matters.”
“The times are changing, Penelope.” Her father's voice grew serious. “The war has shown us that old ways of thinking must adapt. Even the Duke of Ravensworth may learn that, in time.”
“I doubt that very much.” Penelope rose, tucking her folder under her arm. “A man so rigid in his thinking is unlikely to change.”
“You might be surprised.” The Earl's eyes held that knowing look that always made her wonder how much he truly saw. “Sometimes the most rigid tree is the one most likely to break in a storm.”