Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
G eorge clenched and unclenched his hands, swept away by the phantom pressure of Penelope’s embrace against him. He could not be rid of her, even if he wished to be. Her touch remained upon him like a wound, ever present and reminding. The feeling echoed beneath his skin as though she lived there, always beside him, always in his mind, always clouding his thoughts. All throughout their dance, George could only think of one thing: how hard it would be to let her go. Not just then, when the music had come to a stop, but after it all. Only he knew of the letter that arrived before they came to Yeats Manor, the letter that proclaimed the cottage finally ready to be lived in.
As the waltz carried on around them, George was staring down at his wife, a mantra repeating in the back of his mind. Penelope, my wife. Penelope, my wife. Penelope, my wife. And when it was over, when her hands slipped out of his embrace, her figure disappearing within the crowds, the mantra changed into something cruel, something that had fueled his despair over the past few weeks.
Penelope, soon to be gone.
How could it have been over, just like that? Not just the waltz, but their entire life together. Yes, it began as nothing more than a deal, a ploy meant to convince the Ton of his place in aristocratic London, but it quickly became more. Perhaps Penelope had never felt changed, always remaining in a state of indifference while he suffered from a plague on the heart. It had only been one dance, and yet, George felt as though Penelope had already left him, already living her secluded and independent life in the middle of the English countryside, surrounded by nothing more than her animals.
What had once seemed like the best course of action now felt like a punch to the stomach.
George began to move through the crowd as the orchestra took up their instruments once more, pulling the audience into another dance. Though there were plenty of gentlemen around that he had planned to talk to about the stud farm’s completion, George found himself scanning the crowd for Penelope, but couldn’t see a lick of her auburn hair.
“Georgie,” a familiar voice came from his left.
He glanced over to see Fred, a tall and obnoxious top hat tucked beneath his elbow. He stifled his laugh at it. “Fred,” he quickly greeted, giving him a nod. “If you’ll excuse me -”
“Not so fast,” he grumbled, taking wide strides to stand in front of him. “This is quite the shindig. You know, the Bellamys back home ain’t gonna believe me when I say that -”
“Freddie,” George interjected with a sharp tone. “As much as I’d love to hear the rest of that sentence, I need to find Penelope.”
“Ah,” Fred said with a knowing smirk. “I saw her run off.”
“Did you?”
Fred nodded. “Looked rather windswept, if you ask me.” He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you had told her, right out on the floor.”
“What?”
“Didn’ tell her yet, did ‘ya?”
George glanced over at him with narrowed eyes. “Tell her what ?”
“‘Bout the letter, ‘course.”
“How could you possibly know about that?”
“We Americans ain’t all thick-headed, you know,” Fred snapped, giving him a pointed look before a smirk crept along his face. “Aw, who am I kiddin’? Winnie snooped through your desk.”
George sighed. “I figured as much.”
“You gon’ tell ‘er?”
“I-I don’t know, Freddie.”
Fred clicked his teeth together. “She didn’ look too good after your Waltz.”
“What do you mean? She seemed right as rain beforehand!”
“You two,” he murmured with a disappointed shake of his head, “Blind as bats, I’ll tell you what.”
“Speak plainly, Fred. Are you certain she was upset?”
“As upset as you look, I take it,” Fred replied.
George straightened, raising his chin up ever so slightly. “There isn’t a thing wrong with me,” he lied, suddenly growing more worried at the minute as to what could be plaguing Penelope. “I ought to track her down, if she looked as you say.”
“I ‘spose you oughta.”
George paused, giving his friend a look. “You seem as though there’s something else you wish to say, Fred.”
“Do I, now?”
“Speak up, Freddie. What is it?”
Taking a long sip of his drink, Fred shook his head as though he was unsure of himself. It was a rare thing to see. People like Fred and Winnie held a pride within themselves that was rather admirable. Perhaps if George had that sort of willpower, he’d been more than aware of his feelings sooner rather than later. Perhaps he wouldn’t be fretting over the letter, then, if he had the confidence to tell Penelope what it was that he wanted forthrightly. He’d learned bravery in America. But not that simple courage of the heart.
Finally, after what felt like ages, Fred lifted his head, the sparkling wine glass now empty. “Before you spend too much time thinkin’, Georgie, maybe you should remember what lies in there.”
“Where?”
Fred huffed before reaching, thrusting a thick finger in the center of George’s chest. “Your heart, Georgie. Use your heart for once in your life.” Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze landed heavily on on Winnie, who sauntered up to them with two glasses in hand. “Like I have,” Fred murmured. “Every day of my life.”
Despite being surrounded by strangers, Fred took his wife in his arms, leaning down to press a firm kiss over her lips. She giggled against him, handing the full glass over to replace his empty one. The nearby Ton members watched them with wide eyes, whispering to each other with distasteful looks. Perhaps any other man would’ve felt shame to be standing beside a couple like Fred and Winnie, when they so boldly showed their admiration for each other, no matter who happened to be watching. But in that moment, George could only simmer with jealousy. He glanced around, hoping that Penelope was still lingering around within the crowd rather than somewhere else he didn’t know.
Winnie met George’s stare. “Why do you look so glum, Georgie?”
“He’s lookin’ for Penny,” Freddie whispered in her hair.
Winnie gave him a knowing look. “I see, I see. She went towards her room, Georgie.”
Clearing his throat, George gave them a nod before turning around on his heel, leaving the ballroom before the Millers had any second available to tease him further. As he left the crowds, pausing to give a gentleman a nod every once and a while, George found his heart to be hammering more than usual. Perhaps it was Fred’s words that drove him into feeling nervous, as though he had never spoken to Penelope before. Shaking his head, he tried to push the thoughts away as he drew closer and closer.
Outside her bedroom door, George rapped his knuckles against it gently. “Penelope,” he called out. “Are you well?”
A muffled sound came from the otherside, too far away for him to make out anything clear.
“Penelope,” he repeated, knocking once more.
When she didn’t respond again, George couldn’t help himself. He wrapped a hand around the doorknob, opening it wide as he slipped inside.
The bedroom was dimly lit by a single candle. A figure, bundled up and hunched over, was at the edge of the bed. It was obviously Penelope, her angelic colored dress bright against the shadowy darkness. A shaking hand was pressed over her mouth, still gloved and trembling. A few strands of curls fell across her face as she swayed back and forth, eyes clenched so tight together her entire face was scrunched up. And within it all, shimmering tears streaked down her tanned cheeks like arrows.
“Darling Penelope,” George murmured as he slipped into the room, snapping the door shut behind him. “What ever is the matter?”
Penelope raised her face, lowering her hand for a split second. The moment she tried to open her mouth to speak, but her breath caught in a sudden sob. Her green eyes glanced at him for a moment before squeezing shut once more, her head shaking so hard her hair fell through its pins.
It was obvious that there wouldn’t be any words coming from her anytime soon, not when she was so overcome with emotion. As the contents of the letter quickly slipped from his mind, George surged forward, no longer waiting for her to call for him. Falling into the bed beside her, he eagerly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, easing her against his chest. Penelope let out a shuddering breath the moment she rested upon him, one hand clenching onto his coat tightly. Her perfumes, light and floral, wafted beneath his nose as she wept. To see her so upset was more painful than he ever thought it would be. Suddenly, he was eager to be her knight, to slay the dragons that threatened to impose upon her.
“Relax,” he whispered. “I am here.” The next words that came out his lips felt so right he had no chance to think them over, to stop himself from overstepping or assuming something she did not want. “I will always be here.”
Something about those simple words seemed to sink in within her. Penelope leaned heavily against him, sighing so hard he thought she had no air in her lungs. He allowed his hand to run up and down her back, applying steady pressure with every touch. Slowly, her breathing began to become normal, aligning with his own. He drew in deep breaths, and she easily mimicked him, her chest rising as much as it could before falling back down. With his other hand, George reached for her hands, beginning to gently tug the gloves off her.
“W-What,” she whispered, voice hoarse from tears, “What’re you doing?”
“Removing your gloves,” he murmured against her hair. “They are far too tight.” Once the first was removed, he laid it across his lap so as to not crease it. “I doubt the pressure of them against your skin did you any good.” He removed the second with a simple tug. “See, darling? Does that help?”
Penelope breathed deeply, her face pressed against his chest. Her words of gratitude came out as a murmur, too muffled for him to truly make out.
“When you are ready,” he said, “I’d like for you to tell me what happened.”
“I-I’m sorry, George.”
Tucking one hand below her chin, George gently tugged her face up to meet his own. She was obviously embarrassed, her eyes flickering to the side to avoid looking at him. But he persisted, his heart cracking at the sight of her flushed cheeks, stained with her fallen tears. He fought the urge to swipe them away, to take her by the shoulders and demand to know what had made her so upset.
“Do not ever,” he whispered, “ Ever, think of apologizing for something like this. Do you understand?”
Penelope looked up at him with wide eyes. Without saying a word, she nodded very slowly.
“Now,” he continued. “What happened?”
“I just…” her voice trailed off as she began to sit up. While George was expecting her to remove herself from his embrace, she remained as close as possible to his side, one hand still clutching his coat tightly. “I never expected it to be so much.”
“For what to be so much? The ball?”
“All of it,” she murmured. “Being a Duchess, hosting a ball. Preparing the Manor when I knew little about it in the first place.”
George sighed, feeling a part of him grow guilty, as if he had a role in her sadness. “I did not wish to throw you to the wolves, so to speak.”
“No,” she said, meeting his eyes. “It wasn’t like that at all. I only…I never knew what it would be like to truly be a Duchess. Perhaps this proves that I was not ready for such a thing.”
George frowned. “I believe it makes you more than ready, in a way.”
“How?”
“There is not a soul in London who was born ready to take up a role like Duke or Duchess,” he explained. “Just look at me!”
“You’re a marvelous Duke.”
George faltered at the sincerity behind her words for a moment before he could gather his thoughts once more. “I fled before I had even reached the age of twenty,” he continued. “For a decade, I was nothing more than a foreigner. I wasn’t a Duke at all. All of this, the balls, the meetings, the Ton. It is difficult for anyone to handle, Penelope, but you have done the one thing that no other person in your shoes has ever done before.”
She raised a brow. “What would that be?”
“Admitted your fear,” he replied. “That is the first step to overcoming it.”
Penelope lowered her gaze, the hectic flush slowly fading from her cheeks. “I did run from it, though.”
“Loads of people do.”
“George,” she murmured. “You do not need to lie to make me feel better.”
He chuckled. “Have I ever been a liar, darling?”
“I suppose I wouldn’t know, would I?” she replied with a little smirk.
A warmth filled his chest as she slowly became normal again. Despite telling him of the things that made her overwhelmed enough that she fled the ball, it seemed as though there was something else that lingered behind her eyes, something that brought the slightest bit of a frown to her rosy lips once more. Penelope looked away from him, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Is there something else, Penelope?”
“No,” she quickly said. “I do not think so.”
“Truly?”
Penelope hesitated, her head tilting back towards George before snapping away just as fast. Whatever it was that lied within her mind, she refused to let it come forward. He let out a sigh, not entirely willing to blame her for it. He still held the contents of that letter within him, and he wasn’t at all eager to let them out anytime soon, not when she was so close to him.
“I hope you won’t look at me differently,” she suddenly said, avoiding his question.
“Whatever for?”
Penelope shrugged. “For being such a bundle of unwarranted emotions. No one wishes to see a grown lady cry.”
He watched her with parted lips. There was so much he wished to say, so much that lay dormant beneath his chest. He remembered Fred’s words, when he pushed the pad of his finger against the center of his chest. Too much was within his heart to lay it out on her feet in that moment, when she was already so overcome with her own emotions. The last thing George wanted to do was bring her tears once more, to overwhelm her again. Instead, he took in a deep breath, determined to get his point across without sounding like a lovesick child.
“If I look at you differently,” he began in a quiet voice, “It would only be with admiration.”
Penelope glanced up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite serious.”
She scooted to face him with wide, curious eyes. “What ever could you possibly mean by that, George?”
“Do not be ashamed of your emotions,” he said. “You, Penelope, are the kind of lady poets write of. That is why I admire you.”
She scoffed. “Because I cry?”
“Don’t tell me you scorn tears.”
“In what way has a crying woman ever been seen as anything other than a nuisance?” she asked with a bewildered laugh.
“Never a nuisance,” he replied. “I wish I could show my feelings as much as you can. You are all sincerity without losing a particle of dignity.”
“Don’t tease me, George.”
“I wouldn’t dare, darling.”
Despite her face growing a deep shade of red, Penelope didn’t pull her eyes away from his for even one second. The corner of her lip curled into an amused smile. “I believe you might’ve had too much to drink already.”
George’s brow furrowed. “Not a drop.”
“Why do you look at me like that?”
He couldn’t help himself from smirking. “Like what?”
“I couldn’t possibly say,” she murmured, her confidence slipping away. Her shoulders hunched as if to turn away.
Eager to hear her words and to keep her focus attached to him, George reached, his finger grazing the curve of her jaw before swiping below her chin. She turned again, a light exhalation leaving her lips.
“Come on,” he whispered. “It’s just us. You are only Penelope, and I am only George.” He smiled, unable to stop his gaze from trailing over her face, from admiring every bit of her as she faced him. “What is it?”
“You look at me,” she whispered, the air catching in her throat for a moment before she swallowed, regaining herself, “You look at me as though I am more than ‘only Penelope.’”
The intensity of the moment hit George like a ton of bricks. He was incredibly close to her, a hairs away from the ruby colored lips that spoke the sweetest of words. Whatever it was that kept him away from her before no longer mattered. There was only the two of them in the dimly lit bedroom, the ball they were supposed to be hosting going on swimmingly down the hall. None of it mattered, anyways. Not when there was something as alluring as Penelope sitting right in front of him.
“You are more than that,” he whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”
“How?”
George smiled. “Well, you are my wife.”
Her green eyes drew even wider. “Can…can you…”
“Anything.”
Penelope’s face grew red. “Can you say that again?”
“What,” he murmured, unaware of how close he leaned towards her, “My wife?”
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Again.”
George laughed, entirely engrossed by the beautiful woman in front of him. “You,” he whispered, “Penelope, are my wife.”
With her eyes clothes, head angled up towards him, George felt like he had been caught in a whirlpool, unable to turn away even if he wanted to. And he knew with every fiber of his being that he definitely did not want to. He reached, cupping a hand around her cheek. The feather-like touch caused her to shudder, but she didn’t open her eyes, as if she was afraid of it all disappearing the moment she did.
“My Penelope,” George murmured, practically speaking against her lips, “My wife.”
He stole a kiss within a second, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, lifting her face up even further to him. Penelope breathed a sigh against his lips, her hands gripping tightly onto the front of his coats.
Before, when he was nothing more than a scoundrel out to do whatever he could to make his father mad, George had stolen more than a kiss or two. Women had fallen to him easily, swayed by his charisma and pretty words. He’d linger through Vauxhall gardens, stealing a glance across the way before strutting up to the next Lady he wished to fall in love with him. It was simple, then, when he was a rake doing the things rakes were expected to do.
But suddenly, there was Penelope. In no way, shape or form was she a fragile dove in his arms. There was no trick to weaken her inhibitions. No flirtatious words sent back and forth to lead up to that moment. It was utterly true, and it took everything in him to not capture her in his embrace, to keep her from ever daring to take a step away from him. He held back from engulfing her in his arms, holding her like she’d run away at any given moment. It wasn’t until Penelope began to sink against him that he curled an arm around her waist, keeping her beside him as long as he could.
Penelope pulled away, gasping for air as if she had been deep underwater.
“Are you alright?” George asked quietly, unable to hide his smile. There was no joke or amusement behind it. All he felt was unprecedented joy, the one thing he had been wishing to happen finally unfolding before his very eyes. He was moments away from falling back into her, from retaking her lips before she could give the slightest notion of turning from him.
She nodded, lowering her head. “You,” she breathed, “Well, I…” Penelope didn’t raise her eyes to meet his own. Her hand raised, grazing against her lips. “Thank you,” she murmured.
George frowned, unsure of what to make of that. Before he could ask what she was truly thinking, Penelope finally raised her head, her brow bunched together thoughtfully.
“Were you,” she began, clearing her throat halfway, “Looking for me?”
“What?”
“Earlier. When you came to my door.”
George’s frown deepened. Reality came rushing back to him sooner than he wished. Slowly, his hands began to leave her, feeling quite empty the longer they stayed away. “There was some news,” he said, “That I had wished to share with you. But Fred had seen you leave the ballroom, and -”
“News?” she repeated. “What news?”
He stared at her with narrowed eyes. Somehow, a wall had been put between them in the matter of moments. When he had reveled so deeply in their kiss, finally believing in a hope of their life together, George hadn’t stopped to consider what any of it would mean to Penelope. Perhaps she was not swayed, not finding anything more than a tender embrace with him. Perhaps she had an inclining to the news, and was eager to hear him truly say it and make it real.
George pulled himself away from her fully. Had he made a fool out of himself for believing she actually wanted to kiss him? “I received a letter yesterday morning. The cottage is ready.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “So soon?”
“There was little work to be done in the first place.”
Penelope watched him silently for a moment before turning away, gently taking her gloves off his lap. “You waited to tell me,” she whispered.
“Could it not have waited a day?” he asked, hearing the slightest edge to his voice. “Or did you think you could’ve avoided the heartache of the ball if I had thought to tell you sooner?”
“That isn’t what I meant, George.”
He rose from the bed, unable to sit still beside her. Penelope’s face was closed off, and he was unable to tell what it was that she truly thought about the news. If she was excited or disappointed, eager to leave or considering staying, remained unbeknownst to him. And it wasn’t like Penelope was getting ready to tell him anytime soon.
“Perhaps,” she suddenly said, standing beside him, “We should return before the guests wonder where their hosts are.”
Hiding his disappointment, George cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. Holding his arm out for her to take, Penelope avoided meeted his gaze as her arm slipped around his own, the touch light and almost nonexistent. He led the way out the bedroom, a thousand words resting on the tip of his tongue but unable to find their way out.