Chapter 3 #3
“Come,” Violet encouraged, tugging her forward to the garden fountain. “Let us put distance between that awful man and have a joyful afternoon. Who knows? You might even catch the eye of a lord.”
But Penelope couldn’t stop thinking of Charles’ words: the marriage mart wouldn’t accept her, and nobody would want a widow who was twenty-and-six, whether she was still pretty or not.
One thing was for certain: she knew Charles would not let this go, and she had to continue doing all she could to keep Nicholas away from him. Her son disliked Charles enough as it was, and Penelope knew that would not change anytime soon.
She would not put her little boy through further discomfort and distress.
Once they sat down on the seats near the fountain, just far away enough not to have any spray hit them, Amelia nudged Penelope.
“Do you wish to talk about it, darling?” she asked gently, placing a hand over Penelope’s.
The cool afternoon air swept in, but the tension from Charles’s words still clung to her like an unwanted cloak, and she nodded.
Penelope exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “I cannot fathom anything about it. He told me he has moved to the area and wishes to see Nicholas more. He believes he ought to be Nicholas’ role model.”
Violet snorted, unladylike. “Role model! He can barely be one for himself. I, for one, do not trust him. I fear he is trying to get close to Nicholas in order to get closer to you.”
Penelope nodded, not knowing what to do about it.
She couldn’t cave; she wouldn’t relent. “And the way he looks at me… the way he dared to put his hand on me…” She shook her head.
“I just cannot stand any of it. I came out to the countryside to escape what had happened in London, yet it seems trouble is following me everywhere.”
“What sort of trouble? Do you mean aside from Charles?” Amelia asked. Her aunt’s brows furrowed.
Penelope’s cheeks warmed as she thought back to the broad man in the cottage doorway, his eyes like steel, every inch of his anger directed at her.
“Yes,” she sighed. “Beyond Charles. I… I met the Duke of Brigrock yesterday. Nicholas sneaked into his lands and has apparently been feeding His Grace’s hounds for weeks—been trespassing and sneaking off for weeks. I was mortified! Terrified, but mortified.”
Violet blinked at Penelope, her eyes widening.
“You met the Duke of Brigrock? You met Malcolm Alridge?”
“Violet, dear, do close your mouth or you shall catch a fly or two,” Amelia teased, but her own eyes were wide with wonder as she leaned closer to Penelope. “Although, I am very intrigued. Is he everything the ton says he is?”
“I do not know!” Penelope protested with a frown. “It was mere moments but it felt like an eternity.”
Violet cut in excitedly. “What does he look like? Is he truly scarred, as the rumors say? Is he handsome?”
“Oh, Violet,” Amelia tutted.
“What?” she cried. “He rarely ever turns up to events, so I am naturally curious!”
“The only thing you need to know about the Duke of Brigrock is that he is dangerous, and both you and Nicholas will do good to stay away,” Amelia said, turning back to Penelope.
Penelope swallowed, her thoughts immediately returning to the encounter. Her mind replayed the sound of his voice, the way his gaze had lingered on her. She could still feel the prickling awareness of his presence.
It was strange. The man was an enigma, surrounded by mystery, yet something about him had drawn her in. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint what.
“Truly, I do not know what to think of him,” Penelope admitted, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the edge of her glove sleeve, glancing at Violet. “He did appear to be just like the rumors say, and I did notice his scar, but it’s not that repulsive as people say.”
She then looked back at Amelia, smiling gently. “And do not worry, Amelia, I will be most careful. Nicholas already knows not to go back, and he has been ever so good, despite his curiosity to. He has become rather fond of His Grace’s dog, it seems.”
Amelia nodded slowly. “I trust you do know to stay away, darling. You do not need to invite danger onto your doorstep, even if His Grace has turned out to be your neighbor.” Her hand curled over Penelope’s protectively. “And you know Violet and I shall always be here for you, no matter what.”
Later, in the solitude of her room, Penelope sat by the window, the last remnants of sunlight fading from the sky. She gazed out over the peaceful grounds of Romwich Hall, but her mind wandered far from the view.
Malcolm Aldridge.
The name seemed to hang in the air around her, echoing in her thoughts, drowning out the calm of the countryside. Her interaction with the Duke at his cottage had left an impression, one that lingered longer than she wanted it to.
She closed her eyes, picturing him once more. The roughness of his features, the scar running down his cheek, the hardness in his eyes.
She shook her head, trying to focus on anything other than him.
Heavens, why can I not think of anything else? Her aunt was right: she needed to be careful, and despite the Duke having a respected rank, he was a recluse, and dangerous, and Penelope fully intended on keeping her distance.
Even if the Duke had focused so much on her during their encounter.
Even if he had waited to see her leave the grounds. Or perhaps making sure I was safe?
Nobody had looked at her so intensely before, and although she hadn’t entirely felt safe beneath that gaze, knowing she had needed to leave as quickly as she could, he hadn’t entirely threatened her, either.
But before she could dismiss the thought, there was a knock at her door. It opened before Penelope could call out, and Mrs. Guildbury was stood in the doorway. Her chest heaved breathlessly.
“It’s Lord Nicholas, my lady,” she gasped out. “I have looked for him everywhere, but I fear he has run off again. He… he has gone.”
Penelope’s heart stopped. She was on her feet in an instant, her blood running cold.
Not again. Not now.