His Wild Duchess (Fate & Circumstance #2)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

T he moment the carriage pulled up to the third cottage George had found in those short few weeks, he knew that it was the one she would fall in love with. Not only was she already ready to jump through the carriage door, moments before it had even rolled to a complete stop, but all that morning, Penelope walked around the townhouse with her head held high, a wide smile on her lips.

When George gathered up the interest to ask her what made her so happy, the response made him more confused than before.

“Doesn’t everything feel…just right to you?”

“Just right,” he had repeated, drawling out the words.

Penelope nodded firmly. “That’s it. Just right.”

And after that, she walked away as if she were on a determined mission.

Hours later, and they were in front of another cottage, and George felt more like everything was nowhere near “just right”. On that excursion, Ali the spaniel and Antony the mastiff tagged along. Ali was small enough to curl into the seat beside him, which he happened to enjoy more than he cared to admit. Antony, who had the oddest of fascinations with George, watched him from afar, not leaving Penelope’s side but also not daring to pull his warm brown gaze off of him.

But of course, it wasn’t those things that managed to leave a sour taste in his mouth, as though he had eaten something distasteful. The dogs were perfect, more perfect that he planned on them being. And Penelope, sitting across from him in the warm carriage, dressed in pale blue skirts with not a glove in sight, was stupendous.

Penelope pulled back the curtain as the carriage rolled to a stop, her toes eagerly tappingagainst the floorboard and her green eyes lighting up with excitement. The dogs, seemingly feeling her change in energy, reacted similarly, tails thumpingagainst the seats and impatient whines filling the compartment.

“How on earth did you manage to find this one, George?”

He sighed. A part of him hoped that the words she spoke were out of malice or disdain for what she saw, but George knew very well that it was only wishful thinking. “Third time’s the charm, as they say,” he muttered, the words sounding sharper than he intended, even though she didn’t seem to pay much mind to it.

Looking up to give her a short smile, George added, “Let us take a look, shall we?”

Twisting the handle, the carriage door popped open to reveal a beautiful oasis hidden within England’s rolling countryside. The dogs, not waiting for a single command, burst free from the compartment, their long hind legs launching them into the manicured grass. Penelope followed behind, ignoring the driver’s helpful hand as she hiked up her long skirts. She was gone within an instant.

George exited the carriage last, hands tucked within his trouser pockets.

“How was the ride, your Grace?” the driver politely asked after respectfully bowing his head.

“Very well, Mr…?”

“Just Mansfield, your Grace. James Mansfield.”

“My apologies, Mr. Mansfield. It seems I am still learning with each day that I’m back from the New World.”

“Of course, your Grace.” The words were polite, but the faint smile on Mansfield’s face hinted at pleasure.

“How far from the city is it?”

Mr. Mansfield glanced back down the path. “It was an hour ride, your Grace, much shorter than the rest.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your Grace. Though inclement weather and foot traffic might lengthen it on the odd day.”

Searching through his pocket, George pulled out a few stray coins, dropping them in the driver’s hand.

“Your Grace,” the driver said sheepishly. “I couldn’t possibly -”

“I insist. It was you who informed me about the property, correct?”

Mr. Mansfield sighed, looking down at his feet. “It belonged to me aunt, your Grace. A lively woman, you see, though she preferred the outdoors to people.”

George cast his gaze over the cottage and its surroundings. The building was larger than the others they had visited, but nothing too much for a single woman and a servant or two to handle. A porch wrapped around the front, a rocking chair left from the previous owner swaying back and forth as the breeze swept by. Tall trees stood on one side of the cottage, while the other was neighbor to expansive fields, weeds and overgrown bushes popping up every now and then. In the distance, George could make out a farm, though it was too far to be sure.

“Your aunt lived here alone?”

The driver nodded. “For most of me life, your Grace. I visited as a tot, spent lots of time out in those fields, picking wildflowers and berries.”

“If it was so close to your family,” George asked, “Why offer it to me?”

Mr. Mansfield’s warm gaze followed Penelope as she poked her head out one of the windows, a wide smile stretching across her face. “Her Grace reminds me of me aunt.”

George raised a brow.

“Well, in the best way possible, your Grace! Who are we to deny someone’s greatest pleasure, you see? Me aunt wished for solitude, and lived a long life ‘cause of it. Where’s the harm in it?”

With his hands tucked in his trouser pockets, George gave the driver a firm nod before making his way into the cottage property. Whether he knew it or not, Mr. Mansfield had a heart of gold that deserved something more than a life of drudgery. George made a mental note to give him some sort of promotion the moment he had a chance to.

Dipping into the cottage’s front door, George felt his heart swell. Everything looked incredibly perfect. Furniture already was stored inside, covered with a white sheet to keep the dust out. The kitchen, perhaps, would need some work done on it, but it was minimal. Exiting out the back door, George watched the dogs run amok through the field, the tiny spaniel Ali trying to balance carrying a long stick in her mouth while Antony chased her relentlessly.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Penelope asked, breathless from excitement and running. She stood within the field, her arms extended to either side of her. “And the barn, George - did you see the barn?”

“Sure,” he called out, taking a few steps to meet her in the middle. The barn was half the size of the one at the townhouse, and had a few structural problems, but George couldn’t find a true flaw in it. “And a stable,” he said, nodding his chin towards another building.

“Oh, yes!” Penelope jogged towards it, pulling open the wooden door with a loud creak. “It is the perfect size for Fiona, don’t you think?”

George felt a smile spread across his face, though he had yet to feel the happiness that normally came with it. “I believe it is!”

As she sped through the fields once more, picking up tufts of grass and purple wildflowers along the way, George let his gaze cling to Penelope. For the first time since arriving, he felt a wave of happiness wash over him. There was nothing more joyful than seeing her so free, so willing to let herself enjoy the nature all around her. The animals enjoyed it just as much, following at the heels of their guardian sharp barks and excited whuffles.

Despite it all feeling like a nail in the coffin that cemented the end of their marriage, George kept the smile on his face, removing his overcoat and tossing it into the grass before running after her. None of the feelings within him made the slightest bit of sense, but he wouldn’t let it stop what he had already had.

George ran alongside Penelope, feeling the wind run through his hair and freedom from responsibility beckon him forward. He reached, grasping onto Penelope’s hand as they tumbled into the grass, dirt staining their clothes and laughter filling the summer air.

The next few days were a blur for George. Time was ticking, and he needed to work on opening the stud farm so he could uphold his deal with Penelope. There was an end date, after all, and he needed to be ready at that point. Most afternoons, he remained in his study for hours on end, moving funds towards the farm and collecting sponsorships from interested Ton members. Correspondence with Mr. William Fitzburgh, Penelope’s in to London’s premier racetrack, went swimmingly - much better than George ever thought it could.

One afternoon, days after the visit to the cottage, a knock came from the study door.

“Come in,” George called out, his attention not lifting from the letter he wrote.

Small, quiet footsteps clicked against the floor as the door creaked open. Not a word was said as the steps moved closer to the desk, cushions exhaling as the guest took a seat.

“Well, won’t you speak instead of just -” Cutting himself short, George finally looked up to see Penelope sitting across from him, her green eyes narrowed as a mischievous smirk grew across her lips.

“No, no,” she mused, leaning back in the seat, “Go on. Finish your sentence.”

George was not one to fumble around a lady. Not as a young heir in London, and certainly not when as a handsome and rich adult in the Americas. In fact, romance was normally the other way around, with high-spirited women growing shy and timid where he was involved. But there, in the comfort of his own study, he found himself opening and closing his mouth like a fish, searching for the words but unable to find them.

Looking away, Penelope pressed a hand over her mouth as if to hide a laugh.

George cleared his throat, standing suddenly from his desk and spinning around to face the window. “I’m afraid I’m far too busy for idle chatter.”

“I hadn’t even said anything yet.”

Sighing, George turned to face her again, realizing that he sounded like the most stuck up aristocrat for no reason whatsoever. “My apologies, darling,” he cooed.

Penelope, seemingly annoyed after his attitude change, glanced around the study impatiently. “Have you seen Butternut?”

“The cat? Why?”

“She would’ve come out for treats by now,” she said.

George chuckled. “You truly do spoil those animals.”

Standing from her seat, Penelope began to look more carefully through the room. “What’s the point in having them if they cannot be spoiled?”

“I only hope you don’t carry the same sentiment towards -” George stopped himself for the second time. He turned his face away, internally scolding himself for suddenly being so loose-lipped. What on earth has gotten into me?

“Towards what?”

He frowned. “Well, nothing.”

“Hold on, now,” she said, waving a book at him. “I’d like to hear!”

Hesitating, George realized that the feeling that plagued him was nothing other than embarrassment. He shuddered, unaware he was even able to experience such a thing. Giving her a thin smile that he hoped would cure his racing thoughts, he said, “Towards your future children.”

Penelope’s eyes grew wide, a burning blush enveloping her face before she snapped away, returning the book with a rather loud clap ! She continued on moving through the room, acting as though she were alone. Internally, George kicked himself for saying such a thing. All that was left to do now was act as though it hadn’t happened in the first place. As the blush seeped out of her skin, and her shoulders relaxed, he allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief.

Following her with his eyes, George leaned against the desk, a smirk crawling across his face as she peered through drawers. “Well, of course,” he muttered. “Look through my things.”

Penelope shot him a look over her shoulder. “You know I’m looking for the cat.”

“Sure, but -”

“Can’t you be a gentleman and help me look?”

George let out a laugh, but left his spot at the desk. “ Now you want a gentleman.”

Ignoring his comment, Penelope kept on looking, turning her attention to the desk now that George had left it. He turned towards the shelves, pushing back books to see if the cat had managed to make a nest in the small, cool space between the volumes and the wall. As he stuck his arm through the crevice, feeling around but returning with nothing, he glanced over at Penelope, whose attention had been caught by the papers scattered over the desk rather than its drawers and hiding spots.

He felt rather vulnerable, in that moment, despite there being nothing there that needed to remain secret. It was rather just the idea of her gaze looking over his handwriting, her hands grazing over the things he had touched moments ago, that brought something intrinsically emotional out from within him.

George cleared his throat loudly. “Find something interesting?”

“Oh,” Penelope breathed, jumping about a foot in the air as though she forgot he was there in the first place. “Forgive me, George.”

“Don’t be silly. They’re only letters.”

A pink blush covered the bridge of her freckled nose. “You have been speaking to Mr. Fitzburgh?”

“I have,” he replied. “A kind man, just as you said. He is quite interested in Vaun.”

“I’m not surprised! We must invite him for tea.”

George eyed her as he approached the desk. “I didn’t take you for a tea-inviting lady.”

“I suppose I’m not,” Penelope said. “But Mr. Fitzburgh is the reason why I have Fiona. I’d throw him a ball if I could.”

Watching her, George felt a flare of jealousy within him, despite never having met the man before. Not only that, but she had explained her single reason for adoring the gentleman plenty of times already: her mare, Fiona. Without Mr. Fitzburgh, she wouldn’t have had the steed at all. Despite that, he wanted nothing more than to crumple up his letter to the man, and find another way to get himself a foothold at the racetracks.

Derailed and confused at his sudden burst of jealousy, George moved to the drawers within the desk, wanting nothing more than to stop talking about how grand of a man Mr. Fitzburgh was. As his hand wrapped around a drawer handle, a soft sound came from within.

“Did you hear that?” George asked.

Penelope nodded, leaning over beside him to get a good look.

Slowly, George pulled back the drawer, opening it up to reveal a snoozing cat. Butternut lay curled up in a compartment full of stray papers, a pair of George’s gloves poking out from underneath her round belly. Every now and then, Butternut stirred in her sleep, letting out a chirping sound as though she dreamt of chasing rabbits and field mice.

Simultaneously, George and Penelope reached for the cat, their hands swiping by each other. Jerking back, George swallowed as a series of jolts swarmed up his hand from the simple contact. The feeling seemed to spread up his arm, swallowing him up within a second. Avoiding looking at her, he turned away, unbeknownst to the fact that Penelope did the same. Butternut remained sound asleep, unaware how heavy the air had suddenly become between them.

“Well,” Penelope whispered, backing away from the desk. “N-Now I’ve found her, I’ll -” she backed into a chair, the noise rattling through the room. She steadied it, giving George a hesitant smile as she kept on walking backwards, hitting the wall next. Letting out an airy laugh, she grasping the doorknob. “I-If you’ll excuse me, your Grace - I mean, George!”

And on that final word, Penelope disappeared out of the study.

Falling back into his seat, feeling breathless for no reason whatsoever, George looked down to see Butternut yawning, stretching out her back before lifting her head at him, slowly blinking before letting out a wispy meow. After stretching, the cat jumped from the drawer, landing on his lap and curling into a tight ball within a second. Butternut was fast asleep once more.

George allowed his hand to run over the cat’s small head as he leaned back in his seat, waiting for his heart to stop hammering against his chest like a lovesick schoolboy'.