To Capture a Duke's Heart (3 page)

Pushing aside the disagreeable thoughts of Maryanne Houghton as he left the dowager’s side a short while later, Gabriel turned his consideration to the initial topic of their conversation. 
Was
he on the verge of making a dreadful mistake?  Would making Cecelia Penworthy his duchess lead to a lifetime of regret as Agatha had suggested? Like the majority of his peers, he had long viewed marriage as more of a business arrangement than a romantic union, a requisite obligation to ensure that his wealth and title were passed on to the next generation, his bride selected from a suitable, well-established family, a woman of refinement and breeding, groomed from the cradle to provide him with his heir, take on the management of his bustling household and assume her position within the ranks of Society. But was that really enough?  Did he need more?  Did he
want
more? Then again wasn’t that the reason that so many married men kept mistresses, to help satisfy those wants and needs that they lacked at home?

He thought back upon his parent’s union, an arranged marriage like most others within the aristocracy.  They hadn’t loved each other, his father having been some twenty years older than his mother when they’d wed, but there’d been a fondness between them that seemed to have grown stronger with time.  Even so, aside from him and his brothers they’d had very little in common, leading separate lives for the most part, his father pursuing his interests while his mother had pursued hers.  Had they turned to others to fulfil their emotional needs, taken lovers to fill the inexorable voids within their marriage, he wondered?  Was that the kind of marriage he wanted for himself?  Hell, he’d never really thought to question the matter before, but Agatha’s words suddenly had him thinking. 

As it was Gabriel had little time to ponder the matter further, for his brother came up to him a moment later, interrupting his silent reverie.

“So your lovely admirer is Beckford’s daughter, eh?” Rafael remarked as he reached Gabriel’s side. 

“It would appear so,” he replied, casting a quick glance across the room, searching through the crowd until his eyes settled upon Penelope Houghton a few seconds later.

“How very unfortunate,” Rafael lamented with a doleful expression, following the line of his brother’s gaze, “for she’s a tempting little morsel.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned his focus back to his brother.  “Tempting or not, that
little morsel
is a lady and the Earl of Beckford’s daughter.”  His tone held more than a hint of warning, for Rafael had a bit of a reckless streak and didn’t always think with his head, especially when it came to beautiful women.

“Relax, Gabe.  I’ve no intention of seducing the earl’s innocent young daughter,” Rafael responded laughingly.  “Besides, if you recall it was
your
pretty face that she was staring at so intently from behind the window glass, not mine.”

Michael joined them then, a glass of brandy held casually within his grasp. “Who was staring at Gabe’s pretty face?” he inquired, having missed the beginning of their conversation.

Gabriel emitted a sigh of irritation, but otherwise chose to ignore his brothers’
pretty face
comments.

“Beckford’s daughter,” Rafael supplied helpfully.  “It appears that it was
she
who was gazing so raptly upon our dear brother from the upstairs window this afternoon.” 

“Ah.”  Michael turned his head, scanning the room.  “Which one is she?”

Rafael cocked his head to the left.  “Over there, the beauteous redhead conversing with Lady Haliday and her daughter.”

Michael’s eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting upward as his gaze landed upon Penelope Houghton.  “Beckford’s daughter, eh?  Damn, that’s unfortunate,” he stated commiseratively, turning his focus back to Gabriel.

Rafael nodded in agreement. “My sentiments exactly.” 

Observing his brothers’ rueful expressions, Gabriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “Regrettable though it may be, I am fairly confident that I shall survive the weekend,” he replied sardonically.

“True,” Rafael acknowledged. “Although if the girl had been…say… an accommodating chambermaid perhaps, you undoubtedly would have
enjoyed
the weekend a great deal more,” he continued with a playful wink.

“Hear, hear.”  Raising his glass, Michael drained the remaining liquid and then handed it to a passing footman.  “You know, now that I think of it,” he said then, “I haven’t yet had the opportunity to say hello to the earl or to make his lovely daughter’s acquaintance.” 

Rafael turned to his twin with an eager smile.  “As a matter of fact, neither have I.”

“I say we rectify that situation at once.” 

“Agreed.”

And before Gabriel could think to gainsay them, his brothers were off and moving purposefully
through the assemblage.

From her seat at the Gilchrist’s immense, fully-laden dinner table, Penny looked up from her dessert, glancing once again toward the head of the table where the Duke of Ainsworth was seated to the right of Lord Gilchrist. Throughout the course of the long meal she’d tried desperately to keep her eyes from straying too often in his direction, but the man was like a loadstone, drawing her gaze with an irresistible pull.  Before long it wasn’t just his face that drew her attention, however, it was the manner in which he comported himself, poised and self-confident, yet seemingly devoid of the arrogance and haughty reserve one might expect from a man of his elevated position. 

Fascinated, she’d watched with increasing interest from her position midway down the length of table as he’d conversed with those seated around him, smiling and laughing throughout the past hour with a degree of genuineness too difficult to feign or sustain, his gregarious demeanor both unexpected and enormously compelling.  It was readily apparent, however, that she wasn’t the only person captivated by the duke as she’d noted a number of lingering female glances cast repeatedly in his direction during the past hour.

She was looking at him again, Gabriel noted, catching another of the furtive, sidelong glances from the periphery of his vision as he raised his crystal water glass to his lips.  Having received a countless number of those selfsame glances over the years he hardly noticed them anymore, especially those cast by young, fresh-faced innocents like Penelope Houghton.  Yet oddly enough he was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore hers.  Truth be told, the titian-haired beauty had lingered in his thoughts long after he’d spied her gazing down upon him through the castle window; but since their official introduction in the Cunningham’s drawing room, she seemed to all but consume them.  Perhaps it was his affinity for redheads, he reasoned, or the tempting lure of forbidden fruit.  Perhaps it was the combination of the two; he wasn’t entirely certain.  But whatever it was there was no denying that it had sparked his interest, that
she
had sparked his interest. 

Damn and blast!
  Mayhap it wasn’t only his rakehell brother who needed cautioning, he realized in sudden consternation.  And so, with a concerted effort, he directed his attention from the enticing Lady Penelope and back to his dessert plate.

“Lady Penelope?”

Penny started, turning her focus from the duke to the gentleman seated on her left.  “Do forgive me, Lord Wexley,” she said with an apologetic smile, “I’m afraid you caught me woolgathering.  What was it that you were saying?”

“It was nothing of significance,” the young viscount assured her with an understanding smile.  “I merely asked if you were enjoying the cranachan.”

“Oh yes, it’s delicious,” she replied, lifting her spoon to take another bite of the traditional Scottish dessert.  “Though the flavor is quite unlike anything I’ve tasted before.”

“Ah yes, that would be the whiskey.”

“Whiskey?”

He nodded.  “The oats are soaked in it, usually for several hours the night before,” he informed her.

“You’re familiar with the recipe?”

He nodded again.  “Indeed I am, for it has long been a staple at our family’s dinner table,” he stated with a grin. “My mother is half Scottish you see and raspberry cranachan has been her favorite dessert since childhood.  And while I fancy it as well, I have to admit that the old-fashioned Scottish petticoat tails are
my
personal favorite.”

“Petticoat tails?” Penny asked, regarding him curiously.

“Shortbread biscuits,” he clarified.  “They’re cut into triangles that fit together in a circle, much the same shape as that used to make a full-gored petticoat during the Elizabethan era.  The word for a pattern was a tally, so the biscuits became known as
petticote tallis
and eventually petticoat tails.”

“How interesting.”

“As a young lad I used to eat them by the handful and was forever being scolded by my governess for sneaking out of the schoolroom and down to the kitchen when she wasn’t looking.”

“Oh dear, you must have kept the poor woman on her toes,” Penny replied with a grin.

“Indeed, I did,” Lord Wexley agreed laughingly.  “In fact, she had a devil of a time keeping me in the schoolroom at all, especially when the weather was warm and the sun was shining; for I confess I was far more interested in climbing trees and chasing butterflies than sitting inside and studying my lessons.”

“Alas, boys will be boys,” Penny remarked lightheartedly.  “In fact I’ve little doubt that my younger brother, Charles, will be following a similar path in no time at all.”

Lord Wexley had proven to be a delightful dinner partner, Penny thought, as they ate their dessert and continued to converse, for he was intelligent, amusing, attentive and quite attractive as well.  Not as handsome as the duke, of course, but with thick, dark blonde hair, striking, hazel-colored eyes and lips curved upward in a seemingly perpetual smile, he was quite pleasant to look upon. Even so, the charming viscount failed to elicit even a tiny semblance of the overwhelming, visceral reaction she had experienced during her brief introduction to the Duke of Ainsworth, nor did she feel anything even remotely similar to the heightened sense of awareness she felt whenever her eyes alighted upon Gabriel Ashcroft.

With the meal concluded a short while later, Penny joined the other women as they made their way to the drawing room for coffee and tea, whilst the men remained behind to enjoy an after dinner port.  They would meet up again before long, however, as the Gilchrist’s had planned a musical performance for the evening’s entertainment.

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Penny said to Eleanor as they seated themselves upon one of the velvet-covered settees placed throughout the drawing room.  “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Yes, but I’ve never sung in front of such a large group before,” Eleanor replied anxiously.  “What if I’m dreadfully off pitch or my voice cracks or I forget the words.”

“You won’t!”

Eleanor shook her head, sending her brown ringlets bouncing.  “You can’t possibly know that.”

“
Yes
, I can,” Penny asserted, taking hold of Eleanor’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “I’ve heard you sing a number of times over the years and you’ve never once done any of those things.”

“But those were small gatherings with family and only a few close friends in attendance,” she responded worriedly, biting down upon her lower lip.

“Listen to me, Eleanor Cunningham,” Penny directed in a firm, no nonsense tone, “you are going to be fine.  You are going to sing just as brilliantly as you ever have before and you are not going to forget a single word.  Do you understand?”

Eleanor nodded, a slight smile curving her lips.  “Fine, if you say so then I shall try to have faith that all will go on without a hitch.”

Penny smiled confidently, giving her friend’s hand another squeeze.  “I
do
and it
will
.”

“Let’s discuss something else then, to help redirect my thoughts.”

Letting go of Eleanor’s hand, Penny lifted a teacup from the silver serving tray in front of them, handing it to Eleanor before taking a second cup for herself.  “Alright then, what shall we talk about?” she asked.  “Or should I say
who
shall we talk about?” she continued in a hushed voice.  “Michael Ashcroft, perhaps?”

“And why ever should we discuss him?” Eleanor queried, even as a faint, telltale blush slowly began to color her cheeks.

“I saw the way he was looking at you during dinner,” Penny whispered.  “He appeared quite taken with you.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened as she regarded Penelope anxiously.  “Do you really think so?” she asked, no longer feigning disinterest.

Penny grinned.  “It certainly seemed so to me,” she avowed.  “Just as it seemed that
you
were quite taken with
him
.”

Eleanor returned Penelope’s grin with a sheepish smile.  “I shall have to thank Mother for partnering us at dinner, for he was ever so pleasant and far easier to converse with than I would ever have imagined.”

“Was he?”

“Oh, my yes.  We discussed all sorts of things in fact, for he is exceedingly knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects.  But not only that, for surprisingly we share a number of common interests as well.”

“Ah.  So it
isn’t
just his devilish good-looks that have caught your fancy then,” Penny remarked with a playful waggle of her eyebrows.

“Yes, well, there is clearly no denying that he
is
ever so easy to look upon,” Eleanor acknowledged with an impish lift of her own, chestnut-colored brows, and then promptly raised her hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. 

“And what of you?” Eleanor asked after a moment, eyeing Penny intently.

“Me?” Had Eleanor noted her fascination with the Duke of Ainsworth at dinner?  Oh dear, had the duke noticed as well she wondered in dismay?

“Perhaps I’m mistaken, but it did appear as though you enjoyed being partnered with Lord Wexley.”

“Oh, yes.  Yes I did,” Penny replied, feeling no small sense of relief.  Perhaps her interest in the duke hadn’t been so obvious after all. “He’s quite charming and possesses a delightful sense of humor.”

“Hmm.”  Eleanor regarded Penelope with a contemplative expression.  “Is it me or does your tone reflect a decided lack of enthusiasm?”

“Does it?”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.  “Your rather lackluster response wouldn’t have anything to do with the Duke of Ainsworth, would it?”

Uh oh.
  “Don’t be silly.”  Turning away from her friend’s speculative perusal, Penny tried to appear nonchalant as she took a sip of her tea; but she could still feel the weight of Eleanor’s concentrated gaze as it remained fixed upon her. 

“Penny?”

As luck would have it, Penny was saved from responding to Eleanor’s prodding as Lady Gilchrist beckoned to her daughter a second later. 

“Eleanor, dear,” the countess called.  “Come tell Lady Hatton that amusing anecdote you shared with me the other day, the one about the humming bird and Mrs. Beavin’s new parasol.”

“Coming, Mother,” she answered, before turning back to Penny with a sigh.  “Honestly, she’s made me repeat that silly story at least a half a dozen times already.” Nonetheless, Eleanor set down her teacup and rose dutifully from the settee.  “We’ll have to continue our discussion later, I’m afraid.”

Though Penny nodded, she was secretly relieved to have been given a reprieve, at least temporarily, for Eleanor’s assumption was far more accurate than she cared to admit.  Not that she didn’t wish to confide in her friend, of course, but quite honestly she was wholly disconcerted by the astounding degree to which her brief introduction and subsequent observations of the duke had affected her.  Besides, it was rather embarrassing really, for it wasn’t as if anything would ever come of her silly, girlish fascination with the
ton’s
illustrious and assuredly most sought after bachelor.

It was only later, when the gentlemen had finished their port and joined the women for the brief trek from the drawing room to the music room that Penny noticed a small section of trim along the bottom of her gown had come loose and was now dragging upon the floor. 
“Oh blast!”
she muttered under her breath.  She must have trod upon her hem at some point during the evening.  Frowning as she studied the damage, she feared that the delicate stitching would only continue to unravel unless she saw to its repair as quickly as possible. However, with the musical performance soon to be underway, she doubted that she had enough time to summon one of the Cunningham’s maids to assist her with the task before it began.  It would likely be far quicker, she reasoned, to dash up to her bedchamber, fetch the needle and thread that Sarah had packed within her traveling case and mend the stitching herself; for while she was certainly no accomplished seamstress, she could easily sew a few, simple stitches to hold the trim in place until it could be repaired properly.

So, as the other guests made their way to the music room located on the second floor, Penny broke away from the group and hurried toward one of the rear stairways utilized by the Cunningham’s servants.  Fortunately she’d been to Gilchrist Castle several times before and knew her way around the immense stone dwelling, thus making it possible for her to reach her guest chamber far more quickly than she might have otherwise. 

As such, only a couple of minutes had passed before she was in her room and seated upon the vanity seat with her skirt hiked up to her knees. Then, with needle in hand, she quickly set about tacking the loose trimming into place.  It didn’t take long, and once she was finished she bit the end of the thread with her teeth and quickly stood up, dropping her hem to the floor and giving the folds of her skirt a few gentle shakes as she surveyed her handiwork.  Satisfied that the stitches would hold, she set the needle and thread on the vanity top and then hurried to the door.