Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
T hings grew more unclear as the days carried on for Penelope. Most things remained the same. She continued on her duties that were presented by Mrs. Howard, never strayed from taking her animals on daily excursions outside into the summer heat. Clarissa remained a dutiful maid while daydreaming about falling in love and falling out of it. The responsibilities that rested on Penelope’s shoulders began to deal with the solely the ball, as she had to finish approving all the changes being made to Yeats Manor.
It was the moments spent with George that changed and morphed into something she couldn’t recognize. It used to be easy around him, easy to let the walls fall and let the banter pass between them. Now, Penelope struggled to face him head one, constantly overwhelmed with the overbearing need to be by his side, while grappling with the emotions of leaving sometime soon.
One morning, Penenlope had her breakfast before the rest of the household, sitting at the table, surrounded by her countless beasts, while reading a novel. She was buried within the trenches of the story when noise came from the door, and the animals stirred curiously.
George entered, looking rather startled to see her. Antony rose from his spot beneath the table, stretching towards him in greeting with a wagging tail. George patted the top of the mastiff’s head as he crossed the room to the other end of the table.
“Good morning,” Penelope said.
George met her gaze as though he hadn’t realized she was there. “Good morning, Penelope.”
“Early for you, isn’t it?”
He scoffed. “How would you know?”
Penelope snapped her book shut irritably. “You do realize we’ve lived together for a little bit now, right?”
“Touche,” he murmured as a plate of food was set in front of him. “I have some news.”
Penelope raised a brow. “What sort of news?”
“The good kind.”
“Then, let’s hear it.” Penelope hid her smile behind her cup. It felt normal, suddenly. She wanted to bask in it before he clamped up and disappeared from her again.
George cleared his throat. “It’s the stud farm.”
“Oh?”
“After all this time,” he said. “It’s finally complete.”
Penelope frowned. “Complete?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Ready for use. I spoke to your friend at the racetrack, and arranged for some native stallions to arrive in a few weeks. Vaun will be the first, of course, once we’ve secured enough mares.”
Penelope couldn’t stop herself from feeling despair at the table. He seemed happy, despite his calm, steady voice. There was nothing unpleasant about the news, besides the fact that it meant the deal was quickly coming to a close. All that George needed was an in to London’s racetracks, and he got it through correspondence with Mr. Fitzburgh, Penelope’s dear friend.
What purpose would Penelope have now?
“You seem,” George began, his brow furrowed, “Disappointed.”
Penelope shook her head. “Nowhere near disappointed, George.”
“Say something, then.”
She stared down at her plate, unable to find the right words. There was too much that she wished to say, too much that lay between them. In the end, there would never be enough time for all of it. Besides, she was happy, even if it was hidden beneath the waves of sadness that threatened to wash over her. She was.
Lifting her head, Penelope stretched her lips into the widest smile she could manage.
“I am incredibly proud of you, George.”
He grew stiff at the end of the table, eyes wide and bright. He remained like that for a minute or two, unblinking. When Penelope began to grow worried, George suddenly stood from the table, knocking the silverware and plates around. Despite his plate being full, George bowed his head down to her respectfully.
“If you’ll excuse me, Penelope.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Penelope remained there for a few moments longer, till the feeling returned to her legs. Perhaps he realized that he could get rid of her sooner rather than later, and rushed to find out about the cottage. The thought brought her down more than she expected it to.
The end date Penelope had so confidently demanded now felt like a strange omen, one that signaled an end to a life she never knew she sought. It was not that of a married lady, not a Duchess or mother. That was not unpleasant, but not what she craved. It was the togetherness that George brought her, the sense of having someone to come home to, to rely on, to cry upon. Being wed, no matter how fake it turned out to be, meant having those things. But things grew more than she ever expected them to, and suddenly, George was no longer just the sarcastic, sharp tongued charmer Duke she had first met.
He was George, her husband.
The next afternoon, before taking the dogs out for their routine walk, Penelope searched the townhouse’s halls for Butternut once more. Despite being a growing cat who loved treats and eating more than any other animal Penelope raised, Butternut often found pleasure in hiding away some place when treats were up in the air. When she still resided at Egerton, Butternut often lounged and made nests within Owen’s drawers and coats. Perhaps it was only that acted as if they did not want her that made Butternut eager to express her undying love for them.
Penelope passed by George’s study, growing nearer to his bedroom. She rapped her knuckles against the door, but only silence answered. She inhaled deeply, calming her racing heart as she pushed open the door, peering in to see it empty and quiet. She hadn’t been within his room before, even after living within the townhouse for weeks by that point.
George’s room got hit by the sunlight perfectly by midday, the light streaming in so brightly it seemed as though the floor was ablaze. Penelope cautiously crept into the bedroom, her hand eagerly running over the foot of his bed, the woody smell of him filling her as though he stood directly behind her.
“Butternut?” she whispered, making a few sounds to get the cat’s attention. “Want a treat, Butternut?”
Nothing dared to stir around the room. Letting out a sigh, Penelope began to open his wardrobe, peeking within the folds of clothes but not seeing a little animal fast asleep within. Eventually, it felt as though Penelope was in there for herself more than anyone. It had been a few days since Vauxhall gardens, and George hadn’t spoken to her in the same way as before since. It was as if there was a new kind of wall between them, one that she feared was too high for her to climb.
Crossing the room to his dresser, Penelope pulled open the top drawer and gasped. Butternut lay curled up within George’s clothes, obviously having made a nest for herself. The clothes had been pushed around to form a pillowy bed, one that fitted around the cat perfectly. Sleepily, Butternut lifted her head, letting out a whiny meow as she yawned. Penelope reached into the drawer, running her hand over the cat’s head. Butternut’s purr deepened the more she petted her, and the cat snuggled back into her makeshift bed, probably now more unwilling to move than she’d been before.
Penelope was moments away from picking the cat up when the bedroom door creaked as it was swung open. George entered the room without even looking in her direction, obviously too much in a hurry or caught up in his own mind to pay attention. He removed his coat in one swift motion, draping it over a chair before moving to his desk, rolling up his white sleeves along the way. He reached up to his collar, unbuttoning a few to expose the beginnings of a collarbone and chest.
Feeling the rush of heat swarm to her face, Penelope felt frozen in place. What could she possibly do to get out of the situation without being in the wrong? There was Butternut, of course, but now minutes had passed, and she hadn’t made her presence known. George was so fixated on his desk that he never dared to look over his shoulder, never once questioned the shadow near over the bedroom’s entryway.
Taking in a deep breath, Penelope said, “George.”
Jumping about a foot in the air, George flung around, his eyes wide and wild as they landed on her. “Darling,” he breathed, hands on his hips, “Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”
Warmth touched her heart. He hadn’t called her that in a while.
“I-I’m sorry, George,” she said. “It was Butternut.”
Crossing the room, George peered into the drawer to see the cat snoozing once more. He reached, running his hand along her back and receiving his own chorus of purrs while Butternut held her paws up in the air for him.
“Can’t be mad at a thing as precious as you,” he cooed, scratching beneath the cat’s chin. He glanced in Penelope’s direction. “And I suppose the cat isn’t too bad, herself.”
Penelope huffed, turning her face away. “Flattery still comes easy to you, doesn’t it?”
He laughed before leaving the dresser and returing to his desk. “I believe Winnie was looking for you,” he said with his back facing her.
“Oh,” Penelope said, glancing up at the grandfather clock in his bedroom, “I suppose it is time for the dogs to go out. Winnie has enjoyed coming on the excursions with me. Would you…” she paused, chewing on her lip for a moment when the confidence eluded her. Turning back to him, Penelope no longer allowed her inner turmoil to cloud her any longer. “Would you like to come along, George?”
Even from where she stood, Penelope could see George’s body tense and straighten up further. He had his hands flat against the desk, leaning down over a series of letters and papers that were scattered over the wood. Not once turning around, George’s face and emotions remained unknown to her. Even more so the longer he stayed quiet.
“I’m afraid not,” he finally said.
Penelope sighed. “Right.”
“Right, what?”
Standing beside the door, her hand wrapped around the knob, Penelope turned to face him, seeing his foot tap impatiently against the floor. “Excuse me?”
George turned around, irritation clear on his face. “Why ask if that was what you expected me to say?”
“I didn’t -”
“Never mind it,” he mumbled, putting his back to her once more, his hands flexing and clenching repeatedly at his sides.
Penelope stared at the back of his head, unsure if she should pry into his attitude change or not. No longer wanting to put effort in where he did not give it back, Penelope rolled her eyes, and left his bedroom without another word.
Winnie waited patiently at the back exit of the townhouse with the rest of the pack. They grew used to her rather quickly, and seemingly enjoyed her company as much as Penelope did. Winnie, unlike Penelope, liked to carry around a bag of treats in her pocket, keeping it tightly hidden till the moment was right. The dogs never expected it, even though she happened to do it every time they went on walks.
“Shouldn’t keep a nice girl like me waitin’, Pen,” Winnie exclaimed when she arrived. “The dogs and I get up to some real mischief when you ain’t around.”
“Good,” Penelope mused with a grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Hooking her arm around her own, Winnie led them outside, the dogs rushing out the moment she opened the door wide enough. They sprinted into the afternoon day without a care in the wolf, chasing after each other while barking at the wind. Winnie and Penelope made their way down the usual path, arms wound together and quiet smiles on their faces. Though Penelope remained haunted by her future and the turmoil George left in her heart, she found great solace in those moments with Winnie. There was no need to worry about judgements or gossips, no need to dress how the Ton expected or refrain from speaking about certain things.
Having Winnie around was like having a sister nearby again, and Penelope didn’t realize how much she needed it till Alicia was gone.
“You look mighty cloudy today, Pen,” Winnie said after a silent round about the yard.
Penelope sighed. “I’d say thunderstorms linger over my head.”
“Thunderstorms?” Winnie repeated with a whistle. “Sounds like a serious problem. Care to talk?”
“I’m not quite sure what there is to say,” Penelope murmured.
Winnie tightened her hold on her. “The truth.”
Hesitating, Penelope’s eyes drifted up to the townhouse, where George would be somewhere inside. She wanted nothing more than to let it all out, to release all the things she had kept tightly wound inside. Despite wanting to, it was easier said than done, and Penelope found herself rather tight-lipped, even if she didn’t want to be. Sighing, Penelope raised her gaze to the sky, watching as a solitary cloud crawled over the sun, casting a dark shadow over them.
“It is too much to be put into words,” Penelope finally said.
“Sounds like love, to me.”
“Well, now, Winnie, I -”
Winnie grinned, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Can’t deny it, can you?” Letting out a sharp laugh, Winnie’s eyes grew wistful and nostalgic. “Did Georgie ever tell you how Fred and I came to be together?”
“No,” Penelope replied.
“Something that you Londoners might not consider: we Americans struggle with love, too,” Winnie began. “Especially love that our families don’t like.”
“Was Fred not an approved bachelor?”
“According to my father,” Winnie said, “Fred was nothin’ more than a poor farmer with nothin’ but a patch of land out west to his name. Father said he’d let our union take place when the pigs at the market could jump over the church.” She laughed with a shake of her head. “When Fred heard that, the man tried to buy as many pigs as he could, determined to make them fly one way or another.”
Penelope giggled. “It couldn’t have worked.”
“Well, we’re married, ain’t we?”
“But, Winnie, pigs don’t fly! That is unheard of!”
“Is it still unheard of if it’s for the one you love?”
Penelope paused, looking back down at the ground. “I suppose I’m not sure about that.”
“You’ll be glad to know that Fred didn’t make any pigs fly,” Winnie said. “But, he did show up at my house one mornin’, and demanded my hand in marriage.”
“Really?”
Winnie nodded. “No matter how many times my father denied him, Freddie kept tryin’.”
“And he said yes?”
“No.”
Penelope frowned. “But -”
Pausing in their trek, Winnie grasped onto Penelope’s hands tightly, holding them close and dear to her heart. “Now you listen to me, Pen. Sometimes, love ain’t gonna be accepted by everyone. What matters is whether or not you can deny it. When love is true, and it is right, it cannot be denied, you hear?”
Penelope nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation was leading.
“Have you ever felt that, Pen?”
The world around her seemed to fade away. There was only Winnie’s words, and the birdsong lingering overhead. The dogs dozed off in the sun, no longer running amok around the yard. Winnie’s grip was tight and firm around her hands, keeping her locked in reality. Penelope stared down at their hands, opening and closing her mouth like a fish, knowing what words lingered underneath her breath but unable to speak them aloud.
There was no doubt in her mind that she felt that for George. He was an ache she needed at all times, a constant echo within her heart. Without him, she was incredibly hollow, not remembering what it was she had wanted in the first place. Somehow, George managed to creep under her skin and erase everything she had believed to be what she wanted. Now, there was only him, and he was the exact thing she could not have.
Penelope met Winnie’s expectant stare with a small, dejected smile.
“No, Winnie, I can’t say I have.”