The Duke's Quandary (9 page)

Wrapping a mantle of pride about her, she rose to leave the room. At the door, a quick glance back revealed Drake reaching for his pen, busy once again with his papers.

…

With a firm click, the door closed. Drake returned the pen into its holder and sat back, his fingers tented and resting against his lips. So the little scientist managed to get his sister out of her room and actually outdoors? The combined efforts of all in his family had not budged Marion in two years. Yet Penelope had accomplished that in only a few weeks. There was something about her that touched him in a place he’d been avoiding since Father had died. Something soft and comfortable.

If that’s so, why do you become hard and uncomfortable when she’s up close?

How he wished it was merely physical attraction he felt for Penelope.
That
he could handle—and dismiss. He’d had control over his carnal urges for many years now. But something else about her had pulled at him from the very beginning.

There was so much regarding the young woman to admire. Her strength, kindness, and caring. And her intelligence, remembering the book he’d caught her reading, and her knowledge of the plant life in his own garden. She would truly be a wonderful wife and mother. For someone other than himself, that is. He needed poise and sophistication, so whatever it was that made him forget himself when they were alone needed to stop.

In any event, it bothered him that someone had been making fun of her last night. His mother had refused to say who the guilty party had been, but he would keep an eye out at Lord and Lady Wetherby’s ball tomorrow evening.

It didn’t sit well with him that a young lady under his family’s protection would be the subject of ridicule. She might not be sophisticated or socially adept, but she had a good heart and deserved to be treated with respect. Look what she’d already done for Marion.

A knock at the door drew his attention. His secretary, Mr. Gladstone, entered with the morning post. It was time to put aside these distractions and get some work done. He waved the man into the seat Penelope had vacated and reached for the mail.

Chapter Twelve

Drake helped Penelope into the phaeton, then walked to the other side to climb in. His matched pair of Cleveland Bays stood at the ready, tossing their heads, anxious to be off. Since the weather was pleasant, he had decided to take the smaller vehicle and drive himself. With it being an open carriage, there was no need for the maid, so the two of them set off under sunny skies.

All in all, it had been a productive day thus far. He and Gladstone had gotten a great deal of correspondence out of the way. Drake patted his pocket to assure himself the papers he needed to discuss with Lady Bellinghan were secure. He cast a glance at Penelope, amused at what her reaction was likely to be when he presented them.

He could have had a messenger deliver the papers, with a short note to the woman for her perusal, but the matter was best discussed in person. When Penelope had mentioned she wanted to visit with her aunt, the idea had entered his head almost of its own accord. So here they sat, side by side, heading toward Mayfair.

The slight flush on Penelope’s face was quite becoming. Her hair had been pulled up into a loose topknot, from which soft strands fell, tickling her cheeks as the slight breeze teased them. “I do so love being outdoors. Just look at all the greenery and lovely flowers.” She took a deep breath, and grinned at him. “Isn’t it a magnificent day?”

He nodded, caught up in Miss Clayton’s almost childlike enthusiasm for the simple things in life. It gave her a charm most ladies of the
ton
would pay a king’s ransom for.

“I see you’ve decided to wear your spectacles.” Drake eased their way into the crowds heading toward an afternoon ride in Hyde Park. They would pass through the park and continue on to the east edge and Mayfair.

“Yes, and I must thank you for that. It never occurred to me that the very thing Aunt Phoebe cautioned would discourage young men is exactly what I should be doing. Now I can see clearly, and the gentlemen will avoid me.” She cast him a smug smile.

“And what of the gentlemen who would not be put off by your spectacles?”

She dismissed him with a shake of her head. “Oh, I doubt there are any of those.”

“I don’t know. I rather like your spectacles. I think they fit your persona.” Indeed, they did fit her. Instead of making her look studious, or like a bluestocking, she came across young and refreshing. Or perhaps it was her personality. It cheered him to see how relaxed she was with him. Maybe he was growing on her. Or her on him. A frightening prospect, that.

Apparently choosing to ignore his half-compliment, she smiled softly, then ducked her head and fiddled with her reticule.

Drake tugged the ribbons wrapped around his fingers, guiding the horses into the park. Being the fashionable hour to ride on Rotten Row, they were soon surrounded by slow moving carriages, their occupants calling to others strolling along or riding. “I should have circled the park instead of going through it. I’d forgotten this was the time for London to revere itself.”

“My goodness. So very many people are out admiring the plants and flowers.” Penelope’s neck twisted as she took in the hordes of riders and walkers.

Drake chuckled. “No. These people have come to see and be seen. They have very little, if any, interest in their surroundings. Now is the time to show oneself off, and hear
on dits
to fuel the gossip mill.”

“Truly?” Penelope looked heartbroken, as if someone had stomped on her favorite flowers. “How sad that they prefer gossip to nature’s wonders.”

“Manchester!” A shrill feminine voice grabbed his attention before he was able to respond to Penelope’s comment. He groaned slightly as an open carriage bearing Lady Sirey and two of her compatriots, Lady Nelson and Lady Beauchamp, along with their daughters, headed toward them, causing him to pull up on the ribbons, less the phaeton crash into them.

Amidst the giggling and fawning of the ladies, young and old, Lady Daphne sat serene and aloof, a picture of the quiescent lady. Her blond hair was swept back into a chignon, anchored severely at her neck. Her carriage gown was pale blue, covered by a spencer in a deeper shade, studded with tiny pearls. A confection that he was sure she called a hat rested on one side of her head. She protected her alabaster skin with a delicate white parasol that she twirled lightly. She cast him a practiced smile.

Mentally, he compared the woman he felt would be his perfect duchess to the one sitting alongside him. Penelope was everything Lady Daphne was not. Enthusiastic and ingenuous, with a keenness for simple things. Very much like his mother. But not, he assured himself, someone he would want to hold the title of his duchess.

He immediately felt guilty, remembering the fun times in his childhood because of Mother’s keenness for simple things. After all, how many duchesses went sledding with their seven children? Or rescued stray puppies? Or organized games for the village children? Confused at where his thoughts were taking him, he almost missed Penelope slipping from the carriage. “Where are you going?”

“Right over there.” She pointed toward a clump of bushes. “I want to see that plant closer up.” She clutched her skirts in her hands and hastened away, her bonnet sliding from her head, the ribbons holding it fast, allowing it to bounce on her back with each step.

Drake’s head snapped around when he heard a giggle from Lady Sirey’s carriage. Lady Nelson’s hand covered her mouth, apparently pretending to disguise her laugh at Penelope’s actions. She looked pointedly at the other two mothers, and then at the girls until all were ducking their heads, hands covering their grins. Except Lady Daphne, who merely cast an indulgent smiled as if observing the actions of a young child.

Annoyance rose in him. Was this yet another group of ladies who would make Penelope’s life unbearable as she moved about in Society? A flash of discomfort settled in his stomach at the thought that perhaps it was this group who had tagged her “Clumsy Clayton” as his mother had mentioned.

“Your Grace, might we expect to see you this evening at Lord and Lady Hingham’s musicale? My daughter will be singing, and I’m sure you will be delighted at her performance. She has such a sweet voice. It’s been commented on many times.” Lady Sirey leaned forward as she patted Lady Daphne’s hand.

“I expect so, my lady. I believe my mother mentioned attending, and I will be escorting the ladies.”

“Do you sing, Miss Clayton?” Lady Beauchamp smirked at Penelope, as she attempted to climb back into the phaeton, clutching a small plant, its roots dangling. Drake wrapped the ribbons around the dash rail and quickly took her arm to help her up.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid not. Although I enjoy singing, Father always said I sounded like an injured hound.” She pushed her spectacles further up on her nose and settled herself next to Drake, carefully placing the plant at her feet.

Her bonnet still swung from her neck, and a tiny smear of dirt besmirched her chin. But her smile was bright and genuine.

“Will you be attending tonight’s entertainment as well, Miss Clayton?” Lady Nelson’s eldest daughter, Lady Matilda, smirked. The girl now faced her fourth Season without an offer. Although not bad looking, her caustic tongue and prickly personality had driven away more than one potential suitor.

After each unsuccessful Season, her father had raised her dowry. Rumor held that Lord Nelson would not allow his younger daughters to accept offers until he had Lady Matilda off his hands.

…

Penelope hesitated to answer the girl’s question. If Aunt Phoebe agreed to her request, she hoped to be on her way back to the country by the time the musicale took place tonight. She just had to be successful. Even now, this short carriage ride to see her aunt had displayed, quite publicly, how poorly she conducted herself.

Not considering the consequences, she’d alighted from the phaeton to investigate the unique plant. She should have realized her actions would not be well received by the women grinning at her from their carriage. All of them looking perfectly put together. And most likely she’d again embarrassed Drake.

Stiffening her spine and raising her chin, she decided to take the high road. “If Her Grace and the girls are attending, then I will be there as well.” Even if Aunt Phoebe agreed to let her return to the country, most likely she wouldn’t be able to leave until tomorrow, anyway. She would not show her discomfort in front of these women. They meant nothing to her.

But Drake, and his opinion of her, did matter a great deal. She slid her gaze to him. He was watching her with a slight twitch of his lips and a twinkle of respect in his eyes. Thank goodness she had finally done something he approved of. Besides wearing her spectacles.

“Ladies,” Drake tipped his hat, “I’m afraid Miss Clayton and I must be on our way. We are late for an appointment with Miss Clayton’s aunt, Lady Bellinghan.”

“Lady Bellinghan is your aunt, Miss Clayton?” Lady Beauchamp’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes, my lady. She was my late mother’s sister.”

“Indeed? Your aunt and I had our coming out the same year. I haven’t seen her in quite some time. Is she well?”

“Somewhat. Due to health issues, she doesn’t move about in Society any longer.”

“Be sure to give her my regards. Does she still have calling hours?”

“I’m afraid not.” Her words were lost as Drake moved his vehicle forward at the insistence of the driver behind them.

He grinned at her as they once again continued their way around the park. “What is it on the floor there?” He nodded at her plant.

“It’s a specimen I’ve seen only a few times before. I want to study it further, and it just seemed like a good opportunity.”

Drake reached over and ran his thumb over her chin. Startled at first, she realized he was wiping something from her face. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and again rubbed her skin. “Soil,” he mumbled.

Drat, she hated her reaction to his touch. Although they seemed to have come to some type of understanding—a friendship of sorts—it would do her well to remember his stated desire to marry the perfect woman. Certainly not anyone like her. And she would’ve had to be blind not to see the speculation in Lady Sirey’s regard a few moments ago.

The viscountess wanted him for her daughter, and Penelope had to concede Lady Daphne was exactly who Drake seemed to want. Perfect. Graceful. Charming. All the things she was not—and would never be. She pulled her bonnet back onto her head, and attempted to dust the dirt off her gloves.

About fifteen minutes after leaving the ladies, Drake brought the phaeton to a stop, tossed the ribbons to the stable man, and jumped from the vehicle. A footman hurried from the front door of Lady Bellinghan’s townhouse to assist her from the phaeton.

“Do you wish to bring your plant with you?” Drake asked as he extended his arm to her.

“Would you mind terribly? I hate to leave it out here in the elements.”

His eyes twinkled. “Yes, indeed. What would have happened to it in the park if you hadn’t performed your rescue?”

Realizing what a silly thing she’d just said, Penelope glanced sideways at him, and within seconds they were both laughing.

“Good afternoon Miss Clayton. Her ladyship awaits you in the drawing room.” Mason greeted them as they passed through the brightly painted blue door, surrounded by carved cherubs. It always amused her that Aunt Phoebe, with her strict adherence to proper decorum, would have such an untraditional entryway.

Drake handed his card to the butler, who glanced down, then bowed. “Your Grace.” He took their things, and then addressed the young footman. “Please announce His Grace, Duke of Manchester, and Miss Clayton.”

The footman led the way upstairs. Penelope preceded Drake, who steadied her with a sure grip on her elbow. Now that she faced the ordeal of requesting to be sent home, Penelope found her palms sweaty and her stomach doing a waltz. Another problem was how to find time to speak with her aunt while Drake looked on.

Something inside her rebelled at the idea of him bearing witness to her begging like a scared child. But after last night’s debacle, and especially after the two kisses that still had her confused, the quiet and solitude of the country were very appealing. And she doubted she would be able to stand by and watch him court, become betrothed to, and then marry someone so very different from herself. Not when her heart was slowly becoming engaged. The time had come to stop the nonsense.

“My dear, so pleasant to have you visit. And Manchester, I am honored.” Aunt Phoebe rose from her place on the settee, looking much better than she had when Penelope had visited her after her arrival in London. Today she wore a flowing, dark purple gown over her ample figure. A lavender ribbon encircled her mobcap.

Her aunt directed them to a grouping of blue and white striped chairs, arranged around a low table holding cups, saucers, a teapot, and a tray of small sandwiches and pastries. “Please have a seat. Penelope, will you pour, my dear?”

With less than nimble fingers, Penelope reached for the teapot and poured three cups, thankfully without blundering. Once she fixed everyone’s tea with cream and sugar, and passed the sweets tray, she placed a strawberry filled biscuit on a plate for herself. Aunt Phoebe and Drake had conversed the entire time on the weather, earning Penelope’s thankfulness. Things seemed to go much smoother for her if no one scrutinized her every move.

“Penelope, I see you’re wearing your spectacles in company.” Lady Bellinghan pursed her lips.

“Yes, Aunt, I see much clearer with them on.” Oh dear, she didn’t want to visit this subject again. But the look on the woman’s face didn’t bode well for letting the matter slip by.

Aunt Phoebe tittered and turned to Drake. “Penelope doesn’t seem to understand that the nasty things are not a fashion accessory.”

Drake placed his cup on the saucer, his eyebrows furrowed. “Perhaps you are correct, my lady. But one wonders if crashing into furniture is fashionable.” He flashed a smile that had no doubt charmed females since he’d been in leading strings.

Penelope’s insides warmed, even though the smile was not directed at her. The sunshine from the French door caught his golden strands of hair, mixed with light brown, falling over his broad forehead. Her gaze slid to his slightly parted lips, which had covered her mouth so softly, bringing flutters to her stomach. Even now, sitting here in this room with Aunt Phoebe, he tied her into knots.