The Duke's Quandary (6 page)

Startled, Drake settled into his chair and viewed his sister. “What makes you think that?” Either the girl was a mind reader, or she’d seen the man leave the house a short while ago.

“Because he gave every indication at Lady Eloise’s ball that he wished to pay his addresses to me.”

“And would that be unwelcomed?”

She flicked an imaginary piece of lint from her bodice. “To say the least.”

Drake sighed and sat back. “Well, he has just visited with me, and asked if I would permit his suit. And he seems like a nice enough fellow.” Drake hurried on when she scowled at him. “He’s not hard to look at, has an impressive title, and plenty of money. From what I understand, he is not a drinker nor does he gamble overmuch. A woman could do a lot worse.”

“A lot worse? Well
this
woman wants to do a lot better.” She narrowed her eyes. “Exactly what did you say to Seabright?”

“If you think I was foolish enough to accept his suit on your behalf without asking you first, you may ease your mind. If I’ve learned anything from my year as head of this family, it’s that none of my sisters are biddable.”

“Very good, Drake. There may be some hope for you, after all.” She flashed him a grin.

“On the other hand, sister dear, you are getting a bit long in the tooth.”

Abigail gasped and leapt to her feet. “I am not a bit long in the tooth. Take that back!”

Drake raised his eyebrows and smirked.

She took a deep breath and settled into her chair. “That was perhaps a bit juvenile. But, I am barely two and twenty. Hardly in my dotage.”

“All I wish to point out to you is that as the years progress and each new crop of young ladies appear, the offers will be less. And you have three sisters behind you. I need to get you all settled.”

“We’ve been through this before. I’m waiting for the right man. For someone who makes me feel that I am his whole world. Someone who will hold me in the highest regard, just like Father did with Mother. I want more than a
ton
marriage. I want love—and passion.”

Drake swallowed and ran his finger on the inside of his cravat. “I do not wish to discuss these matters with you. That is a conversation a woman should have with her mother.”

“Mother is not trying to foist me off on some addle-brained prig.”

“Very well. I will let Seabright know that you do not welcome his suit. You do realize this is the fourth gentlemen since Father’s death I’ve turned down on your behalf?”

“Fear not, brother, there will be more, I’m sure.” Abigail sailed out of the room, head held high. Before she was able to close the door, a loud crash sounded in the corridor.

“Oh my goodness. Penelope, are you all right, dear?” The duchess rushed past the doorway.

“Yes, don’t concern yourself, Your Grace. I’m fine.”

Drake raised his eyes heavenward.

…

The next morning—despite a slight drizzle making it a miserable day for a stroll—Drake pulled the brim of his beaver hat low over his eyes and set forth toward the garden to clear his head. He’d just experienced one of those moments when he simply had to get away from the women. As much as he loved his mother and sisters, a man could go completely daft trying to gather his thoughts while conversations about ribbons and new gowns swirled around him.

And gathering his thoughts had become a desire so strong, not even cool rainy weather would keep him indoors. Abigail’s refusal of Lord Seabright annoyed him. The man was titled, wealthy, assured Drake he’d give up his mistress when he married, and was a gentleman. What in heaven’s name would make his sister turn up her nose at the man’s offer?

Seabright was a good, solid, dependable man. And Drake had a niggling of fear that those qualities were precisely why Abigail spurned him. Not for her was solid and dependable; the girl was looking for love. Love! Look what love had done to Marion. Not only did he have four sisters to marry off, he had another who wouldn’t even leave her room.

A crushing sense of failure descended on him as he turned right and headed further afield. Small animals foraged for a meal before scurrying back to the warmth of their snug homes. Early summer flowers wilted under the weight of Mother Nature’s modest shower. Drake barely noticed these displays as he continued to muse on his responsibilities and how lacking he was in filling his father’s shoes.

A further concern was his search for a bride. Lady Daphne still presented the best candidate. Beside her grace and charm, she would be a good role model for his sisters to see how a true lady behaved. And she would also provide much needed guidance on how a young woman performed her duty to accept her place in life—marrying well and producing heirs. He could not imagine Lady Daphne holding out for something as foolish as a love match.

He didn’t want to complicate his life with a woman who wanted love. He needed someone to help him take over the responsibilities of the house, his life, and most of all, his sisters.

Mother was entirely too soft when it came to the girls. She only encouraged them in this silly notion of waiting for the right man. Indeed, as if some dunderhead would ride up on his horse and sweep his lady away to live happily ever after. His mother had read far too many fairytales to his sisters. It was time for them to grow up and away from such ideas and do what was expected of women of their station.

A movement to the left caught his attention. A slight figure hunched over in the garden, scratching in the dirt. Why in heaven’s name would the gardeners be out in this weather, when they could be working in the greenhouse or orangery? He stepped off the path to admonish the man. So intent was the gardener in his work he never heard Drake’s approach.

Leaning over the bent figure, Drake tapped the man on his shoulder. “Say, it would be a better idea to work indoors today.”

The man started at Drake’s touch and fell face-first into the mud.

“Oh, sorry there old chap, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Drake grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him up, sputtering and spitting clumps of dirt and leaves from his mouth. The gardener turned toward him and Drake’s eyes grew wide. “Miss Clayton!”

Chapter Nine

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Penelope wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, merely smearing the mud across her face. Her spectacles dripped muddy water, small brown drops landing in her lap. Her hair was plastered to her head since the brim of her bonnet hadn’t protected a good portion of her hair from the rain. She whipped her spectacles off and then blinked at him, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes.

He reached for her hand to help her to her feet. “Madam, you should not be out here in this weather, doing whatever it is you do.” He pointed toward the area she’d been digging in.

“I don’t mind the rain. It’s very soothing, and quiet.”

Perhaps the girl had been driven from the house for the same reason he now found himself facing her muddy countenance. She didn’t appear to be the type that wanted to flit about discussing sleeve lengths and hem ruffles.

And this was the second time he’d caused her a mishap. He’d never been clumsy in his life until Penelope entered it.

“It appears the rain has now strengthened, and since I’ve managed to get you all muddied up, perhaps I can escort you back to the house?”

“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” Penelope remarked just as the skies opened up and a deluge poured down on them, blocking out any response he would make.

Drake grabbed Penelope’s arm and headed them both to the orangery. Hurrying to get out of the downpour, he dragged her over the garden path, past the rose garden, and eventually to the structure. He opened the glass door of the rounded brick and stucco building, and escorted her through.

…

Water dripped from Penelope’s bonnet, to slither down her back in cold rivulets. Drake immediately left her side and strode to the small stove in the corner of the room. He shoved large pieces of wood into the belly of the stove and grabbed a flint from a shelf alongside the warmer. He lit a few pieces of the kindling he’d shoved underneath the wood.

Penelope stood the entire time, shivering, too cold to move.

“Take your cape and bonnet off before you catch a chill.”

“T-t-too l-l-late, I’m af-f-fraid.” Her mouth stiff from the cold, she barely got the words out. Who would have thought a little bit of rain, in the summertime, no less, would chill her this way?

Drake returned to her side, and helped her off with her light summer cape, while she untied the sopping ribbons of her bonnet with stiff fingers.

Her gown was moderately dry, but she still felt the cold all the way to her bones. She also sensed the mud left on her face was now drying into a mask. She must look a fright. “Is there water anywhere about? I would like to wash the dirt off.”

“Yes, of course.” Drake indicated a bucket sitting on a large gardener’s table against one wall, underneath a huge window. Streams of water washed down the glass as the rain continued to pound against the building.

Penelope walked with stiff legs, the bottom half of her wet skirts slapping noisily against her as she moved. She placed her shaking hands into the bucket, scooped out water, and splashed it on her face.

“Here, let me.” Drake dipped his handkerchief into the water and wiped her cheeks, returning the cloth to the water a few times before he leaned back and studied her. He held her chin with warm, strong fingers as he smoothed the dirt away. Close up like this, she didn’t need her spectacles to confirm that the Duke of Manchester was, indeed, a most handsome man.

His hazel eyes had specks of brown dotted throughout. His strong jaw was bisected by a deep dimple, making her wonder if it was painful to shave that area. Damp strands of brown and gold hair dipped forward, brushing his broad forehead. Busy with his work, he didn’t notice her studying his features. Thank goodness. She’d made a fool of herself with the man oftentimes enough without adding “gawking” to the list.

“All gone. And I do apologize again for startling you.” His slow easy smile caused her heart to do a double thump before it settled into a plain rapid cadence.

“That’s quite all r-r-right, Your G-g-grace. I have enough of my own accidents that I can forgive anyone els-s-se.”

“Here now, you’re still shivering. Come over to the stove and warm yourself.” Drake ushered her back to the stove, and then drew up a small bench. “Have a seat. You’ll be warm in no time.”

Clutching her spectacles to her chest, she took a place in front of the fire and leaned forward, sighing as the warmth flooded her body. The seductive scent of oranges filled the air, bringing to mind faraway places. Exotic destinations that she hoped to visit one day.

“May I be so bold as to suggest you remove your shoes and stockings? I’m sure you would warm up faster without them.”

“I don’t know. Would that be proper?” She hated not knowing exactly what she should or should not do. To Aunt Phoebe’s way of thinking, just about everything Penelope had ever done in her life was not proper.

“Well, there’s no one here but you and me, and if neither one of us tells, no one needs know. I’m just afraid you’ll never warm up if you leave them on. I could hear the squishing as you walked over here.”

“Very well.” She placed her spectacles on the bench alongside her and discreetly toed off her half boots. “You must turn your eyes, please.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Drake looked the other direction as Penelope quickly lifted her skirts and tugged down her stockings.

“Done.” She slid the boots closer to the fire, and placed the stockings next to them.

Drake returned his attention to her. “Why do you not wear your spectacles all the time? It seems you would avoid many accidents if you could see clearly.”

Penelope felt the heat rise to her face at his admonishment. “Lady Bellinghan often insisted I remove them. She said gentlemen do not pay addresses to ladies who appear to be a bluestocking.” She glanced away, embarrassed by her admission and his focus on the cursed glasses. “My odd pastime doesn’t appeal to most gentlemen, anyway, so I don’t really see how it matters.”

Drake covered her hand with his. “Penelope. Look at me.”

Taking a deep breath, she moved her head so she could look him in the eye.

“Perhaps some gentlemen would be put off by a young lady in spectacles, but would you want to consider a man who prefers a woman who walks into doors rather than one who wears something that helps her to see clearly?”

Although Drake’s words bolstered her, it didn’t change the fact that seeking the attentions of a gentleman did not factor into her life plans. “It matters not. I do not wish to consider
any
man. I have no desire to marry.”

His eyebrows rose. “Indeed? Then why are you here for the Season?”

“A very good question. I am here for a Season because Aunt Phoebe insisted. She and my trustee, Lord Monroe, conspired to send me to London.”

“With no desire to find a husband?”

“No. I do not believe I would suit as a wife.”

“Another one.” Drake leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling as if invoking the heavens.

“Pardon me?”

“Here is the way things are supposed to work.” He began counting on his fingers. “A young lady leaves the schoolroom and is presented to Society. She has her come out, and gentlemen begin to call on her. They take her for carriage rides—with a chaperone, of course—they send flowers, request dances—not more than twice at the same ball, mind you. Then after a period of time, one gentleman will be shown more favor by the young lady than the others. This chosen man will present himself to the eldest male member of the young lady’s family and offer for her. Said eldest male member then accepts the offer on the young lady’s behalf and—ding dong—wedding bells.”

“My goodness.”

“Indeed. I’ve known about this since I was in short pants. Everyone in the
ton
knows it, including my sisters, though they seem to have forgotten the procedure.” He regarded her with narrowed eyes. “And it appears you, too, have joined their ranks.”

Penelope sat in stunned silence. Drake appeared genuinely distressed that she did not wish to find a husband. Now that she thought about it, this was Abigail’s third Season, and since the twins had come out the year of their father’s death, this was their second time on the Marriage Mart. From what she had heard while shopping and visiting with his sisters, none of the girls were in a hurry to tie themselves to just any man.

Abigail had been adamant during a conversation with Penelope that she would never marry if she didn’t find a man to love, who would love her back. An intriguing concept. Penelope had always thought, as Drake had expounded on, that it was a young woman of the
ton’s
duty to her family to marry, and marry well.

Since Penelope had been raised in America, away from the rules and regulations of the
ton,
and had no parents anticipating her wedding day and future grandchildren, she’d never felt the push to marry. Until Aunt Phoebe had sent the letter which resulted in her sitting here, with the handsomest man she’d ever met, bemoaning the fact that the young ladies in his household had no desire to marry.

“My sister turned down another offer yesterday.” Drake’s comments broke into Penelope’s musing.

“Abigail?”

“Yes. And it was a good offer, too. I don’t understand her. She’s only a year or two away from being considered on the shelf.”

“I believe she is looking for love.”

Drake snorted. “Love. You see what love did to Marion.”

They sat in silence, the only sound that of the fire crackling in the stove. After a few minutes, Penelope noticed the sun was peeking over the trees surrounding the orangery. “Oh, look. The rain has stopped.”

“So it has.”

Penelope took a deep breath and asked the question teasing the back of her mind since they’d entered the orangery. “What about you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you not want to marry someone whom you love, and who loves you back?” Just asking that forward question had her palms sweating, but it seemed very important to know his feelings. His sisters had mentioned Drake was cold-hearted when it came to selecting a bride, but she wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

“Not at all. No. Never.” He shook his head and his jaw tightened. He remained silent for a while, and just as Penelope was about to retrieve her stockings and shoes so they could return to the house, he spoke.

“When I select a bride from the Marriage Mart, it will be someone who will be the perfect duchess. A woman who knows all the right things to do, and say. She will run my household with efficiency, and deal well with the staff. Our children will learn proper behavior, and,” he slid a glance in her direction, “know their place in society, and what their duty is.”

Penelope felt as if a lead ball had taken up residence in her stomach. Not that she ever thought this admirable man would have any interest in her. But to hear the description of his desired wife, and know how far removed she was from that ideal, depressed her. Why, she couldn’t fathom, since she’d not wavered from her intention to return to the country and continue with her science.

But there had been that kiss.

“It sounds like you’ve given this a great deal of thought, and for that I commend you.” She was amazed at the words that came out of her mouth. It appeared she now belonged among those who could say one thing and mean something else.

If the woman he was searching for was so different from her, why had he kissed her? Did every gentleman feel the need to kiss any young lady who allowed it? Did he think she was a woman of easy virtue? Certainly not, or he would have tried again, and it appeared thoughts of kissing her were far from his mind this morning. She sighed, not quite knowing why.

“Yes, well, I have.” He paused, and pulled out his pocket watch. “You had better put on your stockings and shoes so we can return to the house. I believe it’s growing close to luncheon, and the others will wonder where we are.”

Penelope bent and retrieved her belongings as Drake rose and headed to the door, looking discreetly out the window while she righted herself.

…

“May I have a word, dear?” The duchess poked her head around the door to the library.

“Yes, Mother, please come in.” Drake stood, and indicated the settee by the fireplace, where he joined her.

Her Grace settled herself, and placed her hands in her lap. “I understand Abigail has had an offer that she’s turned down.” She glanced at him and laughed. “Don’t scowl like that at your mother.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scowl. Well, actually, yes I did.” He scrubbed his face in frustration. “This is not the first offer I’ve turned down on her behalf.”

“I know, dear. And believe it or not, she is upset that you are unhappy with her. She indeed wants a husband, even though it doesn’t seem so. She’s often mentioned how thrilling it will be to be mistress of her own home, and have children one day.”

“She could have all of that in a short period of time if she accepted Lord Seabright’s offer.”

“Don’t you remember how often your father and I spoke of the importance of love in a marriage? Has all of that fled your mind since you’ve become duke?”

Drake leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I remember it well. And for years, I believed it myself.”

“But. . .”

“Then Father died, and I don’t know, things seem different now.”

“The only thing that is different is you are now the Duke of Manchester, which is something you’ve known your whole life would be yours one day.”

Drake hopped up and paced. “Yes. Exactly. One day. Years into the future.”

She studied him as he moved back and forth, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“You know life is precious and precarious. There was never any guarantee that you would have years to ponder the role. In fact, many never make it to their majority before they are thrust into their title.”

“Now you make me sound like a frightened child.”

“No, not frightened. Well, maybe a little bit. But I believe you are up to the task.”

“Father was so much the duke. He did everything right, knew all the answers.”

“No, my dear. He did not know all the answers, and did not do everything right.” She reached out to draw him back beside her. “I was witness to a few of his blunders. Especially in the beginning. You and Phillip had already made your appearance before your grandfather died. Being overwhelmed with his new duties, as well as being a good parent to you two, kept your father up late at night. Many times.”