by Burke, Darcy
Penelope wanted to scream. Why wasn’t she ruined? Why was she still having to suffer this ridiculous farce? So her mother could make the most of this moment of notoriety. Penelope was and had always been a tool for the marchioness’s social advancement. In fact, at the start of the Season, she’d wanted Penelope to land either Lady Viola’s brother or Lady Felicity’s. Lady Viola’s reputation hadn’t mattered then.
The marchioness linked her arm through Penelope’s and led her back to the barouche. As they walked, they stopped three more times so that Mother could gossip and preen about Penelope’s upcoming marriage.
It was easy to block out the conversations and consider what she might do to avoid marrying Findon. She could contradict her mother and tell people she’d been ruined, but that would only earn her parents’ anger and she’d likely still be stuck with Findon.
Which left one option: refusing to marry him as Lady Viola had done. That would not just anger her parents, it would earn Penelope her father’s unending wrath. She could only imagine what he might do. It had been some time since he’d struck her, but if she didn’t need to show her face, he would likely do so.
Unless she left. If she didn’t do what they wanted and ruined any future chance for an advantageous match, of what use was she? One thing her disappearance had done was show her that she could overcome her fears and do what she must.
And she must do something. Or suffer a fate she was desperate to avoid.
* * *
Hugh knocked on the door of the Duke of Eastleigh’s house in Grosvenor Square. His butler answered quickly and directly showed Hugh into Eastleigh’s library. While Hugh wasn’t a frequent visitor, it wasn’t his first time in the duke’s town house.
A few moments later, Eastleigh—and Colehaven—arrived. Eastleigh regarded Hugh with surprise. “I can’t imagine what’s brought you into the heart of Mayfair, particularly at this hour.”
“Looking rather determined too,” Cole noted.
Hugh removed his hat. “I’ve come to ask for help.”
Eastleigh and Cole exchanged surprised glances, then Eastleigh gestured toward a seating area. “Let us sit. Would you like refreshment?”
“When you hear why I’ve come, you may want a brandy,” Hugh said.
“Well then, let us have brandy.” Eastleigh stepped out briefly. “Sadler will bring the drinks,” he said upon his return, dropping onto a dark green settee. “How can we help? I say we, because you are fortunate to have the two of us to provide assistance. Unless this is a matter that doesn’t involve Cole.”
“Why wouldn’t it involve me?” Cole asked. “Depending on the subject, my advice may be superior to yours. What if he wants to learn how to make ale?”
Eastleigh rolled his eyes and looked toward Hugh. “Are you here to learn to make ale?” Hugh shook his head, and Eastleigh glanced back at Cole. “He’s clearly here for something far more important.”
Cole made a slight face, twisting his lips. “I’d argue there is little more important than a good ale, but I suppose that’s not up for debate just now.” Cole directed his attention to Hugh. “I’m still eager to help.”
Hugh scooted forward in his chair. “While I agree that ale is important, I am here on a much different errand. I am attending the dinner at the Marquess of Bramber’s tomorrow. I haven’t a thing to wear, nor do I have any idea what to expect. Besides food.”
“Ah, that is a dilemma,” Eastleigh said. “But you have come to exactly the right place.”
Hugh expressed his gratitude as the butler entered with a tray and distributed the glasses of brandy. Grateful for the fortification, Hugh took the tumbler and immediately swallowed a hearty gulp.
“Sadler, will you send for my tailor?” Eastleigh said. “Tell him it’s an emergency, and he must come at once.”
“Right away, Your Grace.” Sadler inclined his head before departing.
“Your tailor?” Hugh asked.
“Don’t worry about the expense.” Eastleigh sipped his brandy. “Never mind. I forget your family has more than enough money. You lead such a simple life.”
Yes, his late father and now his eldest brother had managed their family estate quite well, and as a result, he and his siblings were not in want. Hugh poured the majority of his funds into his parish, but paying for a new suit of clothes would not be a hardship. “I’ve no need for fancy clothing or horseflesh or art.” He glanced toward the painting over the fireplace.
“No one does,” Cole said darkly. Just as Eastleigh had forgotten that Hugh’s family was relatively wealthy, it was easy to forget that Cole had come from nothing before shockingly inheriting a dukedom.
Hugh picked up the thread of why he was here. “Thank you for summoning the tailor. Now, what do I need to know about having dinner at the Marquess of Bramber’s?”
Cole finished a swallow of brandy and fixed Hugh with a curious stare. “What I would like to know is why you were invited to Lady Penelope’s engagement dinner.”
Eastleigh leaned toward Hugh. “Yes, that.”
“I ran into Lady Bramber and Lady Penelope in the park today, and the marchioness invited me,” Hugh said.
“How peculiar,” Eastleigh said.
“What’s peculiar is Hugh walking in the park.” Cole narrowed his eyes at Hugh. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Eastleigh’s fair brows climbed his forehead. “I daresay it has something to do with the mysterious details of his rescue of Lady Penelope.”
Hugh looked from Eastleigh to Cole. “Yes, which brings us to the other thing I may need help with.”
“There’s more?” Cole asked.
“I plan to ask Lady Penelope to marry me.”
Cole slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. “The devil you say!”
Eastleigh lifted his brandy glass. “Splendid news!”
“But she’s already betrothed.” Cole waved his hand in the air. “Any right-headed woman would choose you over him.”
“I am not an earl.” Hugh didn’t think Pen cared about that, but her parents did.
Eastleigh braced his hand on his thigh. “Are you worried she won’t say yes?”
“That’s a concern, but mostly I fear she won’t be allowed to say yes.”
Cole and Eastleigh frowned in unison. “She’s of age to make her own decisions,” Cole said.
“While that’s true, she’s been raised to wed whomever her parents deem best.”
Eastleigh looked to Hugh. “I want to understand—you rescued Lady Penelope, and in the amount of time it took you to convey her home, you fell in love with her?”
“He didn’t say he was in love with her.” Cole slid a glance toward Hugh. “Are you?”
“I am absolutely in love with her, and I have reason to hope she might return my affection.”
Eastleigh grinned. “Well then, we will do everything in our power to help. Just say the word.”
“Yes, how can we help?” Cole asked, also grinning.
“I’m not certain yet, but I have an idea for a plan, and if it goes the way I hope, Pen and I will marry Thursday morning at St. Giles.”
Cole stared at Hugh in confusion. “You can’t perform your own ceremony.”
“No, but we’ll need to marry in one of our parishes, and mine seems easiest. I’ve no desire to make this public before it has to be—I’d like to marry her as quietly as possible so as not to invite her parents’ interference.” That was going to be the hardest part.
Cole narrowed his eyes. “I begin to understand. Maybe.”
Hugh’s mouth curved into a bare smile. “Tom will marry us, and I am hopeful you will join us for the ceremony. It would be comforting to have two dukes present, I think. Especially if her parents do show up.”
“Of course we’ll be there!” Eastleigh exclaimed.
“It will be very early,” Hugh said. “I want to start the ceremony the moment the clock strikes eight.” Perhaps it would be early enough that the marquess and marchioness
would not arrive in time.
Cole shuddered. “Egads, man, you’re asking a great deal. Lucky for you, my wife tends to rise exceptionally early.” He winked, but Hugh already knew it was no trouble. Cole had always been a loyal friend. He’d show up if Hugh had said the wedding would be outside in the middle of the night in a snowstorm.
“I don’t suppose you care to share your plan?” Eastleigh asked.
Hugh shook his head. It was desperate, wild, and potentially ruinous to everyone involved. “It’s very tenuous.” Hugh sipped his brandy. “I will send word late tomorrow evening.”
“We will await your direction,” Eastleigh said.
Cole grinned. “Eagerly.”
Hugh was glad to have them on his side, not that he’d ever doubted their support. “In the meantime, please tell me how on earth I’m to behave at a dinner party.”
Chapter 12
Had Hugh changed his mind about coming?
Penelope stood beside her mother in the lower drawing room and tried not to keep staring at the door. With each moment that passed, she became more and more afraid he wasn’t coming. Her mother would be irritated, for his place was already set. But Hugh likely didn’t understand such things.
While Penelope would be incredibly disappointed—devastated was perhaps more accurate—if he didn’t come, it would almost be worth witnessing her mother’s frustration. Almost, but not quite. She would much rather he came, especially since she’d convinced her mother to set his place next to Penelope. Granted, she would have to suffer Findon on her other side, but it was a price she was willing to pay.
At last, Hugh entered. Dressed in an immaculate black coat with an ivory waistcoat and a blindingly white cravat, he presented the ideal gentleman. Penelope didn’t care what he wore, but couldn’t deny he was almost unbearably handsome. His auburn hair had been trimmed and was styled impeccably, waving back from his forehead and brushing the edge of his collar.
His gaze immediately found hers, and she was instantly awash in heat and a fierce longing. Her father intercepted Hugh, and they spoke for a few moments. Then the marquess introduced him to several people, including Lord Findon.
Penelope walked toward them, hating that Hugh would meet the man she was to marry. She knew Hugh wouldn’t like him either, and he’d like the fact that she was marrying him even less.
How did she know that?
Warmth spread through her—because Hugh had done nothing but protect her and keep her safe since he’d encountered her a week ago. He was a protector by nature, and he would instinctively want to rescue her from a marriage she didn’t want.
“Good evening, Mr. Tarleton,” she said as soon as her father finished introducing Hugh to Findon.
Hugh presented his leg toward Penelope, looking every bit the Society gentleman. “Good evening, Lady Penelope. You look well, and I’m glad to see it.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Findon said, grinning so that his yellowed teeth were bared. It was especially jarring since Penelope’s mother said that showing one’s teeth when one smiled was incredibly gauche. And yet, the marchioness found no fault with anything Findon did. Not his grinning nor his crude innuendos nor his wandering hands, which Penelope had to work very hard to avoid.
Fortunately, her father stood between her and Findon at present.
Hugh cast Findon a rather chilly glance—or at least Penelope thought so. To anyone else, it might have been stoic or even arrogant. If he kept that up, he’d fit right into Society.
The butler came in to announce dinner, and Penelope was forced to take Findon’s arm as they made their way into the dining room. Thankfully, it was next door, so she didn’t have to touch him for long. He grazed his arm against the side of her breast as she withdrew her hand, and she suppressed a shudder.
Suddenly, Hugh was beside her, holding her chair. “Lady Penelope,” he murmured.
She looked to see Findon’s reaction, but he was speaking to her father, who was seated to the earl’s right. Relaxing slightly, she looked up at Hugh. “Thank you.”
When she was seated, his whispered words drifted over her as she sat down, “You look beautiful.”
For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. People often told her she was pretty or lovely or beautiful, but it meant nothing. She was a doll her mother dressed up and put on display. Tonight, however, Penelope had actually cared about her gown and her hair and how Hugh would see her.
“You look very handsome,” she whispered in response, leaning slightly toward him. “You cut your hair.”
“Only a little,” he said softly. “I hope I don’t look too pretentious.”
She smiled and raised her hand to cover the expression lest her mother glare in her direction. “Not at all. Besides, pretentiousness is an admirable trait in Society. Which is probably why you hope you don’t look that way.”
“You know me so well. Or at least you think you do. Perhaps I am pretentious.”
She nearly laughed. “Then you are in the right place.”
“What are you muttering about over there?” Findon asked, brushing his hand against Penelope’s thigh.
She gritted her teeth and scooted to the other edge of her chair in the hope that he wouldn’t be able to reach her. Or that he wouldn’t even try because his movements would be noticeable.
“Just discussing the weather,” she said pleasantly.
He returned his attention to her father, and she took the opportunity to move her chair ever so slightly toward Hugh. There, that would help at least.
As the soup was served, Hugh leaned slightly toward her. His voice was less than a whisper. “Will you meet me in the garden later?”
Penelope’s pulse quickened as a thrill shot through her. She picked up her spoon to ground her suddenly rattled nerves. “I’ll try.” It would be all but impossible for her to meet him alone. She would try, however.
The course was nearly over before he whispered toward her again. “It’s vitally important.”
Even if it wasn’t, she was going to do everything she could to be there. She gave a slight nod in response because her mother was looking up the table, narrowing her eyes briefly at Penelope.
While the next course was laid, Lord Findon leaned around Penelope and looked from her to Hugh. “I wonder if Mr. Tarleton should marry us. It’s not his parish, of course, but surely there could be an arrangement.” He smirked at them, seeming pleased with his horrifying suggestion.
“I wouldn’t presume to perform a marriage in someone else’s parish,” Hugh said, though he had when he’d married Eastleigh and his wife.
Findon waved his fork. “Ah well, it must still be flattering to be asked.”
Penelope nearly groaned. How was she ever going to suffer the man? Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to.
She’d spent the last few days trying to conjure a new idea to evade the marriage. Unfortunately, she was low on funds, so she couldn’t support herself if she fled. Furthermore, where could she go? If she went back to St. Giles, they’d likely find her, and she couldn’t ask Hugh to hide her.
Her attempts to come up with a plan invariably ended in her fantasizing about marrying Hugh. She’d be safe and happy.
Her gaze strayed toward him, and she drank in his profile. How she longed to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him tight and never let him go.
She spent the rest of the meal casting surreptitious glances in Hugh’s direction in between listening to Findon prattle on about his eagerness to marry her. It was all she could do to keep her food down.
And then dinner was over, and she could barely contain her excitement at meeting Hugh in the garden. She prayed she’d be able to do it. She’d probably have to sneak out.
Hugh met her stare before she left the dining room with the ladies. They went upstairs to the larger upper drawing room while the men remained at the table to drink their port.
Penelope barely paid any attention to the conversation around her and answered questions direct
ed at her with a minimum of words. Her gaze was plastered to the doorway in anticipation of the men’s arrival. No, not the men, just Hugh.
“Where is my bride?” Findon asked as he entered the drawing room. Upon seeing Penelope, he swayed slightly, indicating he’d overimbibed as he usually did. She tensed and then gasped as he tripped and nearly fell to the floor.
Hugh saved him, however, grasping Findon’s elbow and hauling him upright. Findon straightened and wobbled on his feet. Hugh kept hold of him until Findon gave him a supercilious stare. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
As usual, Hugh was helping others, and for once, Penelope wished he’d just stood back and done nothing. Given the disgusted expression that flashed briefly across Hugh’s face, she wondered if he was wishing the same thing.
Penelope stood from the settee and made her way to the corner in the hope that she could soon slip out of the drawing room unnoticed. It was not to be, however, as Findon, accompanied by her father, found her.
“Lord Findon would like to take you for a walk in the garden, and I’ve given my permission.” Father bestowed an imperious half smile on them and gestured to the doors leading out to the terrace.
Penelope wanted to dig her feet into the floor. Instead, she looked wildly about the room. She caught sight of the tail of a black coat disappearing through the doorway. It had been Hugh, for he was no longer in the drawing room.
He’d gone.
Despair welled up inside her. No doubt he’d seen her with Findon and the way her father had gestured toward the door. She couldn’t blame him for leaving. Why on earth should he stay? She couldn’t very well meet him in the garden if she was there with her betrothed.
But how she longed to know what was “vitally important”!
Maybe Hugh had gone to the garden anyway? No, that didn’t make sense, for he could have easily exited onto the back terrace and walked down the exterior stairs. Unless his plan involved some sort of subterfuge…
Her pulse quickened even as her mind told her she was hoping for a miracle.
