His Wild Duchess (Fate & Circumstance #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ L ady Penelope!”

On the back side of Egerton Manor, Penelope dropped her horse off at the barn with the stablehand, giving her mare a warm hug around the neck before departing. She usually preferred to wind down alongside her mare, Fiona, by brushing her hair and feeding her by hand. It helped their bond to grow into something trusting and dependent. But on this day, Penelope had already promised her mother she’d assist in redecorating the Manor for the new season. The thought alone made Penelope’s skin crawl. The longer she could avoid it, the better.

Once alone, she yanked off her riding boots, running barefoot on the hot earth. Sweat trickled down her brow as she opened the back doors to Egerton, and even a few stray leaves wafted to the floor. Most days, she always returned home with a piece of nature tangled in her lengthy hair, twigs and leaves poking out like a thorny crown.

Freezing in her tracks, Penelope flinched, slowly turning to face the wrath of a perturbed housekeeper. “Mrs. Daughtry!” she gasped.

“Look at these floors!” Mrs. Daughtry gestured towards the dirt and grime that smudged onto the tile from Penelope’s feet. She waggled her finger irritably in her face. “I told them! I told those groundskeepers that they’ve got to plant something over that path you made out there. All it is now is dirt and mud from your mare’s feet!”

She and Fiona had made a path around Egerton Manor, and from how often she rode, the grass was no longer able to grow over the bare earth. Though she looked upon it with pride, she wouldn’t dare let Mrs. Daughtry see it. “Promise you won’t tell Mother!” she pleaded. “I’m going to head upstairs in just a few minutes!”

“After all these years, and you’re still trying to get me to lie to the Lady of the house!” Mrs. Daughtry, inexplicably tall and narrow, quickly stormed up to her, swiping at the leaves and twigs that decorated the floor. “Why can’t you behave like other respectable young ladies?”

“How can I when there is a world of wonder right outside our doors?”

“There is a world of wonder in London, Lady Penelope!” Mrs. Daughtry sighed, tossing the leaves out the door. “Which is something you’d know if you attended the societal seasons in the heart of the city.” When she turned back to Penelope, there was only pity on her wrinkled face. “Why must you insist on being a spinster?”

“Feeling bold today, aren’t you, Mrs. Daughtry?”

“Don’t act as if you don’t enjoy it,” the housekeeper grumbled, wiping her hands over an apron.

“Summer at Egerton Manor is like heaven to me,” Penelope said, turning to steal a glance back out the window. “When the weather is perfect like this, it almost feels like an insult to not go out and enjoy it.” She smiled at Mrs. Daughtry. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Lady Penelope, I understand that you believe that.” Mrs. Daughtry shook her head at her, letting out a pitiful sigh. “Take a look in the mirror, and see how your heaven as changed your very face.”

Penelope crossed the room to meet herself in the mirror, and glistened with pride. “I see nature left its phantom kiss along my skin, showing the world that there is only one being I belong to.”

“And what would that be?”

“Why, the wilderness of course,” Penelope mused. She traced her fingers along the freckles that sporadically appeared across her face like constellations, as her mother liked to so graciously point out. “And I quite like the color of my skin now, in truth. It has a lovely amber tint, quite rustic. Like tea that has barely steeped.”

Even her hair, once a chestnut brown, grew red in the sunlight, the ruddy glow remaining even indoors. She pulled her eyes away from the mirror, not wishing to appear vain. “My days in the sun have allowed me resistance to its stare, Mrs. Daughtry,” she teased

“That is hardly the point.” Mrs. Daughtry pressed her lips together impatiently. “A letter arrived today from Her Grace, your sister.”

Penelope looked away so she could secretly roll her eyes, frustrated that the conversation always had to change to her older sister. “Alicia can send all the letters she wants. It won’t change anything.”

“I figured. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Penelope gazed around the room. “Dear Mrs. Daughtry, where are my -”

“Beasts?” the housekeeper frowned at her, obviously annoyed. “Around the Manor somewhere. Poor Henry took them out while you rode.”

“Henry? The boy is terrified of dogs!”

“Well,” Mrs. Daughtry shrugged, “it was his turn.”

Penelope couldn’t help but laugh. “They are rather tame. I’m sure Henry is doing well with them.”

“You can call them tame, Lady Penelope, because they are obedient with you.” Mrs. Daughtry looked away, lips pressed together in a firm line. “For the rest of us, however…”

“You practically raised them as much as I,” Penelope argued.

“Doesn’t change the fact that they sneak food like minxy little children! Just last week, hunters came back with the plumpest rabbit you’d ever see,” Mrs. Daughter exclaimed, a dramatic hand over her chest. “When it was roasted, the smell was divine. Unlike anything else.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which it seemed the dogs believed as well.”

Penelope giggled, imagining her loyal hounds working together to steal the rabbit for them all to share. “I’ve always told you,” she said. “They’re quite smart.”

Mrs. Daughtry waved an impatient hand at her. She handed over Alicia’s letter, the waxen seal still and unbroken. The words “Garvey Manor” were written in delicately neat script on the back. “Perhaps you could read it to Lady Egerton? I’m sure it would brighten her day.” The housekeeper turned, adding under her breath, “and soothe some of her anxieties.”

Walking to one of the round dining tables that sat in the afternoon light, Penelope snagged a glistening red apple from a basket at the center. She tossed it in the air, catching it with her other hand. “What on earth would we ever do without you, Mrs. Daughtry?”

“Starve,” the housekeeper muttered as she started to walk away. “Die of thirst. Live in the woods like a bunch of dirt-covered animals, to name a few possibilities.”

Penelope laughed, as loud and boisterous as any man. The sound bounced off walls and filled the room. She tossed the apple again before sinking her teeth into its skin. A burst of sweet juice filled her mouth, the apple’s crisp flesh almost melting in her mouth. Hours in the sun left her feeling dehydrated and empty, and the apple felt worth its weight in gold.

It was one of the many pleasures of living beside nature. No matter how tired she became from her exercise or the sun’s heat alone, the moments afterward of rest and leisure felt more gratifying than ever before.

Crossing the room, Penelope munched on her apple, still holding her dirtied boots. She’d place them in the foyer for one of the footmen to pick up and get cleaned before heading to her room for a bath. Lady Egerton probably waited impatiently for her now but would never accept one of her daughters showing up covered in dried mud and grass.

In the foyer, Penelope set her shoes down beside the rest, ignoring the dirt that fell onto the floor when she did so.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Penelope paused. She was only a few feet away from the door. She heard rummaging and quick feet down the hall, but no steps drew near. She waited, eyes flickering between the door and the hall.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The butler was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, Penelope took another quick bite of her apple before opening the door. After Ms. Daughtry’s lecture, what more harm could her unconventionality do her?

On the other side, lit by the gleaming sun, was an exceptionally tall and unnervingly handsome gentleman. Penelope was quite tall herself, taking after her father rather than the dainty stature of Lady Egerton, but the man at the door was still at least a head taller than her. The sharp coats he wore were tight against him, muscles along his arms and abdomen forcing the clothes to bulge uncomfortably.

When Penelope met his eyes, the man flashed a lopsided grin, deep dimples popping out on either cheek. As she opened her mouth to speak, footsteps came from behind her. She looked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse at the out-of-breath butler, who watched her with a frantic shock.

“Can I help you, sir?” Penelope asked, hearing the cold edge to her words.

The stranger raised a brow, his amused smile only growing wider. “I need to speak to the Marquess of Egerton.”

Penelope frowned. The last time someone knocked on their door, asking to speak to her brother Owen, her sister got whisked away and married. Not only that, but the man spoke with an odd accent, one that felt familiar to England but also tinged with something foreign, something brash and loud. A pit of dread began to pool at the depths of her stomach, her stare becoming angry as she watched the stranger.

“Right this way, sir!” the butler called out, gently trying to push Penelope out of the way.

She could only stare, side-stepping till the stranger could enter Egerton Manor. As he passed by, the man stole another look at her, his coffee-colored eyes dropping to her bare feet and slowly sliding back up to the top of her head. When he met her gaze, a smirk spread across his lips, the slightest of laughs coming out of his mouth. Penelope gaped, unable to stop the rush of embarrassment that enveloped her.

The butler beckoned for the stranger to follow as he crossed the foyer. The man kept his hands behind his back as he followed, head-turning every way to take in the portraits hanging from Egerton’s walls.

Penelope, overwhelmed with curiosity and displeasure, crossed her arms over her chest, following them close behind with pursed lips. The stranger wore his dark hair in a small ponytail at the base of his neck. Seeing an aristocratic gentleman with longer hair and a broad athletic body was odd. It gave off the impression of a working lifestyle, as if the man spent more time outdoors than most other Ton members.

Peculiar, Penelope thought, unable to tear her gaze away.

The butler escorted the stranger into one of Egerton’s drawing rooms. “Make yourself comfortable, sir. I will go fetch the Marquess.”

The butler left in a hurry, and a hastily summoned maid slipped inside with a tray of refreshments. Penelope slipped in after her.

She hadn’t seen her brother all day. Much like the way Alicia’s life took a turn after her engagement, Owen now rushed to prepare for a wedding. It had taken longer than a decade, but he finally made the move to settle and wed before Lady Egerton collapsed from the stress her children caused.

Penelope turned to the stranger. How dare he disrupt Owen even more during a chaotically busy time? “It’s rude to not share your name with a lady of the house you’re visiting,” she said, voice tinged with sarcasm. “Won’t you be so kind as to tell me your name?”

“Only if you do the same.” The stranger smiled widely.

Taken aback, Penelope crossed her arms, looking away impatiently. “I am Penelope Caney,” she replied, glaring at him. “Sister to the Marquess of Egerton.”

“Right,” he said, as if he already knew her. “The younger sister, correct?”

She raised a brow. “What’s it to you?”

The man pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Is your older sister here?”

“Her Grace Alicia has managed her own home for eight years,” Penelope snapped, no longer interested in answering his questions. “Her family thrives at Garvey Manor.”

“You don’t say,” the stranger muttered, touching his chin pensively. Then, suddenly, he turned to face her fully, his head tilted curiously as he inspected her.

As his eyes dragged to where shouldn’t dare touch in proper society, Penelope flinched backwards, unable to hide her surprise. A burning blush spread across the bridge of her nose, betraying her shock.

The man approached slowly, his lips curled until he shrugged, sighing heavily as though he were disappointed. “Well, you will just have to do, then.”

Penelope’s eyebrows shot upward. She drew a breath to demand some answers, but footsteps came from outside the drawing room.

Owen rushes into the drawing room as though he were in a rush, already extending a hand to greet the stranger. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. Owen glanced in Penelope’s direction before they snapped back to her, surprise and irritation laced behind his emerald eyes. “Sister,” he grumbled.

Flashing him a toothy smile, Penelope crossed her arms, defiantly standing her ground before Owen dared order her to leave.

Turning his attention back to the stranger, Owen gave him an impatient smile. “I am Marquess Owen Caney. May I inquire as to your name?”

Reaching, the stranger clasped Owen’s hand. “George Hounton,” he said. “The Duke of Yeats.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. Not too long ago, perhaps only a few months, Penelope had read about the passing of the Duke of Yeats in the papers. No one had mentioned a son or any sort of heir to the Dukedom. Obviously, this Hounton was the new Duke of Yeats.

Penelope fought the urge to roll her eyes. It grew more evident by the second as to why he acted so prideful, holding himself so that he was better than the rest.

Owen looked taken aback for just a second before he bowed his head respectfully, gesturing to the plush seats at the center of the room. “Please, take a seat, your Grace.” His eyes snapped up to Penelope, impatience clear in his contorted face. “Dear sister, if you would be so kind?” Despite the gentle words, his voice was sharp and clear.

Penelope was ready to snap back at him when the Duke raised a hand from his seat.

“Perhaps Lady Penelope should stay here,” the Duke said, voice tinged with a peculiar kind of amusement. “I believe I need both of your attention.”

Owen hesitated but nodded for Penelope to sit beside him. She warily crossed the room, ignoring her brother's heated stare when he realized she was barefoot.

Once satisfied, the Duke reached into his coat and retrieved a pale envelope with a broken seal. Penelope turned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of it.

The Marquess of Egerton’s seal!

Penelope fought the urge to grab the letter before Owen could. Her brother took hold of it gingerly, eyeing the seal with confusion. He remained silent as he unfolded the letter inside, eyes scanning the words. Penelope watched from beside him as he read, unable to lean close enough to read the letter herself. His eyes quickly went wide.

Looking up, Owen turned to the Duke. “Your Grace,” he began, “are you serious about this—this plan?”

The Duke frowned, brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, obviously perplexed. “It’s signed and sealed with a solicitor’s agreement. The contract is valid.”

Looking between them, Penelope clenched her fists on her lap, unable to hold back any longer. “What the devil is going on?”

Normally, Owen would snap at her for using improper language, even expel her from the room for daring to speak in such a way in front of a Duke. On that day, Owen merely blinked at her, shaking his head as if he didn’t fully understand it himself.

“P-Penelope,” he said, the letter shaking in his grasp. “It looks like…well, I believe that…actually, let me put it this way…I-I mean -”

The Duke leaned forward, looking as if he held back a laugh. “Lady Penelope,” he said, “it seems that our fathers worked out a deal together years ago. To pay off a debt, the late Marquess of Egerton promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to the Duke of Yeats’ heir.”

Penelope gaped, unable to speak.

A smug smirk spread across his face. “And now, I’m here to collect.”