His Wild Duchess (Fate & Circumstance #2)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

T he days carried on in agony that Penelope felt to be personal, an outright attack on her very being. Each moment felt like the last of her life, as if she was being sent to a whole different world entirely. Clarissa’s quirks and incessant conversation reminded her of being a child herself, when she used to ramble off in Alicia’s ear about the books she read and animals she found. The Millers would remain in London for a few more weeks, but nothing substantial. There might not even be time for them to come to the cottage before leaving, when they already planned to travel the country before leaving, to see the great London tracks and horses. Penelope wouldn’t dare take them away from it for a thing as silly as visiting her.

Penelope and Winnie took their daily walk with the dogs more often than usual, spending more time lying in the grass and staining their dresses. Fred joined them a time or two, intent on hearing more about Penelope’s past experiences with horses. In the end, her mind was elsewhere, gazing up at the townhouse where George remained in his study.

The day before Penelope was set to leave, Mrs. Howard had a lovely feast planned for their evening meal. She made the menu herself, conferring with the cook and the rest of the staff.

“I might feel better with a simpler meal,” Penelope said to her as they walked through the halls for the last time.

“Heavens, no, your Grace,” the housekeeper said. “Before travel, a hearty meal is required. You’ll be moving into a new home,” she paused, Mrs. Howard’s usually pinched face growing rather soft and gentle. “And won’t have a soul to help you, your Grace.”

“Luckily I’ve had a wonderful teacher,” Penelope mused, tucking her arm around Mrs. Howard’s. “I may be a Duchess, Mrs. Howard, according to the law, but I hope you might bless me with a letter every now and then.”

Mrs. Howard glanced over at her in surprise. “Are you…Do you mean that, your Grace?”

“Of course,” she replied. “And we can start our correspondence with you addressing me as Penelope.”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Howard said, a smile across her thin lips.

Penelope left her at the end of the hall, giving her a bow of the head as she crossed the foyer. In the distance, she could’ve sworn she heard the housekeeper whisper her name, just barely, the word so light it got caught on the gentle breeze. Penelope, touched by the housekeeper’s kindness, continued her walk through the townhouse. Most of her things had been pack and loaded into the carriage already. Clarissa worked extra hard that morning to make the transition as smooth as possible. Penelope had an inkling that the lady’s maid might’ve been a bit sad, and used it to avoid her.

Not that she was bitter over it. Penelope did not wish to lose the friendship either.

Penelope wasn’t entirely sure why she was lurking through the halls. She smiled at the passing servants, pausing to say a few words to the ones she knew by name. Otherwise, there wasn’t much to be done other tha reminisce and wallow. Her animals, upset in their own right, were all around the house and remained elusive to her. Perhaps they wished to remain, and tried to hide before it was time to leave. It was sweet, but Penelope knew they’d follow her out when the moment came.

Though, by that point in the day, Penelope needed a friendly companion, and went about searching for a dog or two. The foxhounds had taken a liking to the Millers, and she assumed they’d be following them around some place. The wolfhounds were masters at sleeping in places she’d never guess, so they were out of the question. Butternut was as elusive as they came. But there was one who was hard to hide, who had a particular affinity for one of the household members, that also hadn’t gone anywhere besides his study since they returned from Yeats Manor.

Penelope curved around the corner to come upon George’s study. The door was only open a crack, not much noise coming from the inside. Penelope tip toed over, trying to peer through to see if she had managed to catch George in a moment where he finally wasn’t in his study, drowning in paperwork. When she couldn’t see a thing, Penelope pressed a hand against the door, pushing it open slowly to avoid it making a creaking noise.

Light pooled into the room the further she pushed the door open. In the back of the room, sitting against the floor with his back pressed against a bookcase, was George. Beside him, with a large head resting against his lap, was the mastiff, Antony. Both of them had their eyes closed, soft and gentle sighs coming from their lips every now and then. Antony stirred ever so slightly, getting himself more comfortable over George’s legs. In return, George let out a long, soft breath, rubbing his back against the books and running a hand down the dog’s long back. Neither even bothered to open their eyes.

Penelope couldn’t stop the smile from passing over her face. They were an image of pure bliss, sleeping so soundly close to one another. Antony was a large dog, and didn’t sleep on people often. Penelope had yet to understand the allure George had for the beast, but it seemed it would always remain an enigma. Guilt stung in Penelope’s heart at the thought of parting them, but she wouldn’t even dare to think about leaving Antony behind.

Before Penelope could creep back out, a noise came from beneath George’s desk. Stepping out from the shadows was Butternut, her fur ruffled as if she had just been grooming herself. With a tail striking high into the air behind her, Butternut trotted over to Penelope, letting out a trilling noise before following her out the door. Penelope stole one more glance over her shoulder at George before leaving. She tried to press the image in her mind like a flower, determined to remember it for as long as she lived.

That evening, Penelope made her way to the dining room with a heavy heart. She had thought of all the things she could say to George, but it all fell flat. Not only did none of it feel like enough, but it wouldn’t be right. What if she pleaded for him to let her stay, and forced him into it through pity? George was a kind man. He wouldn’t turn her out if that was what she insisted upon. And yet, neither of them had wanted the marriage to begin with. There was no reason for George to want her to remain by his side. He made his way into London, and had more than enough backing to help him remain in the fold.

Penelope had no place there, or at Yeats Manor for that matter.

Rounding into the dining room, Penelope was shocked to see only George within. There were even two seats at the table rather than floor. The entire pack, including Butternut alongside the dogs, lazed around the floor of the room, taking up every piece of space as they sprawled out nonchalantly. Penelope gaped at them, not expecting to see them all within the room. Across the room, George stood beside the table, seemingly trapped by the wolfhounds on either side of him.

“Good evening,” he said, sounding a bit beside himself.

Penelope forgot her manners. “Where are Winnie and Fred?”

“Dining out,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “I apologize, I should have let you know beforehand.”

“No, no,” she murmured. “I only…I only wished to see them, is all.”

George nodded firmly. “I understand.” As he moved to the table, a frown twitched at his lip. “Hopefully I am…adequate company.”

She watched him from her side of the table. “Are you teasing?”

“Why would I be?”

Penelope shook her head at him as she took her seat at the same time he did. “Your company is more than adequate.”

He smiled. “Perhaps I was teasing,” he said. “But it was nice to hear you say it.”

Penelope laughed as the servants began to serve the meal. She was surprised at her ability to become so easy beside him, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. She melded alongside George, felt truly like she confidently knew herself. To laugh with him was a blessing, though it made Penelope dread the coming hours even more. Was he able to laugh and tease so easily because it hadn’t changed much at all? He would go about on his days as though nothing had dared to touch him. Penelope looked down at her food.

“I had a splendid nap this afternoon,” he suddenly said.

Penelope glanced at him. “I heard.”

“You heard?” he repeated. “How?”

She nodded towards the great black mass poised by George’s side. “From Antony, of course.”

George watched her with skeptical eyes, though his gaze flicked to the animal with the slightest hint of suspicion. “If I had more time, I’d dive much deeper into that,” he murmured with a grin. “I suppose he just went running to tell you, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Penelope cooed. “Felt as though he tamed the cold heart of the perpetually busy Duke.”

“My, my!” George threw his head back as he laughed, reaching down below the table to give the mastiff a good scratch behind the ears. “What a fine storyteller he is.” Looking back up, he leaned in his seat, letting his gaze weigh heavily on Penelope.

Raising the glass to her lips, Penelope watched him over the rim. “Why do you look at me like that, George?”

“How?”

“Like==” she paused, breath catching in her throat. The last time he looked at her in that way, they’d shared an intimate kiss. Penelope looked away, feeling the rise of heat flood to her cheeks. Lowering the glass, she cleared her throat, turning back to him with her lips pressed firmly together. “Never mind.”

George frowned, shoulders lowering. “You can tell me, darling.”

The pet name felt rather cruel at that point. She raised her fingers to her mouth, feeling the pressure of his phantom kiss brush by her. “Never mind it, George. Truly.”

His eyes clung to her, though he didn’t bother to argue.

The dinner continued on in silence, the only sound within the room being their utensils scratching against the plates. Even the animals, fast asleep by the warm room, didn’t even snore. Penelope could only imagine what George was thinking, watching him with every chance she could, trying to memorize every curve in his face.

“I’ll need to get used to no longer having animals around me all the time,” George suddenly said, his voice heavy and wistful. His attention was focused on the pack, and for a moment, it felt as though he spoke without meaning to.

Penelope could only stare, her lips parted in astonishment. George hadn’t once made a pointed comment about her departure since he told her of the letter’s arrival. She had no inclining as to what he was feeling, till that very moment. Penelope wanted to shoot up from the table and race across the room to him. To hold onto him and refuse to let go. There had to be a piece of him, just one little bit, that ached for her to stay as much as she wished to. And yet, no matter how much she told herself that, George didn’t offer another word.

If he wanted her to stay, he kept it locked within.

Penelope swallowed back the rushing of emotion that threatened to make tears fall. Rising from the table, she gave George a bow. “Good evening,” she murmured before spinning around, leaping over a few dog legs to make it to the exit. The pack rose and followed her like a stampede. The moment she passed across the threshold, Penelope finally allowed herself to cry. She felt as though something struck her with every step she took.

At that point, Penelope knew that she wouldn’t dare stay until dawn. The longer she remained, the harder it became to sever herself from the life she had grown to treasure. She did not even try to sleep, for fear of her dreams being filled with nightmares of her future. A life without George grew darker by the minute, even when the sun made way to peek across the horizon. Even when the birds sang their song over the treetops, life seemed even dimmer.

Penelope wore a cloak over her dress, making her way like a ghost through the townhouse’s quiet halls. She slipped by the room where the Millers slept, and then George’s own room. She paused in front of it for a moment, her hand grazing over the door.

“Goodbye,” she whispered. “My love.”

And with that, Penelope flew down the staircase, slipping out the back door that led towards the stable. The dogs were already stored away in the carriage, leaving no room for her to sit beside him. Even if there was, she knew she would be riding on horseback to the cottage. Fresh air flying through her air felt like a possible antidote for her sorrow. Perhaps if she was aligned with nature once more, she’d remember what it was she was leaving it all behind for. Even then, as she pushed open the stable doors, Penelope had no idea.

Fiona came to her almost immediately, nuzzling her snout along Penelope’s neck. She reached, running a hand along her neck as she turned her attention towards Vaun. The stallion loomed over in the corner, his dark eyes holding onto her firmly. Crossing the room, Penelope saw a paper tacked to the front of Vaun’s stall. Neat and familiar handwriting was scrawled across it.

Take Vaun. For safekeeping.

Penelope’s heart threatened to topple her over. The one thing that could be designated as the key to George’s success within London was Vaun, and he so willingly handed him over to her for the time being, all out of safety. And yet, despite the emotion that seemed to lurk behind that note, it hasn't changed a single thing. George wasn’t there, saying those words to her face. He wasn’t there to wish her a goodbye, to admit his true feelings, to beg her to stay, to forget the dreams she had once had to build new ones with him.

Penelope pulled Vaun out of the stall and fixed the saddle on his back. She gave Fiona a goodbye as she walked by, reassuring the mare they’d see each other very soon. Vaun followed her eagerly out into the early morning air. Hoisting herself onto his back, Penelope quietly led him towards the front of the townhouse, the driver of the carriage nodding off for a moment or two till she rumbled up in front of him.

And just like that, she was on her way towards the cottage, leaving behind everything she had once given half her heart to. The tears, this time, fell, and there was no point in stopping them.