Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
I t had been a week since Penelope had seen the cottage that would, soon enough, be her forever home. In the evenings, when sleep eluded her and owls hooted throughout the night, Penelope stared at her ceiling and imagined what it would be like to be there. She pictured herself rising early in the day, letting out the pack and tending to her garden, perhaps collecting eggs from a few hens she’d keep. There’d be harvests from the garden, and they would supply her table.
Penelope could see herself sitting upon that rocking chair on the porch as the sun began its quiet descent, a well-worn book in her hands as the dogs slept around her feet. Birds and other wild creatures would make their way through, unafraid and calm. Those thoughts were meant to whisk Penelope off into a dreamless sleep, but all they did was forge a knot in her stomach. Everything that once felt so utterly simple was suddenly more convoluted than the most complex novel.
The mornings began with Mrs. Howard tracking her down in the townhouse, eager to get a move on the responsibilities that sat on Penelope’s shoulders as the Duchess of Yeats. They hadn’t even arrived at Yeats Manor, and she was still ordering the staff around through written word. Despite doing more as the days went on, she found that it never once got easier, and left her mind spinning the same way it always did. The morning crept into early afternoon, and by that point, the only thing on Penelope’s mind was her break, when she got to whisk the dogs outside for a walk.
Even though it was for the dogs, Penelope needed the sun just as much.
On one particularly busy day, she gathered the pack from within her bedroom, accompanied by her lady’s maid, Clarissa, through the townhouse’s quiet halls. The dogs followed close behind, Antony slipping in front to act as though he led the way.
“Your Grace,” Clarissa said as they took the main staircase that led into the foyer.
“Yes?”
Clarissa hesitated, her hands grazing over the heads of the foxhounds as they walked on by. “Might I ask for advice?”
Turning, Penelope glanced at her sideways. Ignoring the pride that entered her heart at the idea of someone wanting advice from her, Penelope frowned. “Perhaps there might be someone more knowledgeable to seek advice from? Like Mrs. Howard, for instance.”
Clarissa’s face bunched up as though she caught a whiff of something bad. “But you are a Duchess!” she exclaimed.
The title still eluded Penelope, no matter how much time went by. As far as she was concerned, she saw herself as the spinster who watched her siblings get wed and take on higher positions from afar.
“Well, I suppose I cannot argue there. What plagues you, Clarissa?”
“Nothing other than love.”
Penelope stiffened as they rounded the foyer, going towards the kitchen to slip out the backside of the townhouse. While the animals enjoyed a walk through London’s busy streets, Penelope was in no mood to ignore pointed stares or to ignite a new series of rumors and gossips.
“I’m not sure what advice I can offer for a topic such as that.”
Clarissa paused by the back door, her face growing dejected. “But you…you are married!”
“Love,” Penelope said, the right words eluding her, “Comes in different ways, Clarissa. It is not only bred from marriage, or courting, for that matter.” Reaching to open the door, the dogs began to file out one by one. “Take my animals, for instance. Is my love any lesser because it is not steeped in romance?”
“Of course not!”
Penelope sighed as the girl’s face remained downcast. The lady’s maid was much younger than her, still in the highs and lows of growing up and stepping into the world around her. Clarissa was quite the opposite then Penelope, however, with her obvious yearn for a romantic tale, when all Penelope wanted to do at that age was read her books and climb trees.
Wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders, Penelope leaned in close. “Tell me of the love you seek.”
“I believe I was born to give it,” Clarissa quickly said, her face lighting up. “And even more eager to receive it, though I am lacking on both ends, I suppose.” She turned to look out the door as a breeze slipped into the townhouse. “I only wish for something true and strong. Is that too much to ask?”
“Perhaps…perhaps you should be aware of more possibilities besides a handsome youth.”
“More?”
Penelope took a step outside, the sunlight bathing her in its warmth. Closing her eyes, she raised her face to the sun, eager for it to coat her. “I worry you will stop yourself from finding the love meant for you if you are looking for something in particular. Besides,” she turned, placing a steady hand on the girl’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, “You are far too young to believe it is over for you just yet.”
Clarissa breathed deeply. “You’re right.”
“Perhaps you should take some time to yourself, Clarissa?”
“What do you mean?”
Penelope shrugged as she stepped out onto the grass. “Rather than fret over finding love, why don’t you do something you love? For someone who was born to give it, I think you are forgetting how it exists all around you, if only you let it.”
Clarissa’s face lit up as the words began to sink in. Giving Penelope a wide smile, the lady’s maid turned around on her heel, quickly marching through the townhouse and out of sight. Penelope shut the door behind her, breathing in a deep gulp of air as the sound of quiet birdsong and distant chatter enveloped her.
The wolfhounds had already tired themselves out, basking within the sun as they sprawled out on the grassy floor, bellies up to the sky. The rest eagerly gathered around her feet as Penelope began to walk, taking her usual route around the townhouse, a dirt path slowly beginning to be made within the grass. The dogs followed lazily around her, taking their time as they walked. Penelope let her eyes wander, taking in the trees and birds, the tops of townhouses surrounding them, the stable and the noise that came from within.
Somehow, she felt the slightest bit of sorrow twinge at her, a single thought entering her mind.
I believe I might miss this.
Penelope shook her head, surprised at the sudden sadness that seemed to be lurking within her mind theentire time. Normally, she’d only need to think of the cottage, of the independent future she had dreamed up for herself that would soon come to fruition, to feel joy return to her. But on that afternoon, it seemed that wouldn’t be the case at all. Looking to her right as the sound of the door reopening reached her ears, Penelope laid her eyes on George, who rolled up his white sleeves as he walked across the yard to reach her.
That was when the true source of her sadness revealed itself.
It was the future she contemplated, the future that no longer looked to be the source of her dreams. Rather, it was the acknowledgment of leaving everything behind—and by everything, she truly meant George Houston.
“Might I join you?” he asked when he reached her, eyes narrowed as the sun stared down at him.
Penelope smiled. “You don’t have to ask, George.”
Together, they continued the walk around the townhouse’s yard, the dogs more excited now that George had joined them. The wolfhounds, Brutus and Titus, at the Duke’s arrival, eagerly climbed to their feet, joining the trek behind them. Antony, who had the oddest of fascinations with George, stopped walking ahead of the pack as to linger beside him. After seeing that, Penelope felt the sadness be whisked away.
“You know,” George said after a few moments of silence, “I remember being a child and taking this same path with my mother during the Spring.”
Penelope glanced over at him. “Your mother?”
“She passed when I was young, I can’t say I remember it all too well.”
Despite the sad words he spoke, the light smile didn’t leave his lips. Penelope watched him curiously, intrigued at his need to speak his inner truths all of a sudden. Not that she would dare to complain - it was exactly what she wanted to hear.
“I’m very sorry about your mother,” Penelope said. “I’m sure she was a fine Duchess. Better than I’ll ever be.”
George chuckled. “I’ll say,” he teased in a quiet voice.
Playfully nudging him with her elbow, Penelope laughed, the birds responding with their own series of tweets and twirps. “You haven’t discussed your family much.”
“Well, what is there to say, besides the usual hum-drum?”
Penelope looked away, trying to hide her disappointment.
From beside her, George let out a tired sigh. “The late Duchess of Yeats was everything a Duchess was meant to be,” he began. “She was kind and just. She was beautiful, inside and out. The day she left us…was the day a piece of Yeats left with her.” His face grew hard, suddenly, in the afternoon light. “And thus began my preparations for the New World.”
“Just like that?”
George laughed, looking over at her with a raised brow. “Curious, darling?”
Feeling a rush of heat rise to her face, that was definitely not from the sun, Penelope looked away, running her hand over the top of Brutus’s long fur. “I only wish -” she cut herself short as the embarrassment took over her.
“What is it?”
“I only wish,” she repeated, turning to face him, “To learn more about you.”
George watched her with wide eyes. He could only stare for a moment, until the reality of it all hit him, and the confident exterior quickly returned. Swiping a hand through his hair, he shrugged, though something about him seemed to be softened by her words.
“The time before I left for the New World was tainted by the will of my father. Yes, the passing of my mother was, in its way, the beginning of the end,” George explained, the slightest of sarcastic smirks on his face, “But the late Duke’s authority and his willingness to use it is what truly drove me away.”
“The late Duke,” Penelope quietly said, “Was he not a good man?”
“On the contrary, to the rest of the Ton and aristocratic society, he was a fine Duke. Stern and sharp-edged, but a fine Duke nonetheless.”
“Well, I don’t truly revel in the Ton’s opinion, do you?”
George laughed, giving her a wink. “You got me there, darling.”
He looked away, and for a moment, Penelope thought he would finish the conversation there. While he worked hard to look as though none of their words touched him, Penelope liked to think she could see underneath his iron exterior to what truly laywithin. And in her eyes, it looked as though he was nothing more than the boy that had left home when he was barely of age, looking for freedom and a new life in a world no one quite understood.
Reaching out, Penelope slipped her arm around his own. The contact was not like the other times, where jolts of pins and needles would run up and down her arms. It was more subtle, a gentle touch that made her feel somehow priceless, as though she were as valuable as gold or gems.
“I am sorry, George, that your father was not a good man to you.”
He stopped walking near the back of the yard, as the dogs began to lay in the sun’s gaze, one by one. Turning, he stepped in front of Penelope to face her, pulling his arm out from around her own, but grasping onto both her hands before she could step away. His hands, cool despite the summer heat, held her firmly
“I never said he wasn’t a good man to me,” he quietly said.
Penelope, afraid she had misspoken, tried to pull away from him. “I-I did not mean to offend, I had just -”
Taking a step closer to shorten the gap between them, George smiled down at her. “You fret too much,” he whispered. “You did not offend me, darling, you saw through me as though I were made from nothing but air.”
“What?”
“My father sought to control me,” he explained. “Not unlike other fathers, of course, but…but there was something different. I was not a boy who reveled in his teachings, who looked forward to the day when the title of ‘Duke’ would be passed down. Perhaps it was because my mother left too soon, or my father pushed it too hard. Perhaps it was only me all along, with a soul that was as stubborn as a mule.”
“That sounds about right for you, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
Penelope gave him a wide, toothy smile. “To be as stubborn as a mule!” She gestured over her shoulder to the stable. “Well, you know.”
“Darling,” George drawled, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Are you calling me a mule because I want to open a stud farm?”
“You said it!”
Laughing, George shook his head. “My, my, you are quite the minx, aren’t you?”
Penelope looked away as a blush filled her face once more. Suddenly, she became acutely aware of the feeling of his hands over her own, the slightest brush of his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes flickered down, seeing the embrace, seeing his hands tightly grip onto her own. The blush grew, swallowing up her entire face as the firmness of his hands sent waves of nerves through her body.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she mumbled. “I am not a -”
“I only teased, Penelope.”
She met his stare with wide eyes. There were words on the tip of her tongue, things she wished to say, but found herself unable to force them out.
“What is it?” he asked in a quiet, husky voice. “Why do you watch me so?”
“I enjoy how…my name sounds when you say it.”
George slowly leaned, getting closer and closer to her. “Really?”
She could only nod, entirely engrossed by his face, and how near he was.
“Penelope,” he said, slow but sure of himself.
Staring up at him, the entire world around them seemed to fade away. Penelope no longer felt burdened by the sadness of her departure, the lonliness and despair that clouded her future. All that mattered was that George was there, and he held her in his hands as though she were a delicate creature, when she knew that she had never been considered ‘delicate’. It was odd, but somehow, everything she had needed.
George began to dip down, his face growing closer to her own. The breath hitched in her throat as he was only a few hairs away, eyes never once leaving her. Penelope’s eyes fluttered shut, the anticipation pulling the air from her throat. She reached, barely standing on the tips of her toes, eager for his embrace but afraid of what it might all mean.
Moments before George’s lips touched her own, a crash and clatter came from the townhouse. The dogs jumped to alert, none of them standing any longer. A few glanced back towards Penelope, waiting for a command that allowed them to go see what was happening. George, much to her dismay, pulled away, his eyes narrowed as he looked over the back of the townhouse.
Within the moment, the backdoor opened, and Mrs. Howard hiked up her skirts before running up to them, sidestepping by the excited animals.
“Your Grace,” she called out, eyes latched irritably on George. “Some…people are here to see you. A Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
George’s face lit up. Releasing his hold on Penelope’s hands, he gave her a quick grin before running past the housekeeper, ripping open the door as loud shouts ran amok through the townhouse. Even as the door swung shut behind him, Penelope could make out laughter and yells, as though the house was suddenly full of strangers.
Mrs. Howard gave her an annoyed look. “Pray for us all, your Grace. They are… Americans.”
Penelope’s eyes grew wide as a breeze brushed by her, suddenly on the colder side as dark clouds streamed across the sky, quickly covering the sun and matching the disappointed change in her mood.