Page 6 of Trusting Her Duke

“Faith can be dangerous, Lady Penelope.”

“So can excessive caution, Your Grace.”

Lord Albert, who had been watching their exchange with obvious interest, suddenly straightened in his chair.

“I say, is that hail?”

The sharp rattling against the windows did indeed suggest something more solid than mere rain. The Duke rose and went to look out into the darkness, his broad shoulders blocking much of the window.

“The glass should hold,” he said, though Penelope thought she detected a note of concern in his voice. “Though the gardens will suffer.”

“Oh dear,” she couldn’t help saying. “The spring plantings...”

He turned to look at her, surprise evident in his expression.

“You know something of gardening, Lady Penelope?”

“I help our gardener with the kitchen gardens.” She lifted her chin, expecting mockery. “Another activity you no doubt consider beneath a lady’s dignity?”

But instead of the cutting remark she expected, he looked thoughtful.

“Not at all. My mother always said that understanding how things grow was essential to understanding estate management.”

“Your mother seems to have been a very wise woman.”

Something flickered in his eyes - pain? Regret? Before she could be sure, he turned back to the window.

“She was.” His voice was so low she barely caught the words. “Though not always practical.”

A particularly loud crack of thunder made the window panes rattle in their frames. The Duke’s hand went automatically to the glass, as if to verify its stability.

“Always the protector, eh cousin?” Lord Albert’s voice held affectionate amusement. “Though I don’t think even you can guard against thunder.”

“One must guard against what one can,” the Duke replied, his voice distant. “And accept what one cannot change.”

The words seemed heavy with meaning beyond the immediate situation. Penelope found herself wondering what burdens this complicated man carried beneath his rigid exterior.

“Guard against what one can,” Penelope repeated softly. “Like studying drainage patterns before improving them?”

He turned from the window to look at her, and something in his expression made her heart beat faster.

“Precisely. Though I note that you guard against winter hunger by organising grain purchases in summer. Not entirely impulsive after all, are you?”

“As I said, Your Grace, planning and prompt action need not be enemies.”

“Indeed.” He returned to his chair, the firelight once again softening his features. “Though I wonder, Lady Penelope, do you apply such balanced thinking to all of your charitable works?”

She bristled slightly at his tone.

“I assure you, Your Grace, we take great care to verify genuine need before providing assistance.”

“Through personal visits to tenant families?” His voice held that note she couldn’t quite interpret. “Rather hands-on for a lady of your station.”

“How else can one truly understand the situations one hopes to improve?” She met his gaze steadily. “Or do you manage your estate entirely from behind a desk?”

Lord Albert made a choking sound that might have been suppressed laughter. The Duke’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You know very well that I do not, given your earlier comments about my extensive studies.”

“Ah, but studying is not the same as understanding, is it?” Penelope leaned forward slightly, warming to her argument. “One must see, must experience...”

“Must rescue piglets from flooding pens?” His dry tone made her flush. At her startled look, he added, “News travels quickly in a small community, Lady Penelope.”

“I...” She lifted her chin. “The situation required immediate action.”

“Did it?” Those green eyes seemed to see right through her. “Or did you simply wish to prove yourself willing to face any challenge?”

“Does it matter?” She met his gaze defiantly. “The piglets were saved.”

“At the cost of a ruined dress and considerable risk to yourself.” His voice had dropped lower, almost intimate. “Do you always rush into danger so readily?”

“Only when the need arises.” She found her own voice had grown softer, though she couldn’t have said why. “Do you always criticise actions you would likely have taken yourself?”

His eyebrows rose slightly.

“You think that I would have jumped into a flooded pen to save piglets?”

“I think, Your Grace, that you would do whatever you believed necessary, regardless of personal cost.” The words emerged before she could consider their wisdom. “Just as you sent riders to warn tenant farms about this storm.”

Something flickered in his eyes - surprise? Respect? Before he could respond, a sharp crack from the fire sent sparks flying up the chimney. Lord Albert, who had been watching their exchange with fascinated attention, leapt up to tend to the flames.

“Bit dry, that last log,” he observed cheerfully. “Remarkable how conversation can make one forget to mind the fire properly.”

The Duke’s eyes hadn’t left Penelope’s face.

“Remarkable indeed,” he murmured, so softly she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten, making Penelope start slightly. Had they really been talking so long? The storm still raged outside, but somehow the library had come to feel like a separate world, warm and oddly intimate despite her companions.

“Perhaps,” the Duke said, his voice returning to its usual precise tones, “we should all retire. It has been a... somewhat eventful day.”

“Indeed.” Penelope rose, smoothing her borrowed dress. “Though I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace, unexpected as my arrival may have been.”

“One must adapt to circumstances, must one not?” That almost-smile touched his lips again. “Even without extensive study beforehand.”

She found herself fighting an answering smile.

“How very practical of you, Your Grace.”

“I do try.” He rose and offered his arm with elegant courtesy. “Allow me to escort you to your chamber. The hallways can be quite dark during storms.”

As her fingers settled on his coat sleeve again, Penelope told herself firmly that the slight tremor in them was merely fatigue. Yet she couldn’t quite ignore how his other hand came up to cover hers, just as it had before, warm, and oddly reassuring.

Lord Albert’s cheerful “Good night!” followed them into the hallway, where indeed the lamplight created more shadows than illumination.

The Duke moved with sure steps, clearly familiar with every inch of his home, while Penelope found herself drawing slightly closer to him than strictly necessary to avoid a shadowy piece of furniture. His fingers tightened briefly over hers, and she could have sworn that she felt him turn slightly towards her, as if to shield her from the darkness.

They climbed the stairs in silence, their footsteps muffled by thick carpeting. Lightning flashed through the tall windows, throwing their shadows against the wall in stark relief - his tall figure and her smaller one, moving in perfect synchronisation. At her chamber door, he released her hand with careful correctness, though Penelope felt the absence of his touch like a physical thing.

“I trust you will find everything you need,” he said, his deep voice somehow both formal and intimate in the shadowed corridor. “Should you require anything...” A particularly fierce growl of thunder cut off his words, and Penelope couldn’t quite suppress a small start of surprise. His hand came up automatically, as if to steady her, then dropped back to his side. “The storm sounds worse than it is,” he said quietly. “The hall’s architecture tends to amplify the thunder.”

“I am not afraid of storms, Your Grace.”

Yet even as she spoke, another thunderclap made her jump slightly.

“No?” That almost-smile touched his lips again. “Then perhaps you simply enjoy proving your bravery at every opportunity?”

“Perhaps I simply refuse to let fear rule my actions.” She met his eyes steadily. “Rather like someone else I know who rides out in storms to check estate drainage.”

Something shifted in his expression - a softening around his eyes, a slight relaxation of his usual severity.

“Touché, Lady Penelope.” He bowed with grave courtesy. “Sleep well.”

“Good night, Your Grace.”

She slipped through her door, closing it carefully behind her, only then allowing herself to lean against it as her heart raced with emotions she didn’t care to examine too closely.

Mary appeared from the dressing room, already prepared to help her undress.

“Are you well, my Lady? You look rather flushed.”

“It’s merely warm in the library,” Penelope said quickly, moving to the dressing table. “The fire was quite strong.”

“Mmhmm.” Mary’s tone suggested that she wasn’t fooled. “And did His Grace continue to be... correctly hospitable?”

Penelope caught her maid’s knowing look in the mirror and felt her cheeks warm further.

“He was... not quite what I expected.”

Thunder crashed again outside, and through the wall she heard the Duke’s firm tread moving away down the corridor. Her fingers trembled slightly as she removed her borrowed necklace, and she told herself firmly that it was merely the storm affecting her nerves.

Yet as Mary helped her prepare for bed, she couldn’t quite forget the way that his eyes had softened in the firelight, or how his hand had felt covering hers in the darkness.

*****

Morning light crept tentatively through gaps in the heavy clouds, illuminating puddles and debris left by the night’s storm. Penelope stood at her chamber window, watching as estate workers moved about the grounds with practiced efficiency, clearing fallen branches and assessing damage. Their coordinated efforts spoke of good management and clear protocols - something that shouldn’t have surprised her, given what she now knew of the Duke’s methodical nature.

A knock at her door heralded Mary’s arrival with breakfast.

“Good morning, my Lady. Mrs Thackeray sent up extra toast - she says everyone needs a proper breakfast after such a dramatic night.”

“How kind of her.” Penelope turned from the window, noting how the morning light made the room’s blue and cream furnishings appear even more elegant than they had seemed yesterday. The whole chamber spoke of feminine taste and attention to detail - clearly Lady Rosalind’s influence. “Though I hope that we won’t need to impose much longer.”

“Oh! I nearly forgot.” Mary set down the tray and produced a note. “This just arrived from home. One of His Grace’s men rode out at first light to check on things.”

Penelope broke the seal on her father’s note, warmth spreading through her chest at his characteristic consideration.

‘My dearest daughter,

All is well here, though we were quite concerned until His Grace’s messenger arrived last evening to inform us of your safety. The bridge remains problematic, but I am assured that it will be passable by afternoon. Until then, try not to vex your host too thoroughly.

With love,

Papa’

“I do not vex him,” Penelope muttered, then caught Mary’s raised eyebrow. “Well, not intentionally.”

“Of course not, my Lady.” Mary’s tone could have dried wet washing. “I’m sure His Grace always looks so... intense... when discussing estate management with young ladies.”

Penelope felt heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered the way that the Duke’s eyes had seemed to see right through her pretences during their discussions the previous evening. Before she could frame a suitable response to her maid’s impertinence, another knock sounded.

This time the knock heralded a young lady who could only be Lady Rosalind Cavendish.

Her entrance brought an immediate sense of warmth to the room, her natural animation providing a striking contrast to her brother’s severity. Though she shared the Duke’s dark good looks, her features held a liveliness that invited friendship rather than intimidation.

“Good morning!” She swept in with the confidence of someone completely at home. “I arrived home only a few hours ago. We had to leave the carriage the other side of the bridge, and I’ve walked up – the bridge was safe enough for one person, but not more – and really, I probably shouldn’t have done it… But I’m stubborn, and I wanted to get home. And now that I’ve changed, I simply had to come to meet you properly. I’m Rosalind.”

“Lady Rosalind...” Penelope began formally, but the other girl waved this away.

“Oh, please, just Rosalind. Anyone who can make my brother forget his rigid propriety enough to argue about estate management over dinner must be worth knowing properly.”

Penelope felt her cheeks warm again.

“You’ve already heard about dinner?”

“Albert told me everything when I arrived.” Rosalind’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “He said it was the most entertainment he’s had in months, watching Alexander try to maintain his dignity while being thoroughly challenged.”

“I’m sure His Grace’s dignity remained perfectly intact,” Penelope murmured, though she couldn’t quite suppress a smile at the memory of his almost-hidden reactions.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain.” Rosalind settled comfortably into a chair, arranging her morning dress with unconscious grace. “Albert says he actually almost smiled. Twice! Do you know, I can’t remember the last time anyone managed to provoke such a response from him? He’s been so... remote... since returning from the war.”

Something in her tone made Penelope look at her more closely. Behind Rosalind’s cheerful manner, she glimpsed real concern for her brother.

“The war changed many men,” Penelope said carefully. “And with your father and brother’s deaths coming so soon after...”

“Yes.” Rosalind’s animation dimmed slightly. “Sometimes I think Alexander tries to be both father and brother to me, as well as himself. As if he must somehow make up for everyone we’ve lost.” The moment of vulnerability passed quickly as Rosalind brightened again. “But come, you must tell me how you came to be here! Albert mentioned something about a damaged wheel?”

As Penelope explained the previous day’s events, she found herself warming to Rosalind’s genuine interest and quick understanding. The younger girl asked intelligent questions about the tenant families Penelope had been planning to visit, showing a clear grasp of estate matters that matched her brother’s, if expressed with considerably more animation.

“So you see,” Penelope concluded, “we really had no choice but to impose upon your brother’s hospitality.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you did!” Rosalind leaned forward eagerly. “It’s been an age since anyone properly challenged Alexander’s rigid views. Though...” she tilted her head thoughtfully, “Albert says you’re not nearly as impulsive as Alexander seems to think.”

“I try to be practical,” Penelope admitted. “Though your brother seems to believe that anything less than months of study constitutes reckless haste.”

“He wasn’t always so...” Rosalind paused, searching for the right word. “Controlled. Before Mother died, he was quite different. More like Papa, actually - decisive but not inflexible.”

Before Penelope could respond to this intriguing glimpse into the Duke’s past, a knock at the door heralded Jameson. The butler’s dignity seemed, if possible, even more pronounced than usual.

“Sir Lionel Fletcher has arrived, my Lady,” he announced to Rosalind. His tone suggested that he was announcing the arrival of something unpleasant found on the bottom of his shoe. “His Grace asks if you would join them in the morning room.”

Penelope didn’t miss the flash of displeasure that crossed Rosalind’s expressive face before being replaced by careful politeness.

“Please inform my brother that we shall join them shortly.”

“We?” Penelope asked as Jameson withdrew.

“Oh yes.” Rosalind’s smile turned decidedly mischievous, though something sharp lurked behind her playful tone. “I absolutely insist you accompany me. Sir Lionel can be quite... tedious... and I shall need support to endure his company.”

As they prepared to go down, Penelope caught Mary’s concerned look. Her maid clearly remembered the stories they’d heard about Sir Lionel Fletcher’s reputation for causing trouble among the local gentry.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured to Mary. “I’m sure it’s just a brief social call.”

But something in Rosalind’s carefully controlled expression suggested otherwise.