Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
“ A toot and a holler later, and the man decides to buy the farm. Ain’t that the darnest thing you ever heard?” Winnifred, one of the Americans, exclaimed, earning a resounding series of cheers from her husband, Fred, and George.
That evening, with two new guests in the townhouse, the kitchen went all out on a large feast to commemorate their arrival. The wine was flowing, but it was hardly needed to keep up the loud and enthusiastic atmosphere. Penelope, who was quite used to a rambunctious evening where her pack was concerned, found herself sitting at the dining table with a pounding headache and a twisting stomach. Nothing, no books or lectures, could have prepared her or anyone, for that matter, on the culture of the Americans.
Winnifred Miller, a petite blonde with rosy cheeks and ruby-red lips, had the voice of a singer, able to use her entire body when she spoke. Loud and echoing, Winnifred commandeered an entire room without even noticing she did so. Penelope felt entranced since the moment she saw her, mesmerized by the woman’s clothes and blunt attitude. The wonderment she first felt soon took on an anxious tinge, becoming overpowered and shadowed by the woman’s enveloping personality.
“All the man needed was a talk from you,” Fred Miller, her round and belly-forward husband, cooed from her side, scooting out of his seat to press a loud kiss against the side of her face. The American man was as rosy-cheeked as his wife, eyes always following her around the room as though his world revolved around her.
Penelope watched in amazement. Her eyes snapped over to George across the table, who stared up at his friends with the broadest smile she had ever seen. A bit of her bristled at it, knowing that he hadn’t shown her such happiness in the short few weeks that they had been together. Shoving the thought away as something childish and careless, Penelope took a slow sip of her wine, hoping the drink could soothe some of the racing nerves within her.
“Let me get this straight,” George said, leaning forward in his seat as Winnifred stood from hers.
Neither of the two men in the dining room stood as she snagged onto her glass, walking around the room with a half eaten plate, still discussing and chattering as though she never left the table. Penelope stared at her, forcing her mouth to remain shut as the lack of decorum took her for a loop. If her mother were there - god forbid, if Owen was there - they’d never hear the end of it. Penelope imagined if the Ton could see them now, the aristocratic men and women who made a big deal to say that George couldn’t possibly be an Englishman any longer. They would be astonished, and probably feel rather glorified.
Not that Penelope was one to care or participate in the proper manners aristocratic Englishmen and women take pride in, but it was different, in a way. Their blatant disregard felt even too much for Penelope, as even she participated in the bare minimum of societal standards. She watched Winnifred in wonderment, as George casually laid back in his chair, pushing backwards as to get a look at the married pair.
“You managed to convince that wily old man to purchase the land?” he asked.
Fred shrugged. “Why not? Now we’ve got fine neighbors that we know and trust.”
“But the land -”
“Requires more work than the man can provide,” Winnifred interjected with a wave of her glass. “Guess what, Georgie? We are well and able to do it all!”
George raised an amused brow. “For a fair price, I presume.”
“Only the fairest!”
Roars of laughter spread through the dining room once more. Penelope found herself struggling to contribute, letting herself add a chuckle to the mix, despite their laughter overshadowing it as though she never did it in the first place.
Below the table, with a heavy head resting on her lap, was Antony. Even though the mastiff tended to spend most of the evening keeping a close eye on George, the arrival of their guests kept the dogs rather reserved and timid, much unlike them. Penelope felt they mimicked her, in a way. She rubbed her hand over Antony’s wrinkly face, petting in between his ears till his eyes closed, a low rumble coming from his throat as though he purred.
“Now, my mama would be appalled if she knew how rudely we were treatin’ our hostess!” Winnifred said as she rounded the table to approach Penelope, a wide and friendly smile on her face. “I heard you like to collect critters. When can we meet ‘em?”
“Oh, let’s see,” Penelope mumbled, hesitating as Antony buried his face further against her lap, “Perhaps another day, after a night’s rest.”
“Georgie tells us you have a pack of ‘em,” Fred called out from the opposite side of the table. “What could lead a good English girl like yourself to raise a pack of strays, I wonder?”
“Well, sir, I -”
“Did ‘ya hear that, Fred?” Winnifred exclaimed, flipping around to face her husband as a few droplets of wine flew through the air. “The lady called you a sir! When was the last time someone called you a sir ?”
“I’d say,” Fred replied, resting his hands at the top of his bouncing belly, “When George showed up on our doorstep!”
Winnifred smacked her glass against the table, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “Now, ain’t that right! You see, dear Pen -” she paused, throwing Penelope a look over her shoulder, “Might I call you Pen?”
Penelope’s mouth opened and closed, coherent words escaping her. Not that she expected them to regard her with the same titles the rest of London did, it felt odd to hear someone other than immediate family and George call her by her name. Not only was it her name, but it was a pet name, nevertheless. Her eyes glanced in George’s direction. He watched her in a peculiar war, an eyebrow raised as though he waited to see what she might do next. Suddenly filled with the idea that her response could disappoint him if she weren’t careful, Penelope swallowed down her fear.
Inhaling deeply to calm the overwhelming burst of thoughts swarming through her mind, Penelope gave Winnifred a tight smile.
“You may,” she replied.
“Then you see here, Pen, when your husband came to us out in the west, he was about this thin,” Winnifred paused to hold up her slender pinky-finger, “And had about five coins jinglin’ ‘round in his holey pocket. You see, that work he did up in New York -”
“Now, now,” George interjected, leaning forward in his seat. “Why would you bring that up, Winnie?”
Penelope stiffened, despite telling herself that Winnifred Miller was a happily married woman, from the looks of it. Every now and then, sheand her husband would meet each other’s gazeand simply smile. What was there to be jealous about? Shaking her head, Penelope took a large gulp of her drink. It is a fake marriage, after all, she thought to herself. Who am I to feel the slightest bit of envy?
Waving a dismissive hand at him, Winnifred kept her attention focused on Penelope. “Those money-thievin’, boot-lickin’ business men in the cities caught wind of Georgie’s sweet, rich accent and did what they do best.”
“A-And what would that be?” Penelope asked, though she was quite unsure of the things the woman was saying.
“Stealin’, of course!”
Penelope looked over at George. “Your wealth was stolen?”
As he began to shake his head, Fred smacked a fist against the table, the noise startling the plates and glasses, Antony scooting even closer over Penelope’s feet.
“Not his wealth,” Fred answered for him, “Just what he had on hand, you see. Which was a good bit, I’ll tell you that.”
George grumbled from his seat. “ I could’ve told her that.”
“Anyhoo,” Winnifred exclaimed, her voice raising to counter that of her husband, “Your husband was pulled into some bad business. He came out west for a better shot at it.” She took a few steps back to rest an arm around her husband’s shoulders, leaning down to press a loud kiss against the top of his balding head. “ That’s where we came in!”
“Georgie showed up lookin’ for work and a cot to sleep in,” Fred explained. “Luckily for him, we had a surplus of both.”
Penelope cleared her throat. “So, what exactly was the work you do out in the west?”
“We run a farm, dear,” Winnifred responded with a shrug, as if she should’ve known. “What else is there to do out there? Freddie tends to the cattle and horses, I harvest and sell at the local market. We got fresh honey, butter, and milk every day!” Glancing out one of the windows, Winnifred raised an unimpressed thin brow. “Suppose you can’t quite say the same out here, can ya?”
Blinking a few times, Penelope looked away. Perhaps if she had the opportunity to grow in the life she wished she had, the life the Miller’s so proudly lived, it would’ve all been easier for her to handle. Their accents, their way of speech, their loud brashness that echoed off the walls. It all looked incredibly freeing, and entirely out of Penelope’s reach.
“You sure have come a long way, Georgie,” Fred mused, clapping a hand down on the Duke’s shoulder. “I’ll say, we’re mighty proud.”
“Even if you haven’t sent that thank-you note yet!” Winnifred teased.
George shrugged with a wide smirk on his face. “Lost in the mail?”
They laughed together for the second time that evening, all falling in place alongside one another as though they had never been separated in the first place. Penelope watched from the opposite side of the table, the lip of her glass resting against her chin as her running mind overtook her.
“Hard to think this ain’t even your real home,” Fred said as he looked around the room. “Whaddya call this? Your townhouse?”
“That’s right,” George replied with a nod. “For the London Season.”
“You’re tellin’ me that seasons are different in London?”
George laughed boisterously. “Heavens, no, Fred. It’s the social season, you see? When things like Parliament are in session, and the lords and ladies hold the greatest balls. In the off season, the Ton goes to their manors or estates.”
Staring at him with narrowed eyes, Fred waved his hand at him tiredly. “I ain’t ever gonna understand that ‘Ton’ nonsense.”
“Aristocratic baloney,” Winnifred said with a wave of her hand. “What I’m thinkin’ ‘bout is how that youngun’ we once knew has a Manor. Can you believe that, Freddie?”
Fred shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t think I can!”
“Look at ‘im now!” Winnifred laughed proudly, holding her glass up in the air boisterously, causing the maroon wine to spill and splosh over her hands. “A Duke, for Heaven’s sake!”
“A Duke with,” Fred motioned down the table at Penelope, “A lovely bride.”
“I wouldn’t dare forget the lovely Pen,” Winnifred said, giving her a wink. “Cheers, to the beautiful couple!”
As the trio raised their glasses, Penelope tried to meet George’s gaze, but it felt as though he tried his very best to avoid it. With a small smile, Penelope raised her glass alongside them as they cheered, unable to feel the same joy they so obviously reveled in.
Moments after the toast, they began to rise from the table, finishing with their meal. As the servants trickled in, Penelope hung back, giving Antony the patience and time to come out of his own accord. George eagerly took his old friends on a tour through the townhouse, already telling them the circumstances of his stallion, Vaun.
Vaun!
When the trio were at the dining room’s threshold, George turned on his heel, expecting for her to follow.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Penelope said instead, “I thought I might take a walk outside.”
George stepped towards her. “Let us accompany you, then.”
“There is no need. You have guests.”
He took another step forward, eyes widening with an expression she could not understand. “ We have guests.”
“Is this a part of the deal?”
George retreated, obviously taken aback. “Of course not.”
“Then, please, excuse me for the rest of the evening. I believe fresh air might do me some good.”
He stared at her for a moment longer before turning back towards his company, gesturing towards the hall for their tour. Despair twinged at Penelope’s heart but she shoved it away as soon as it came. Why bother herself over a marriage that was all a sham in the first place?
Once Antony had clobbered out from underneath the dining table, making sure to stick close to her side, Penelope left the dining room, and made her way towards the back of the townhouse. The evening air was crisp and carried a chill as she left the house and towards the stable. There wouldn’t be a stablehand by that hour, leaving her to do as she pleased. With a newfound springin her step, Penelope slunk into the stable.
Inside, Fiona had come to her stall door at the sound of Penelope entering. The creamy white mare whickered and tossed her head. With a wide smile on her face, Penelope reached up, running her hands through the mare’s hair mane and along her neck. Just those simple moments gave her a sense of ease.
A rustle came from the opposite side of the stable. Looking over her shoulder, Penelope saw Vaun watching from afar, almost blending into the shadows with his dark coat. Leaving Fiona’s side, Penelope approached the stallion steadily, her hand raised for him to remember her scent. Before she had stepped within his stall, the steed already moved to meet her in the middle, recognizing her and ready to be touched.
As she scratched behind his ears, staring deeply into his warm, dark eyes, Penelope seemed to see someone else she knew in the stallion’s heart.
“You are a lot like your master, you know,” Penelope whispered. Vaun’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice. “Dark and stoic, covered with walls and…and thoughtsI cannot quite understand.” Leaning, she rested her head on Vaun’s side, feeling his heartbeat, gentle and even, against her skin. “But deep down, there’s only love, isn’t there?”
Vaun’s tail flicked and swished behind him.
Glancing over at the wall, Penelope caught a glimpse of a saddle. Without the slightest bit of convincing, she ran over to it, mischievously snatching the saddle and carrying it over her head back into the stallion’s stall. Vaun patiently waited as she saddled him up, careful not to push his boundaries too much. After a few slow minutes, Penelope managed to climb up, getting herself comfortable and situated. Reaching down, she ran her hand across his neck, feeling how calm he was, no stutter or nerves present.
“Thank you,” she whispered, before urging him to walk on.
Together, they made their way out of the stable and into the early evening air. Vaun threw his head about, obviously pleased to stretch his long legs and get out of the small stall. The pace was slow and gentleat first, just following the curved path that Penelope usually took with the dogs each afternoon. But soon, after a few rounds, Penelope leaned forward, feeling that Vaun’s energy was beginning to grow.
Within an instant, the stallion was blazing around the yard, his hair flowing majestically in the wind. Penelope held on tight but felt no semblance of fear. There was only the feeling of the rushing wind, and how fast she forgot all her worries when upon the stallion.
As Vaun wore himself out, lowering back to a simple walk, Penelope’s eyes focused on a few figures approaching from the back of the townhouse. The closer they got, the quicker she was able to recognize George and Fred standing in front of the stable. Her gaze zeroed in on George instantly.
While the last time she had ridden Vaun resulted in a shouting match, but now George did not seem to have a traceof anger on his mind. It was an odd expression, with a tightly wound brow and the corner of his lip twitching into a frown. She couldn’t quite understand it. Penelope pulled her gaze away, the worry from the dinner returning to her heart once more.
Breathing a sigh, she led Vaun towards them, her eyes never once daring to leave George.