Page 21 of Trusting Her Duke

Early morning light filled Stanyon House’s family chapel with jewelled colours from the centuries old stained glass. Penelope stood before the small mirror in the adjoining chamber, watching as Mary made final adjustments to her wedding clothes. The pale gold muslin gown, trimmed with Brussels lace that had been her grandmother’s, fell in graceful folds to just touch the floor.

“There, my Lady.” Mary secured the last pearl pin in her hair, nestling it among the orange blossoms that symbolised purity and fertility. “Though I still say that we should have used the white roses instead.”

“Orange blossoms are traditional,” Penelope smiled at her maid’s fussing. “And you know how the Duke feels about proper traditions.”

“As if anyone could forget.” But Mary’s tone held affection rather than criticism. She’d grown quite fond of Alexander’s careful attention to protocol, especially after he’d insisted on providing her with a generous marriage portion in recognition of her years of loyal service.

A soft knock heralded Rosalind’s arrival. Alexander’s sister looked radiant in her role supporting Penelope, her blue silk dress exactly the shade they’d finally agreed upon after weeks of careful deliberation.

“Everything’s ready,” she announced, then paused to study Penelope with a critical eye. “Perfect. Though...” she reached to adjust a curl that had escaped its pin, “there. Now you’re truly ready to become a Duchess.”

“Is anyone ever truly ready for that?” Penelope asked softly, touching the pearl necklace which Alexander had sent over that morning - a traditional gift from groom to bride on their wedding day.

“You’ve been ready since the day you rode through that storm to protect both our estates,” Rosalind said firmly. “Everything since then has just been a matter of proper documentation.”

“Speaking of proper documentation,” Penelope’s father appeared in the doorway, resplendent in his finest coat, “the special license is all in order, the settlements have been signed, and your bridegroom is trying very hard not to wear a path in the chapel floor with his pacing.”

“Alexander? Pacing?” Penelope couldn’t quite hide her smile. “Surely he’s being perfectly composed and proper about everything.”

“Well,” the Earl’s eyes twinkled, “he did check the marriage articles only twice this morning, which for him shows remarkable restraint.”

They all laughed softly, the sound helping to ease the butterflies in Penelope’s stomach. The marriage settlements had indeed been thoroughly reviewed - Alexander had insisted on being exceptionally generous, ensuring that both estates would be properly managed and their future children well provided for.

“It’s time,” Mary said softly, handing Penelope her small bouquet - white roses and orange blossoms, bound with silk ribbon.

The Earl offered his arm, his expression softening as he looked at his daughter.

“Ready, my dear?”

“Yes.”

The word came clear and certain. Any nerves she felt were about the ceremony itself, not about the man waiting for her. That certainty had been growing since that stormy day when trust had been rebuilt in his study.

The small chapel was filled with family and closest friends - they’d chosen an intimate ceremony rather than a grand London affair.

Through the open door, Penelope could see Alexander standing before the altar, his broad shoulders straight beneath his perfectly tailored blue coat. Lord Albert stood beside him, apparently murmuring something that made Alexander’s stance relax slightly. As the first notes of music began, Penelope took a deep breath.

“Together?” she whispered to her father.

“Together,” he agreed softly. “Though I suspect that word will have new meaning after today.”

The short walk down the chapel aisle seemed both endless and far too quick. Alexander turned as they approached, and the look in his eyes made Penelope’s heart skip. All his careful control, his proper reserve, fell away for just a moment as he saw her. When her father placed her hand in Alexander’s, the warmth of his grip steadied her slightly trembling fingers. They turned together to face the Vicar, but not before she caught his whispered words.

“You’re beautiful.”

The ceremony itself passed in something of a blur, though certain moments stood out with crystal clarity: the slight tremor in Alexander’s voice as he spoke his vows, the warm weight of the gold ring as he slipped it onto her finger, the gentle pressure of his hands holding hers throughout the prayers.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

The words seemed to echo slightly in the small chapel. Alexander turned to her, his eyes holding something that made her breath catch. The kiss he gave her was perfectly proper for a church ceremony, but carried promises of less proper ones to come.

As they turned to face their families, now officially husband and wife, Penelope felt the rightness of it settle into her bones. This was what balance meant - duty and love working together, tradition and progress supporting each other.

The wedding breakfast that followed was a relatively small affair, though Mrs Thackeray had conspired with Mrs Wilson at Stanyon House, and they had outdone themselves with the preparations.

Both estates’ senior staff had been invited - a somewhat unconventional choice that nevertheless felt perfectly appropriate for them.

“Your Grace,” Featherstone approached with a glass raised in toast, then stopped, suddenly flustered. “That is... both Your Graces?”

Alexander’s laugh held genuine warmth.

“I think we can maintain the use of names among those who know us well, Featherstone. Though perhaps not when official business requires proper protocol.”

“Speaking of official business,” Lord Albert approached, his usual grin even broader than normal, “I’ve had word from London. The Court of Chancery has formally registered your joint petition. Both estates’ ancient rights are now permanently protected under your combined management.”

“Excellent timing,” Alexander said with satisfaction. “Though I suspect you arranged for that news to arrive today specifically?”

“Would I do such a thing?” Lord Albert’s attempt at innocence fooled no one. “Though I did think it made a rather appropriate wedding gift - the formal recognition of how well you work together.”

Penelope felt Alexander’s arm tighten slightly around her waist.

“Very appropriate,” she agreed. “Though I hope you don’t expect us to spend our wedding day reviewing the documentation?”

“I considered suggesting it,” Lord Albert admitted cheerfully. “But Rosalind threatened dire consequences if I mentioned estate business at all today.”

“Good,” Alexander said firmly. “Because for once, estate management can wait.” He looked down at Penelope, his eyes warming. “Today is about something far more important.”

“More important than proper documentation?” she teased gently. “Who are you, and what have you done with my perfectly proper Duke?”

His laugh drew surprised looks from several guests - the Duke of Ravensworth, laughing openly at his own wedding breakfast? But the surprise in their faces quickly turned to approval as he bent to kiss her again, somewhat less properly than in the chapel.

“I’m still perfectly proper,” he murmured against her ear. “I simply have better priorities now.”

“Better balance,” she corrected softly, remembering his mother’s letter about duty and heart working together.

“Exactly.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles where their hands joined. “Though I reserve the right to maintain proper documentation of everything else.”

The afternoon passed in a whirl of congratulations and celebrations. Penelope found herself constantly aware of Alexander’s presence beside her, the way his hand would find hers naturally, how they moved together as if they’d been doing so for years rather than months. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the Stanyon House ballroom windows, the time came for their departure. They would spend their wedding night at Ravensworth Hall - their home now, though Penelope would always maintain her connection to Stanyon House through their joint management of the estates. Mary helped her change into a traveling dress of deep blue silk - the same shade as the gown she’d worn that stormy day when trust had been rebuilt. The symbolism wasn’t lost on either of them.

“You’ll do very well, my Lady,” Mary said softly as she secured the last button. “Though I suspect you already knew that.”

“I did.” Penelope touched her new wedding ring gently. “From the moment he proved willing to learn better ways of doing things. From the moment I realised that his rigid adherence to protocol was just his way of protecting what mattered.”

“And now you’ll protect each other.” Mary’s practical voice held genuine affection. “Though heaven help anyone who tries to interfere with either estate’s ancient rights in the future.”

“They’d have to be braver than Sir Lionel to try,” Penelope laughed. “Or more foolish.”

“Speaking of foolish,” Rosalind appeared in the doorway, “my brother is trying very hard to be patient about waiting for you, but I believe his perfect composure is starting to crack slightly.”

“Heaven forbid,” Penelope smiled, gathering her traveling cloak. “We can’t have the Duke of Ravensworth appearing anything less than perfectly proper.”

Alexander waited by the carriage, his own traveling clothes as immaculate as ever. But his composure did indeed slip slightly when he saw her, his eyes warming in a way that made her cheeks flush despite their now-official status.

“Ready, my love?”

He offered his hand to help her into the carriage.

“Always.”

She settled beside him as Lord Albert and Lady Rosalind called out final congratulations. The familiar lanes between Stanyon House and Ravensworth Hall seemed different somehow in the gathering dusk. Or perhaps it was she who was different - no longer just Lady Penelope Whitmore, but the Duchess of Ravensworth, with all the responsibilities and privileges that entailed.

“Having second thoughts?” Alexander’s voice came soft beside her.

“Never.” She turned to find him watching her with that intense focus she’d come to treasure. “Though I was thinking about responsibilities.”

“Of course you were.” His laugh held tender amusement. “Even on our wedding day, you’re considering duty and obligation.”

“Says the man who checked the marriage settlements twice this morning?”

“Touché.” He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Though perhaps we could agree to think about responsibilities tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she agreed softly, letting herself lean into his warmth. “Though I reserve the right to suggest improvements to your methods of estate management whenever necessary.”

“I would expect nothing less.” His voice deepened slightly as Ravensworth Hall came into view. “Though I think, my love, that for tonight at least, we might find more interesting things to discuss than estate management.”

The look in his eyes made her breath catch, even as she smiled at his carefully proper phrasing.

“More interesting than properly documented ancient rights?”

“Much more interesting.” His thumb stroked across her wedding ring. “Though I promise to be thoroughly proper about everything.”

“Not too proper, I hope,” she whispered, and was rewarded with his quiet laugh as the carriage turned onto the drive towards home.

The familiar facade of Ravensworth Hall glowed warmly in the last light of day, lanterns already lit to welcome them home. Penelope could see the assembled staff waiting to greet their new Duchess, Mrs Thackeray’s practical form prominently placed among them.

“They’re eager to welcome you properly,” Alexander said softly. “Though I suspect they’ve considered you mistress of the Hall since that first stormy day.”

“Even when you were being ridiculously suspicious of my motives?”

“Especially then.” His hand tightened on hers. “They saw what I was too blind to recognise - how perfectly you fit here. How much better everything is when we work together.” The carriage began to slow as they approached the front steps. In the gathering darkness of the enclosed space, Alexander turned to her. “Before we face all the proper ceremonies of welcome,” his voice held both love and amusement, “might I kiss my wife? In a thoroughly improper manner?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she managed, before his lips claimed hers.

This kiss held nothing of the proper restraint shown in the chapel. This was the kiss of a man who had waited months to call her his, who had rebuilt trust piece by piece, who had learned to balance duty with passion. In the shadows of the carriage interior, Penelope found herself responding with equal fervour, propriety forgotten in the joy of finally, finally belonging to each other completely. The carriage came to a halt, but Alexander took his time ending the kiss, his hands framing her face with infinite tenderness.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “My perfectly imperfect Duchess.”

Then he straightened, helped her arrange her slightly dishevelled appearance, and stepped down from the carriage with his usual graceful authority. Turning to assist her, he took her hand firmly in his.

“My good people,” his voice carried clearly across the courtyard, holding warmth that would have been unthinkable months ago, “I present to you Her Grace, the Duchess of Ravensworth.”

The staff’s chorus of welcome echoed into the autumn evening, but Penelope heard only the love in Alexander’s voice as he led her home.