Page 4 of Trusting Her Duke
The library at Ravensworth Hall proved to be everything a library should be, Penelope thought, momentarily distracted from her apprehension by the magnificent room. Two storeys tall, with a graceful gallery running around the upper level, it boasted floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound volumes. Large windows would normally flood the space with light, though now they showed only the storm’s fury. The Duke stood before one of the windows, his tall figure silhouetted against the grey light.
He turned as she entered, and Penelope felt her breath catch slightly. Blast the man - why did he have to be so impossibly handsome? It made maintaining a proper degree of antagonism quite difficult.
“Lady Penelope.” He bowed correctly, though his expression remained severe. “I trust Mrs Thackeray has made you comfortable?”
“Quite comfortable, thank you, Your Grace.” She moved further into the room, drawn despite herself to examine the nearest shelves. “You have a remarkable library.”
“My mother’s influence.” His voice held an odd note she couldn’t quite interpret. “She believed that books were the foundation of both education and entertainment.”
“A wise woman.”
Penelope ran one finger along the spine of a volume on agricultural improvements, noting that it was well-worn, not merely decorative.
“Indeed.” He moved closer, though still maintaining a properly correct distance. “Though I wonder what she would make of young ladies who risk their health and reputation by gadding about the countryside alone.”
And there it was - the criticism she had been expecting. Penelope turned to face him, lifting her chin.
“I hardly think that visiting tenant families constitutes ‘gadding about’, Your Grace. Nor was I alone - Mary accompanied me.”
“Ah yes, your maid.” His tone could have etched glass. “Who is even now suffering from exposure to the weather due to your... charitable impulses.”
“Mary chose to accompany me because she believes in the work we do.” Penelope fought to keep her voice level. “Unlike some, she understands that nobility brings responsibility as well as privilege.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You presume to lecture me about responsibility, Lady Penelope? You, who encourage dangerous expectations among the tenant families with your interfering ways?”
“I encourage nothing but sensible improvements and mutual support between estates.” She matched his cold tone perfectly. “Though I understand such concepts might be foreign to one who sees tenants merely as entries in a ledger.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and Penelope wondered if she had gone too far. But before he could respond, a tremendous crash of thunder shook the windows, making her jump despite herself. In the same moment, the library door burst open.
“Your Grace!” Jameson’s usual dignity was distinctly ruffled. “A tree has fallen across the main drive, and Featherstone reports that the bridge to the village is flooding. I’m afraid...” he cast an apologetic glance at Penelope, “I’m afraid we may be quite cut off until the storm passes.”
Penelope watched the Duke’s face and saw the exact moment that he realised she would have to stay the night. His expression suggested he’d just bitten into something extremely sour.
“I see.” He turned to her with rigid courtesy. “It appears, Lady Penelope, that we must extend our hospitality to you somewhat longer than anticipated. I trust that you will find it adequate, despite my apparently lacking understanding of noble responsibility.”
The biting sarcasm in his tone made Penelope’s fingers itch to slap him. Instead, she swept him a curtsey that would have done credit to any royal drawing room.
“Your Grace is too kind. I’m sure I shall manage to endure somehow.”
Something that might have been unwilling amusement flickered in his eyes before he turned to his butler.
“Jameson, please inform Mrs Thackeray that we shall require dinner for three this evening. My cousin Albert is still here, I believe?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Though he mentioned riding out to check the home farm’s drainage.”
“In this weather?”
Penelope couldn’t help exclaiming. Both men looked at her with nearly identical expressions of surprise at her intervention.
“Albert is quite capable of managing himself in adverse conditions, I assure you,” the Duke said drily. “We are not all so delicate as to require rescue from spring showers.”
“Delicate!” Penelope almost choked on her indignation. “I was not the one who required rescue, Your Grace. I merely sought shelter, given a broken wheel on our gig, from a storm that any sensible person would recognise as dangerous. Though I begin to question whether seeking it here was entirely sensible.”
Their eyes locked in mutual antagonism. Jameson coughed discretely.
“Shall I have tea brought to the morning room, Your Grace? Perhaps Lady Penelope would be more comfortable there until dinner.”
“An excellent suggestion.” The Duke’s tone suggested he’d rather like to suggest she wait in the stables. “Lady Penelope, if you will excuse me, I have estate matters to attend to. Jameson will see to your comfort.”
He strode from the room without waiting for her response, his long legs carrying him away with military precision. Penelope found herself staring after him, noting how his broad shoulders filled out his coat to perfection, before catching herself and turning hurriedly to Jameson. The butler’s face was entirely proper, but something about his eyes suggested he missed very little.
“This way, if you please, my Lady. The morning room has an excellent view of the gardens, though perhaps not at their best in current conditions.”
As she followed him through the house, Penelope couldn’t help observing how well-maintained everything was. Despite her prejudice against the Duke’s management style, she had to admit that Ravensworth Hall showed every sign of careful stewardship. The morning room proved to be a delightful chamber, clearly decorated with a woman’s touch. Penelope wondered if it dated from the late Duchess’s time, or if Lady Rosalind had influenced its design.
“Mary will join you shortly,” Jameson informed her. “She has been made comfortable and provided with dry clothing.”
“Thank you.” Penelope settled into a chair near the fire that burned cheerfully despite the spring date. “You are very kind.”
“Not at all, my Lady. We aim to maintain the standards the late Duchess established.” He hesitated, then added, “She would have approved of assisting anyone caught in such weather, regardless of... circumstances.”
Before Penelope could question this interesting comment, he had bowed and withdrawn. Left alone, she found herself pondering the glimpses she’d been given of the late Duchess’s character. Everyone who mentioned her seemed to do so with real warmth - how had such an apparently kindly woman produced a son so rigid and cold?
The door opened again, admitting Mary, now dressed in a serviceable dark gown that suited her perfectly.
“My Lady! Are you well? That dreadful man hasn’t been too unpleasant?”
“That dreadful man is our host, Mary,” Penelope reminded her, though she couldn’t help smiling at her maid’s protective instincts. “And he has been...” she paused, searching for the right word, “correctly hospitable, if not exactly welcoming.”
“Hmph.” Mary settled into a chair with more force than strictly necessary. “I heard that the bridge is flooded. We’ll have to stay the night!”
“So it seems.” Penelope turned to watch the rain lashing against the windows. “Though I’m more concerned about the Williams family. We never did reach them, and no one will have warned them that we wouldn’t come.”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you - one of the stable lads mentioned that His Grace sent riders out to all of the tenant farms as soon as the storm worsened. Standard procedure here, apparently.”
Penelope absorbed this information with surprise. It seemed the Duke did take some care of his tenants, even if he disapproved of more direct charitable involvement. A maid arrived with tea, and what proved to be excellent sandwiches. As they ate, Penelope found her gaze drawn repeatedly to the window, where the storm showed no signs of abating. The rain now fell in sheets, driven almost horizontal by the wind, and the gardens beyond were barely visible through the gloom.
“At least we’re dry and warm,” Mary observed practically. “Though I must say, this house is not what I expected.”
“No?” Penelope turned from her contemplation of the weather. “What do you mean?”
“Well...” Mary glanced at the door as if expecting the Duke to materialise. “It’s so... well-kept. Comfortable, even. Not cold and austere like its master at all. And the servants seem happy - Mrs Thackeray was telling me how His Grace insisted on raising wages last quarter, and how he never refuses medical care for their families.”
“Really?” Penelope frowned thoughtfully. This didn’t align with her image of the Duke at all. “Perhaps he simply understands that well-treated servants work more efficiently.”
“Perhaps.” Mary’s tone suggested she wasn’t convinced. “Though Tommy - that’s one of the footmen - says His Grace spent hours sitting with the cook’s youngest when she had fever last month. Insisted on calling the physician himself.”
Before Penelope could absorb this bewildering information, they heard voices in the hall.
The door opened to admit a gentleman she didn’t recognise, his clothes damp but his expression cheerful.
“Ah!” He bowed elegantly. “You must be Lady Penelope. I’m Lord Albert Cavendish, cousin to our gracious host. I understand we’re all to be storm-stayed together.”
Albert proved to be everything that his cousin was not - friendly, talkative, and possessed of an easy charm that soon had both Penelope and Mary relaxing.
He regaled them with tales of his ride to check the home farm (‘Quite an adventure, I assure you!’) and somehow managed to make even the threatening weather seem more entertaining than alarming.
“Alexander was quite right about the drainage improvements,” he observed, accepting a fresh cup of tea. “Though I’m sure he’ll be insufferable about it. He does so love being proved correct.”
Penelope found her interest sharpening at this casual reference to the Duke.
“His Grace takes a personal interest in such improvements?”
“Oh Lord, yes.” Albert’s eyes twinkled. “Drives his steward quite distracted sometimes, wanting to examine every detail himself. But then, that’s Alexander all over - has to understand everything completely before he’ll make a decision.”
“How... thorough of him.” Penelope tried to keep her tone neutral, though she found this glimpse of the Duke’s character intriguing despite herself.
“Thorough! That’s one word for it.” Albert chuckled. “I call it obsessive myself, but then, it’s served him well enough. Brought the estate round remarkably since he inherited.”
“Was it in very bad shape?”
The question slipped out before she could stop herself.
Albert’s expression grew more serious.
“Rather. The old Duke... well, after the Duchess died, things rather fell apart. Then Richard’s death right after Alexander returned from war... it was quite a tangle to sort out.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Jameson appeared, as correctly elegant as ever despite the late hour and storm.
“Dinner will be served in half an hour,” he announced. “Lord Albert, His Grace asks if you would join him in the study beforehand. Lady Penelope, Mrs Thackeray will send someone to help you dress.”
As Lord Albert rose to leave, he smiled warmly at Penelope.
“Don’t let my cousin intimidate you too much, Lady Penelope. His bark is generally worse than his bite.”
“I am not intimidated by His Grace,” Penelope replied with more spirit than wisdom. “Merely... unimpressed by his attitude towards certain matters.”
“Is that so?” Albert’s smile widened. “How fascinating. I look forward to dinner immensely.”
After he left, Mary turned to Penelope with concern.
“Do be careful, my Lady. His Grace is not a man to cross lightly.”
“I have no intention of crossing him, Mary.” Penelope stood, smoothing the borrowed dress. “I merely intend to maintain my own opinions, regardless of his disapproval.”
But as she prepared for dinner, Penelope couldn’t help wondering about the contradictions she’d discovered.
The cold, disapproving Duke who yet sat with sick servant children.
The rigid master who raised wages unprompted.
The man whose servants spoke of him with respect rather than fear, despite his austere manner.
Lightning flashed outside her window, followed almost immediately by thunder that shook the glass in its frames. The storm, it seemed, had no intention of releasing them any time soon. Penelope squared her shoulders as she checked her reflection one final time. Well, if she must endure the Duke’s company, she would do so with dignity. Even if his presence did make her pulse race in a most vexing manner.
Another thunder crash rattled the windows as she turned towards the door.
The night, she suspected, would prove interesting indeed.