The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hutton, Callie

  Marion automatically reached for it, running the satin through her fingers. “It’s lovely. Is it to match your gown?”

  Penelope shook her head. “No. I bought it for you.”

  The woman smiled sadly and laid the ribbon in her lap. “Thank you very much. I really appreciate the thought, but I’m still in mourning.”

  “Perhaps one day you will not be.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do. And my family members have tried as well, but I do not want to give up mourning. That way Tristan stays in my mind, and heart.” Marion leaned over and hugged Penelope. “But I will keep it, because you bought it for me. And I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

  Penelope was amazed that half an hour had passed in pleasant conversation when a knock on the door drew their attention. Mary stuck her head in. “Here you are. Mother wanted to know if your headache was any better because the dancing master has finished with Abigail and me.”

  Penelope felt her stomach clench. Marion cast her a sympathetic glance before directing her comment to her sister. “Sorry, Mary. Penelope just asked me for some headache powder. I was about to get it for her.”

  “Oh. All right, then. Maybe next time. I’m off to join Sybil and Sarah.”

  “Why did you say that?” Penelope asked after the door snapped close.

  “Because I’m going to be your dancing master.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. I will be the dancing master, you will be the pupil, and you’ve no need to be nervous with me.” She stood and pulled Penelope up. “Because we’re friends.”

  Chapter Six

  Penelope studied herself in the mirror, a full grin emerging from a slight smile. The green silk gown, with the white lace overlay, brought out the copper highlights in her deep brown hair. Maguire had pulled it up into a topknot, leaving strands along her forehead and neck that she had curled with tongs. A deeper shade of green ribbon encircled her head.

  With her long white kid gloves, dainty green slippers, and flowered fan dangling from her wrist, she felt like a princess. Would that she could conduct herself as a princess this evening, and not make a fool of herself in front of the entire ton.

  “Here, Penelope, Mother said you should wear these tonight, because they go very well with your gown.” Abigail held out a lustrous strand of pearls and a pair of matching earbobs.

  “I’m afraid something might happen to them.” Visions of the lovely necklace plopping into a glass of champagne and splattering her exquisite gown horrified her.

  “Don’t be silly. Nothing will happen to them. There’s a very secure latch, and Mother’s worn them for years.” Abigail scooted behind her and fastened the clasp. “Here, put the earbobs in. I want to see how you look.”

  Fumbling with the awkwardness of the gloves, it took her a few minutes to insert the earbobs.

  “Penelope, you look like a princess.” Sybil swept into the room and came to an abrupt halt. “You’re beautiful!”

  The heat rose to Penelope’s face at the open admiration. Never before in her life had she felt beautiful. She turned once more to the mirror and regarded herself with the addition of the jewelry. Indeed, the young lady staring back at her did not look a thing like the girl she’d observed for years.

  I actually look like I belong.

  “Her Grace wishes for all of you to join her in the library. She is almost ready. His Grace is waiting there for you.” Kingston, the duchess’s lady’s maid, stuck her head in the door, then quickly went on her way, a colorful shawl draped over her arm.

  Sybil and Penelope gathered up their reticules and headed for the door.

  “Oh, wait. I promised Marion I would stop in to see her before we left.” Penelope held back as Sybil continued down the corridor.

  “I’ve already been to see her, so I will meet you downstairs.” Sybil waved before grasping the bannister.

  After tapping lightly on the door, Penelope entered as Marion turned from where she stood in front of the portrait of Tristan. “Oh my, Penelope. Come in. You look beautiful.”

  …

  Drake went to the sideboard in the library and he poured brandy into a crystal tumbler. After swirling the amber liquid, he took a sip and headed to the window to stare out into the dark night.

  Lady Millicent’s coming out ball would begin his campaign to find a bride. Not just any bride, but the perfect one. If he was to live up to his father’s memory, he needed a woman beside him who would never make a social blunder, would always say and do the correct thing, and would prove to the world that the new Duke of Manchester had indeed stepped up.

  Slowly his sisters drifted into the room. Sybil and Sarah dressed in similar gowns of different colors, their excitement at the first ball of the Season palpable. They chattered on and on until he blocked out the sound. Within a few minutes, Abigail and Mary joined the group, and the noise of female laughter grew cacophonous.

  “Are we all here?” The duchess entered, still tugging on her gloves. She looked around the room. “Where is Penelope?”

  “She stopped in to see Marion. I thought she’d be down by now,” Sybil said.

  Drake hesitated as he was about to take the last sip of brandy. “Marion? Why would she be with Marion?”

  “Oh, she and Marion have become quite good friends.” Abigail stood and rearranged her skirts. “In fact, I think Marion’s been helping Penelope with her dance steps.”

  “Indeed? And here I thought I was her favorite dance partner.”

  Abigail snorted.

  Drake frowned in her direction. “In any event, someone should fetch her. It’s time we departed.”

  They moved to the entrance hall, the butler assisting the women with their shawls. Drake reached for his hat, then turned at a movement at the top of the stairs.

  Two dainty feet in white slippers began the descent. Drake stared, mesmerized, as the scalloped hem of delicate lace over emerald green silk entered his vision. Slowly, more of the body emerged, teasing him with a pale green ribbon underneath modestly covered breasts. The image presented such a vision in loveliness that he sucked in a lungful of air and held his breath.

  A long slender neck, with tendrils of reddish brown hair, lay gracefully against pale white skin. A lovely rounded chin, flushed cheeks, and green eyes with thick eyelashes behind spectacles, completed the tableau. He swallowed. His mouth was dry as a desert.

  Penelope was stunning, the perfect picture of English womanhood. All peaches and cream, with a slight tilt to her plump lips that told him she knew she looked beautiful. She flashed him a smile, then hesitated as she whipped her spectacles off.

  Terrified she would miss her step, he moved forward to take her hand, nudging Abigail aside, and sending her forward so she stumbled. Grabbing for his sister’s forearm with one hand, Drake grasped Penelope’s elbow with the other with such force that she missed the last two steps and tumbled straight into his arms in a flurry of silk and lace.

  …

  “Goodness, are you all right, dear?” The duchess’s hand flew to cover her mouth.

  Penelope looked up into hazel colored eyes, losing herself in their depths. The scent of bay rum and starched linens drifted to her nostrils from where their bodies meshed. Heat radiated off Drake’s chest, and even through his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket, the warmth burned her skin. Strong hands spanned her entire back, holding her fast.

  If there was any air to be had in the room, she had no idea how to access it. Her lungs seized and everything seemed to stand still, as if she and Drake stood in a painting, with his family viewing from a distance.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” His voice lowered to a husky rasp.

  His utterance broke the spell, and Penelope stared, horrified at her hands anchored on his shoulders, as if their bodies were preparing for a kiss.

  “No.” She dropped her hands and moved back. “I’m fine. Thank you for catching me.” Then, mortified at once again proving to this man that she was as graceless as a newbor
n foal, she adjusted her gown, ignoring the heat that moved up her body to set her face ablaze. She stuffed her spectacles into her reticule and took a deep breath.

  “For heaven’s sake, Drake, what were you doing? You almost shoved me into the wall.” Abigail tugged on her gloves and threw him a sharp look.

  “Sorry. I, ah, well, it doesn’t matter. I do apologize.” He straightened his cravat, and looked around. “Well, then. I guess we’re ready to depart.”

  The duchess herded the girls toward the door. Drake extended his arm to his mother, where she placed her fingers, and moved forward.

  Thankfully, without assistance, Penelope made it to the carriage with no further mishaps and settled next to Abigail, across from Sarah and Sybil. The duchess and Mary rode in another carriage with Drake. Only too glad to be away from his disturbing presence, Penelope settled back into the soft leather and contemplated the evening ahead.

  If she couldn’t even get down the stairs without a misstep, how would she get through an entire night where she would be expected to dance? Although, once she replayed the scene in her mind, it seemed Drake was the one who had caused the entire episode. Odd, that. She probably wouldn’t have stumbled if he hadn’t grabbed for her.

  She laid her delicately painted ivory fan on her lap and thought of the evening ahead. The familiar knot of fear took up residence in her stomach. Oh, to be on her way back from this cursed ball, instead of heading to it. The other girls were chatty and excited, and Penelope felt as if she would likely toss up her accounts.

  “You’ll do fine, Penelope. Don’t be concerned. Just relax and enjoy yourself.” Sybil reached across the distance, and patted Penelope’s hand.

  Penelope attempted a smile. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. We know you can do it. You look lovely, and the gentlemen will be anxious to make your acquaintance.”

  If that was supposed to calm her, Sybil could not have chosen anything worse to say. Visions of tripping her way around the ballroom while everyone looked askance heightened her terror to the point where she had to fight the desire to beg them to let her out of the carriage.

  Once they arrived at the Mayfair section of London, it took their carriage more than twenty minutes to move slowly up the queue until they finally rolled to a stop in front of Yardley House. A footman opened the door, and helped the ladies out. Penelope stepped down, thankfully not tripping, and then stared in wonder at the brightly lit home rising in front of her.

  Hundreds of candles must have been burning to create such a wealth of brilliance. Ladies and gentlemen, dressed in silks, satins, and the finest lace, strolled toward the front entrance, where two footmen stood. Feathers decorating ladies’ coiffures waved in the slight breeze, mixed in with jeweled turbans, and men’s elegant top hats.

  I don’t belong here. These people are the upper crust of society, peers of the realm. Lord, how will I get through this night?

  “Surely you’re not thinking of fleeing?” Drake’s deep rich voice murmured in her ear, startling her from her reverie.

  She stiffened her spine. “Not at all. I am looking forward to this.” Hopefully God would not strike her dead for such a blatant lie.

  “Good.” He turned to his mother and extended his arm. “It appears we are all ready.”

  After two long hours of preferring to melt into the wall, Penelope spotted Drake as he maneuvered his way through the crowded ballroom to drag yet another gentleman to her. He’d been presenting men all evening. This one looked like he wasn’t even old enough to shave. He kept licking his lips and taking deep breaths, apparently as nervous as she was.

  Having had her feet stomped on a number of times, she was no longer afraid of the dance floor. What she wanted more than anything was a stroll outside to avail herself of fresh air. The scent of candlewax, ladies’ perfumes, and so many overdressed bodies pressed together had given her the headache.

  “Miss Clayton, may I make known to you Ellis, Viscount Dunbar.”

  Penelope gave a slight curtsy and smiled at the young man.

  “Dunbar, this is Miss Penelope Clayton. She’s staying with my family for the Season.” Drake clapped the viscount on his shoulder, almost knocking him off his feet.

  “How do you do, Miss Clayton.” Dunbar bowed and peered into her eyes in a rather disconcerting way. “May I hope there is room for me on your dance card?”

  Her hands fumbled with the little piece of paper dangling from her wrist. “I believe so.”

  Continuing to stare, he waited patiently until she had turned the dance card the correct way. Then he wrote his name, and again bowed. “I will see you after the next four numbers. Now I must seek out Miss Pendelton for our dance.”

  …

  Drake watched the viscount make his way through the couples returning from the last dance. He mentally brushed his hands together and was now done with Miss Clayton. Over the past hour, he’d introduced so many potential suitors to the chit that he’d lost count. Each time he brought another man over she grew paler.

  The few times he’d observed her on the dance floor, she’d seemed to acquit herself well. A few missteps and stumbles here and there, but nothing too horrible. As he’d presented the last man, he’d noticed Lady Daphne arrive with her parents. Fashionably late, as always.

  “Are you having a good time?” Perhaps a bit of conversation would calm Penelope so he could be on his way.

  “Yes. It’s lovely.”

  “You seem to be in favor with the gentlemen.”

  “Perhaps you dragging them over here by the scruff of the neck may have something to do with that, Your Grace?” Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

  Drake flushed. Despite her shortcomings, the girl did have a sense of humor, having no problem poking fun at herself. “Yes, well then, if you will excuse me, it appears Lord Grave is on his way to claim his dance.”

  After nodding to Grave, and watching him guide Penelope to the dance floor, he turned his attention to where Lady Daphne stood with her mother. He’d never cared for Lady Sirey. The woman always struck him as very snobbish, even for a member of the ton. It was as if she approved of no one below a duke. Since Drake had his eye on her daughter, it was a good thing he fell into her circle of acceptable personage. He oftentimes wondered why she had consented to marry Sirey. As a viscount, he certainly qualified as a peer, but it did not seem high enough in the instep for his wife.

  No better time than the present to put his plan into action. Pulling on the cuffs of his jacket, he headed toward Lady Daphne and the gentlemen already surrounding her, begging for dances.

  “Why, Your Grace, how nice of you to join us.” Lady Daphne’s cool, controlled voice rose above the chatter of the gentlemen vying for her attention.

  “My lady. You are looking splendid this evening, as always.” Drake bowed and kissed her extended glove-covered fingers. “May I be so bold as to ask for a dance? A waltz perhaps?”

  “It seems the supper waltz is available, Your Grace.” She eyed him under her thick lashes, a welcoming smile teasing her ruby lips.

  Several men groaned, apparently having already planned to ask for the coveted supper waltz.

  Drake wrote his name on the card and took his leave. He had no intention of hanging around her, panting like a puppy, as the others did. No need to join the group acting like schoolboys.

  He spent the next two hours observing his sisters, and writing his name on a few other suitable ladies’ cards. No need to restrict himself until he’d made a definite decision. He smiled as he watched his sister, Mary, surrounded by a gaggle of men, apparently in her glory, her fan waving furiously as she laughed at something one of the young pups said.

  More than once his gaze skimmed the ballroom seeking Penelope. He’d considered dancing with her, but something held him back. He knew his mother expected him to, but he’d done his duty.

  He recalled how she had felt in his arms when she had stumbled on the steps and had fallen into him. The shock at her warmth, and t
he enticing curves hidden beneath her gown, rattled him more than he cared to consider. When she had landed against him, her hands firmly gripped his shoulders; a couple of inches more and their lips would have been locked together right there in the entrance hall in front of everyone.

  Nonsense. Nothing would ever come from those thoughts. She was an innocent, and so far removed from what he considered acceptable, it was ludicrous. Some nice young country gent would sweep her off her feet and be happy to have her as his wife, while she dabbled in the garden at his country home.

  He shook his head as he saw her attempting to hide behind a large footman holding a tray of glasses when a young man approached her. Why the girl was so shy baffled him. She was certainly pretty enough.

  The last dance ended, and the next on the list was the supper waltz. Drake excused himself from the circle of friends he stood with, and headed for Lady Daphne. She caught his eye, and immediately turned to Lord Shaffer next to her, said something that made him lean down. He made a comment, and she threw her head back, exposing the lovely white skin of her slender neck, and laughed.

  “My lady, I believe I have claimed the supper waltz?”

  Lady Daphne made a great show of checking her dance card, then smiled up at him. “Why yes, Your Grace, I believe you have.”

  “Then shall we?” He extended his arm, leaving behind grumblings from her admirers, and a dark look from Shaffer.

  “Oh, dear.” Lady Daphne chewed her bottom lip, apparently attempting to quell a smile.

  Drake glanced over his shoulder to see Penelope picking up pieces of glass from the floor. A footman stopped her and after a brief conversation, she backed away from the mess and stepped on the foot of the gentleman behind her. Flustered, she turned to apologize, her face a bright red.

  “Isn’t she your mother’s houseguest?” Lady Daphne lost her fight, her lips in a full smile.

  “Yes. That’s Miss Penelope Clayton. She’s making her coming out with my sister, Lady Mary.”

  “She seems very sweet, but a bit on the clumsy side.” When his brows furrowed, she continued. “I saw her at Mme. Babineau’s parlor last week. She walked into a table.”