The Duke's Quandary (4 page)

Chapter Five

Drake pushed aside the last of the correspondence needing his signature. Leaning back in his chair, he eased the cramped muscles in his hand and his thoughts wandered to Penelope, as they seemed to do far too often lately.

In a few days’ time, at Lady Millicent’s coming out ball, he would make sure her dance card stayed full. There were several young men he was aware of that would show her the proper respect, and might even deign to pay her court. He was sure there were many gentlemen among his acquaintances who would help to make the girl’s evening enjoyable. Of course, he would have to impress upon her, without causing the girl distress, that the evening might go better if she wore her spectacles.

A soft knock brought him from his reverie. Penelope pushed the door open and stopped at the entrance. “Am I disturbing you?”

At least she asked if she was disturbing him, unlike his sisters who felt free to just sail in anytime they chose. “No, not at all.”

She came closer to this desk, but didn’t look him directly in the eye. “I am in need of paper and Her Grace suggested I might find it here.”

“Of course.” He pushed back his chair and opened the center drawer. “How much?”

She shrugged. “Just a few sheets.”

“Letters to write?” He smiled at her.

She finally looked up, her face flushed. “No. I wish to do some drawings.” When he raised his brows in question, she hurried on, “Of my plants.”

“That’s quite interesting. Then what do you do with them?”

“I keep them in a journal. Along with notes about where I find the specimens, the quality of the soil. Things like that.”

Drake leaned back, his index finger and thumb cradling his chin. “My mother tells me your father was a fairly well-known botanist.”

“Oh yes. He was highly respected in his field. In fact, one time. . .”

He listened with half an ear, far more interested in how her face lit up when she spoke of her father. He imagined she must have adored the man. It must have been difficult for her to adjust to being alone. A young girl, without parents, suddenly forced to leave everything familiar.

But the keen intelligence in her eyes and the animation in her body fascinated him. He felt himself being pulled into her world. How wonderful it must be to love your work so much. Too bad such endeavors were closed to females. But women had their roles in life, just as men had theirs.

Penelope presented an entirely different person when she was speaking on a subject with which she was comfortable. The sweet, shy young miss became a vibrant scientist, anxious to share her findings.

“And that was why he received the award.” She looked at him expectantly.

Drake was embarrassed to realize he’d been so busy watching her that he hadn’t heard much of what she’d said.

“I am sure it was well-deserved,” he murmured.

“Yes.” Her smile mesmerized him.

The sunlight had captured the copper strands woven throughout the deep brown of her hair. His hand itched to pull out the hairpins and run his fingers through its shiny thickness. From here he could smell the scent of flowers that he remembered from their dance. Chagrined at being caught staring, he pulled his thoughts back and handed her the paper. “Are you in need of a pen?”

“No, thank you.” She seemed reluctant to leave, but when he made no further comments, she dipped slightly and turned to leave.

“If you ever need more paper, or anything. . .”

Penelope nodded and left the room. It took Drake some time to get back to his work.

…

The next day, Penelope took a spoonful of the delicious bergamot ice as she sat with the duchess and the other girls outside Gunter’s Tea Shop. The waiter had just delivered the frozen treats to them, a first for Penelope. The early spring air blew a soft breeze, adding to the chill from the ice. Even though it was cool outside, they’d decided to treat themselves to the delicacy.

“Are there still more purchases to be made?” Penelope directed her comment to Her Grace.

The duchess raised her eyebrows. “Surely you’re not tired of shopping.”

Penelope felt heat rise to her face. “No. I mean, well yes, maybe a little,” she finished lamely. Truth be told, she was very tired of shopping. Goodness, how much clothing did a girl need to get through the Season? There were morning gowns, walking gowns, tea gowns, ball gowns, dinner gowns, riding habits—the list was endless. And of course, matching bonnets, gloves, reticules, fans, shawls, slippers. Her head was swimming. All that money wasted, since she would never wear any of it again once she returned to the country.

“Perhaps Penelope is correct, and we’ve done enough for today.” The duchess smiled fondly at Abigail’s groan. “And the dancing master is due to arrive this afternoon. I think it’s time we started for home.”

The dancing master
. Another reason for Penelope to squirm. At least she hadn’t been subjected to the torture of practice with Drake again. But even the dancing master was losing patience with her, although he did try very hard to hide his annoyance.

Since the dancing debacle, she had tried her best to avoid Drake. At dinner, and whenever they met in the house, he was courteous and always the epitome of a gentleman, but he no doubt feared being stomped, spilled on, or crashed into. Every encounter in the corridors had her searching for a potted plant to hide behind, lest she inadvertently inflict pain on him in some manner.

Had she not been desperate for paper to continue with her drawings, she would never have sought him out in his library. But the encounter had been pleasant, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her work. At least he’d asked her some questions, which is more than what most people did. Even that brief conversation had her longing for her home and work.

“How long does the Season last?” Penelope blurted out the question before she even thought of it. Five brightly colored bonneted heads turned in her direction.

“My dear, it has just started. You will have a wonderful time, I promise. Why, most young ladies are nervous at the beginning of their first Season. Am I right, girls?”

Less than enthusiastic nods answered her. Mary cleared her throat. “Of course. I’m a bit anxious myself. And remember, we have each other.”

Somewhat mollified, Penelope smiled in her direction and then gazed at the passing scenery.

Mary might be a bit nervous, but I’m terrified.

The girls scattered when they returned from their trip. With the help of their lady’s maid, the twins planned to try various hairstyles. Abigail and Mary were slated for the dancing master. Penelope begged off with a headache. Both Abigail and Mary were as graceful as can be, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for the services of the dancing master.

But happy with her escape, Penelope hurried up the stairs and came to an abrupt halt as she almost plowed into Drake. “Oh, excuse me.” She veered back. He reached out and grabbed both of her arms before she landed on her bum.

“Hiding from someone?” He grinned as he glanced behind her. “Or are you being pursued by suitors already?”

Penelope shook her head and gulped. “No. No, not at all.”

Releasing her, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I heard my mother say the dancing master was expected. Surely you’re not hiding from him?”

She felt the heat rise to her face. But then he looked so amused, she giggled. “Yes.”

“You needn’t worry. It will come to you in time.” Then instead of excusing himself, he surprised her by asking, “How was your shopping trip?”

She did not think of Drake as someone who was interested in ladies’ shopping trips. She’d heard grumblings from him about his sisters’
modiste
bills, and assumed it was not a pleasant topic of conversation.

Yet, as he regarded her, there seemed to be genuine interest in his eyes. Perhaps because her bills were not being sent to him. However, one would think he’d be grateful that he’d avoided a collision, or relieved at not being dragged back into the drawing room to dance with her. A prudent man would be on his way before some other disaster befell him.

“Hopefully today was our last shopping trip.” She flushed as his eyebrows rose.

“Ah. I didn’t think any young lady felt she had enough gowns and folderols.”

She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, or serious. “Not me. I’d rather spend an afternoon shopping in a bookstore.”

“Indeed?”

Oh dear, now he would think she was a bluestocking, and Aunt Phoebe would be disgraced. But Aunt Phoebe wasn’t here, and Drake didn’t appear to be scandalized.

“To me there is no better way to spend a dreary afternoon than skimming the shelves of a bookstore. The smell, the feel of the leather and paper. Some of my most pleasant memories are of days with my father as we discovered new botany books.”

“And now, here you are, about to make your debut on the Marriage Mart.”

She was stunned to find her eyes filling with tears. Tears that apparently had not gotten past Drake’s notice. He pushed away from the wall and took her hands in his. “Are you still so unhappy here?”

Penelope swiped at her eyes. “Goodness, no. Your mother and sisters have been wonderful. I have never been around women much, but your family makes me feel, well, normal.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “What an odd thing to say.”

She flushed, once again reminded that she had very little in the way of social skills. “I mean, I never had a female friend, or even a relative. Truth be known, I am a bit overwhelmed by the number of feminine accomplishments your sisters possess.” Lord, why did she say that? She was making herself appear more and more foolish as they stood here. She should just excuse herself, run to her room, and climb under the bed.

“From my point of view, they seem to be very accomplished at adding to their wardrobes,” he said wryly.

Penelope warmed at his words when she realized they were again having an actual conversation. Without the terror of stomping on his foot, or in some other way causing him physical harm, she felt relaxed, actually enjoying their exchange.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowed, seeming to make a decision. “What do you say we take a trip into town one day this week and wander around a bookstore?”

She broke into a smile, happiness welling up within her. “Would you mind? I mean, I’m sure you have other things to do than escort me to a bookstore.”

“Not at all. I have been known to while away an afternoon in a bookstore, myself. And it would be beneficial to get away from the many ledgers and correspondence that take up too much of my time.”

“Well, if you truly don’t mind, I would love to visit a bookstore.” She felt like a little girl who had just been promised a sweet.

“Then it is set. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?” At her eager response, he added. “Two o’clock?”

“Yes, thank you so much.”

Drake nodded and headed to the stairs, leaving Penelope happy and confused at the same time. What in heaven’s name ever made him suggest they go somewhere together?

She headed toward her room, and then paused outside Marion’s bedroom. She tapped lightly, and waited until she heard a soft, “Enter.”

Marion closed the book she was reading and smiled. “Thank you for coming again. I felt the need for company.”

Penelope bit her lip to refrain from pointing out all the company she could desire was right outside her door. She closed the door softly and joined Marion on the settee in front of the fireplace. “I’ve bought something for you.” From her pocket, Penelope drew out a bright blue hair ribbon.

Marion automatically reached for it, running the satin through her fingers. “It’s lovely. Is it to match your gown?”

Penelope shook her head. “No. I bought it for you.”

The woman smiled sadly and laid the ribbon in her lap. “Thank you very much. I really appreciate the thought, but I’m still in mourning.”

“Perhaps one day you will not be.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. And my family members have tried as well, but I do not want to give up mourning. That way Tristan stays in my mind, and heart.” Marion leaned over and hugged Penelope. “But I will keep it, because you bought it for me. And I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

Penelope was amazed that half an hour had passed in pleasant conversation when a knock on the door drew their attention. Mary stuck her head in. “Here you are. Mother wanted to know if your headache was any better because the dancing master has finished with Abigail and me.”

Penelope felt her stomach clench. Marion cast her a sympathetic glance before directing her comment to her sister. “Sorry, Mary. Penelope just asked me for some headache powder. I was about to get it for her.”

“Oh. All right, then. Maybe next time. I’m off to join Sybil and Sarah.”

“Why did you say that?” Penelope asked after the door snapped close.

“Because I’m going to be your dancing master.”

“You?”

“Yes. I will be the dancing master, you will be the pupil, and you’ve no need to be nervous with me.” She stood and pulled Penelope up. “Because we’re friends.”

Chapter Six

Penelope studied herself in the mirror, a full grin emerging from a slight smile. The green silk gown, with the white lace overlay, brought out the copper highlights in her deep brown hair. Maguire had pulled it up into a topknot, leaving strands along her forehead and neck that she had curled with tongs. A deeper shade of green ribbon encircled her head.

With her long white kid gloves, dainty green slippers, and flowered fan dangling from her wrist, she felt like a princess. Would that she could conduct herself as a princess this evening, and not make a fool of herself in front of the entire
ton
.

“Here, Penelope, Mother said you should wear these tonight, because they go very well with your gown.” Abigail held out a lustrous strand of pearls and a pair of matching earbobs.

“I’m afraid something might happen to them.” Visions of the lovely necklace plopping into a glass of champagne and splattering her exquisite gown horrified her.

“Don’t be silly. Nothing will happen to them. There’s a very secure latch, and Mother’s worn them for years.” Abigail scooted behind her and fastened the clasp. “Here, put the earbobs in. I want to see how you look.”

Fumbling with the awkwardness of the gloves, it took her a few minutes to insert the earbobs.

“Penelope, you look like a princess.” Sybil swept into the room and came to an abrupt halt. “You’re beautiful!”

The heat rose to Penelope’s face at the open admiration. Never before in her life had she felt beautiful. She turned once more to the mirror and regarded herself with the addition of the jewelry. Indeed, the young lady staring back at her did not look a thing like the girl she’d observed for years.

I actually look like I belong.

“Her Grace wishes for all of you to join her in the library. She is almost ready. His Grace is waiting there for you.” Kingston, the duchess’s lady’s maid, stuck her head in the door, then quickly went on her way, a colorful shawl draped over her arm.

Sybil and Penelope gathered up their reticules and headed for the door.

“Oh, wait. I promised Marion I would stop in to see her before we left.” Penelope held back as Sybil continued down the corridor.

“I’ve already been to see her, so I will meet you downstairs.” Sybil waved before grasping the bannister.

After tapping lightly on the door, Penelope entered as Marion turned from where she stood in front of the portrait of Tristan. “Oh my, Penelope. Come in. You look beautiful.”

…

Drake went to the sideboard in the library and he poured brandy into a crystal tumbler. After swirling the amber liquid, he took a sip and headed to the window to stare out into the dark night.

Lady Millicent’s coming out ball would begin his campaign to find a bride. Not just any bride, but the perfect one. If he was to live up to his father’s memory, he needed a woman beside him who would never make a social blunder, would always say and do the correct thing, and would prove to the world that the new Duke of Manchester had indeed stepped up.

Slowly his sisters drifted into the room. Sybil and Sarah dressed in similar gowns of different colors, their excitement at the first ball of the Season palpable. They chattered on and on until he blocked out the sound. Within a few minutes, Abigail and Mary joined the group, and the noise of female laughter grew cacophonous.

“Are we all here?” The duchess entered, still tugging on her gloves. She looked around the room. “Where is Penelope?”

“She stopped in to see Marion. I thought she’d be down by now,” Sybil said.

Drake hesitated as he was about to take the last sip of brandy. “Marion? Why would she be with Marion?”

“Oh, she and Marion have become quite good friends.” Abigail stood and rearranged her skirts. “In fact, I think Marion’s been helping Penelope with her dance steps.”

“Indeed? And here I thought I was her favorite dance partner.”

Abigail snorted.

Drake frowned in her direction. “In any event, someone should fetch her. It’s time we departed.”

They moved to the entrance hall, the butler assisting the women with their shawls. Drake reached for his hat, then turned at a movement at the top of the stairs.

Two dainty feet in white slippers began the descent. Drake stared, mesmerized, as the scalloped hem of delicate lace over emerald green silk entered his vision. Slowly, more of the body emerged, teasing him with a pale green ribbon underneath modestly covered breasts. The image presented such a vision in loveliness that he sucked in a lungful of air and held his breath.

A long slender neck, with tendrils of reddish brown hair, lay gracefully against pale white skin. A lovely rounded chin, flushed cheeks, and green eyes with thick eyelashes behind spectacles, completed the tableau. He swallowed. His mouth was dry as a desert.

Penelope was stunning, the perfect picture of English womanhood. All peaches and cream, with a slight tilt to her plump lips that told him she knew she looked beautiful. She flashed him a smile, then hesitated as she whipped her spectacles off.

Terrified she would miss her step, he moved forward to take her hand, nudging Abigail aside, and sending her forward so she stumbled. Grabbing for his sister’s forearm with one hand, Drake grasped Penelope’s elbow with the other with such force that she missed the last two steps and tumbled straight into his arms in a flurry of silk and lace.

…

“Goodness, are you all right, dear?” The duchess’s hand flew to cover her mouth.

Penelope looked up into hazel colored eyes, losing herself in their depths. The scent of bay rum and starched linens drifted to her nostrils from where their bodies meshed. Heat radiated off Drake’s chest, and even through his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket, the warmth burned her skin. Strong hands spanned her entire back, holding her fast.

If there was any air to be had in the room, she had no idea how to access it. Her lungs seized and everything seemed to stand still, as if she and Drake stood in a painting, with his family viewing from a distance.

“Did you hurt yourself?” His voice lowered to a husky rasp.

His utterance broke the spell, and Penelope stared, horrified at her hands anchored on his shoulders, as if their bodies were preparing for a kiss.

“No.” She dropped her hands and moved back. “I’m fine. Thank you for catching me.” Then, mortified at once again proving to this man that she was as graceless as a newborn foal, she adjusted her gown, ignoring the heat that moved up her body to set her face ablaze. She stuffed her spectacles into her reticule and took a deep breath.

“For heaven’s sake, Drake, what were you doing? You almost shoved me into the wall.” Abigail tugged on her gloves and threw him a sharp look.

“Sorry. I, ah, well, it doesn’t matter. I do apologize.” He straightened his cravat, and looked around. “Well, then. I guess we’re ready to depart.”

The duchess herded the girls toward the door. Drake extended his arm to his mother, where she placed her fingers, and moved forward.

Thankfully, without assistance, Penelope made it to the carriage with no further mishaps and settled next to Abigail, across from Sarah and Sybil. The duchess and Mary rode in another carriage with Drake. Only too glad to be away from his disturbing presence, Penelope settled back into the soft leather and contemplated the evening ahead.

If she couldn’t even get down the stairs without a misstep, how would she get through an entire night where she would be expected to dance? Although, once she replayed the scene in her mind, it seemed Drake was the one who had caused the entire episode. Odd, that. She probably wouldn’t have stumbled if he hadn’t grabbed for her.

She laid her delicately painted ivory fan on her lap and thought of the evening ahead. The familiar knot of fear took up residence in her stomach. Oh, to be on her way back from this cursed ball, instead of heading to it. The other girls were chatty and excited, and Penelope felt as if she would likely toss up her accounts.

“You’ll do fine, Penelope. Don’t be concerned. Just relax and enjoy yourself.” Sybil reached across the distance, and patted Penelope’s hand.

Penelope attempted a smile. “I’ll try.”

“Good. We know you can do it. You look lovely, and the gentlemen will be anxious to make your acquaintance.”

If that was supposed to calm her, Sybil could not have chosen anything worse to say. Visions of tripping her way around the ballroom while everyone looked askance heightened her terror to the point where she had to fight the desire to beg them to let her out of the carriage.

Once they arrived at the Mayfair section of London, it took their carriage more than twenty minutes to move slowly up the queue until they finally rolled to a stop in front of Yardley House. A footman opened the door, and helped the ladies out. Penelope stepped down, thankfully not tripping, and then stared in wonder at the brightly lit home rising in front of her.

Hundreds of candles must have been burning to create such a wealth of brilliance. Ladies and gentlemen, dressed in silks, satins, and the finest lace, strolled toward the front entrance, where two footmen stood. Feathers decorating ladies’ coiffures waved in the slight breeze, mixed in with jeweled turbans, and men’s elegant top hats.

I don’t belong here. These people are the upper crust of society, peers of the realm. Lord, how will I get through this night?

“Surely you’re not thinking of fleeing?” Drake’s deep rich voice murmured in her ear, startling her from her reverie.

She stiffened her spine. “Not at all. I am looking forward to this.” Hopefully God would not strike her dead for such a blatant lie.

“Good.” He turned to his mother and extended his arm. “It appears we are all ready.”

After two long hours of preferring to melt into the wall, Penelope spotted Drake as he maneuvered his way through the crowded ballroom to drag yet another gentleman to her. He’d been presenting men all evening. This one looked like he wasn’t even old enough to shave. He kept licking his lips and taking deep breaths, apparently as nervous as she was.

Having had her feet stomped on a number of times, she was no longer afraid of the dance floor. What she wanted more than anything was a stroll outside to avail herself of fresh air. The scent of candlewax, ladies’ perfumes, and so many overdressed bodies pressed together had given her the headache.

“Miss Clayton, may I make known to you Ellis, Viscount Dunbar.”

Penelope gave a slight curtsy and smiled at the young man.

“Dunbar, this is Miss Penelope Clayton. She’s staying with my family for the Season.” Drake clapped the viscount on his shoulder, almost knocking him off his feet.

“How do you do, Miss Clayton.” Dunbar bowed and peered into her eyes in a rather disconcerting way. “May I hope there is room for me on your dance card?”

Her hands fumbled with the little piece of paper dangling from her wrist. “I believe so.”

Continuing to stare, he waited patiently until she had turned the dance card the correct way. Then he wrote his name, and again bowed. “I will see you after the next four numbers. Now I must seek out Miss Pendelton for our dance.”

…

Drake watched the viscount make his way through the couples returning from the last dance. He mentally brushed his hands together and was now done with Miss Clayton. Over the past hour, he’d introduced so many potential suitors to the chit that he’d lost count. Each time he brought another man over she grew paler.

The few times he’d observed her on the dance floor, she’d seemed to acquit herself well. A few missteps and stumbles here and there, but nothing too horrible. As he’d presented the last man, he’d noticed Lady Daphne arrive with her parents. Fashionably late, as always.

“Are you having a good time?” Perhaps a bit of conversation would calm Penelope so he could be on his way.

“Yes. It’s lovely.”

“You seem to be in favor with the gentlemen.”

“Perhaps you dragging them over here by the scruff of the neck may have something to do with that, Your Grace?” Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Drake flushed. Despite her shortcomings, the girl did have a sense of humor, having no problem poking fun at herself. “Yes, well then, if you will excuse me, it appears Lord Grave is on his way to claim his dance.”

After nodding to Grave, and watching him guide Penelope to the dance floor, he turned his attention to where Lady Daphne stood with her mother. He’d never cared for Lady Sirey. The woman always struck him as very snobbish, even for a member of the
ton.
It was as if she approved of no one below a duke. Since Drake had his eye on her daughter, it was a good thing he fell into her circle of acceptable personage. He oftentimes wondered why she had consented to marry Sirey. As a viscount, he certainly qualified as a peer, but it did not seem high enough in the instep for his wife.

No better time than the present to put his plan into action. Pulling on the cuffs of his jacket, he headed toward Lady Daphne and the gentlemen already surrounding her, begging for dances.

“Why, Your Grace, how nice of you to join us.” Lady Daphne’s cool, controlled voice rose above the chatter of the gentlemen vying for her attention.

“My lady. You are looking splendid this evening, as always.” Drake bowed and kissed her extended glove-covered fingers. “May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? A waltz perhaps?”

“It seems the supper waltz is available, Your Grace.” She eyed him under her thick lashes, a welcoming smile teasing her ruby lips.

Several men groaned, apparently having already planned to ask for the coveted supper waltz.

Drake wrote his name on the card and took his leave. He had no intention of hanging around her, panting like a puppy, as the others did. No need to join the group acting like schoolboys.

He spent the next two hours observing his sisters, and writing his name on a few other suitable ladies’ cards. No need to restrict himself until he’d made a definite decision. He smiled as he watched his sister, Mary, surrounded by a gaggle of men, apparently in her glory, her fan waving furiously as she laughed at something one of the young pups said.