At least if she had to perform this ritual, it was with someone she felt comfortable.
“My dear, don’t you look lovely!” Aunt Phoebe’s voice rose from where she stood in front of Mary. A large emerald twinkled from the front of her turban, a match to her dark green gown. Lady Bellinghan moved from the duchess, and completed a slight curtsy to Drake. Then without preamble, she reached up and plucked Penelope’s spectacles from her face. “You won’t need these, dear.”
Too stunned to retort, she felt heat rise to her face. She glanced quickly around to see how much attention Aunt Phoebe had garnered. From her hazy vision, it seemed the only person who’d noticed what she’d done was Drake, who eyed her with a mixture of sympathy and humor.
He bent to whisper in her ear. “Don’t be troubled. You’ve done this before without your spectacles.”
“That’s true, but I’m sure you remember the results.”
He turned from her as Lady Musgrave spoke with him. From her vantage point, and without the assistance of her spectacles, it appeared the receiving line was coming to an end. Now another type of torture would begin.
She made her last curtsy to an older lord, whose name she didn’t remember, who pinched her cheek.
“Shall we, ladies?” Drake extended his arm to his mother, and the four of them made their way into the ballroom.
She was immediately struck by the number of people who had passed through their line and now gathered in the room. To say it was packed was an understatement. She could barely breathe as she followed Drake through the throng as he headed to the orchestra to have them begin the first dance.
“Miss Clayton.” Coventry bowed before her. “I believe this is my dance?”
She smiled at the charming man, and relaxed a bit. The devilish grin on his face set her at ease even more. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
The orchestra started the number, and Coventry swept her into his arms. After a few stumbling steps, she caught the rhythm and did fine. Actually, the man was such a good dancer, she found herself enjoying the experience. Several times she caught Drake and Mary spinning by, conversing happily.
Mary looked stunning, and Drake, as always, handsome. His dark blue evening tailcoat fit him as if it had been sewn onto his body. His white-on-white embroidered waistcoat, black pantaloons, and thin shoes gave him an elegant bearing that drew every female eye in his direction. The starched white, intricately tied cravat set off his golden skin and deep hazel eyes.
“Miss Clayton it is not well done to eye a gentlemen when you are in the arms of another.” Coventry’s teasing grin had heat rising to her face.
Good heavens, was she watching Drake that carefully? Perhaps every woman in the room had noticed, and was giggling behind fluttering fans. She was truly mortified at being caught. Really it was beyond the pale for her to even cast a glance in his direction. With the many beautiful, graceful, and elegant women surrounding him, why would he have time or notice for a country mouse?
Coventry dipped his head so his eyes met hers. “I don’t know what you’re telling yourself in that pretty head of yours, Miss Clayton, but if it is what I think, you have nothing to be concerned about. You are a refreshingly beautiful young woman. And you can hold your own with any other debutante this Season.”
Yes, Lord Coventry was truly a charmer, even if he did play fast and loose with the truth.
The dance came to a close, and he escorted her back to the duchess. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He bowed and turned on his heel, headed directly toward his lovely wife.
“He’s an engaging man,” Her Grace said as she watched him weave his way through the crowd.
“Yes, his wife is a very fortunate woman.”
“I doubt Lady Coventry would have agreed with you at the beginning.”
She was familiar with the story of how Lord Coventry hadn’t treated Lady Olivia very well when they’d first married. But whatever that had been about, he certainly held her in high regard now. The love on his face when he spoke of his wife warmed her heart. It was at times like that she wondered if such a love could happen to her.
She had always assumed her life would take the path she’d laid out for herself. She’d live alone and work on her science, with maybe a cat or two for company. That’s where her focus needed to be. She chastised herself for neglecting her work. It was best to get her head out of the clouds and finish up the report on her discovery for the Linnean Society.
Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the young man standing before her until he spoke. “Miss Clayton, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Freddy Grayson, the youngest son of the Earl of Blackwell had stood up with her at other balls she’d attended. In fact, she thought perhaps he felt as out of place at these affairs as she did. He never spoke when they danced, just went through the motions, returned her to her chaperone, bowed, and left. Almost as if he was fulfilling a duty.
But since she was comfortable with him, it made for a pleasurable dance, and a way for Her Grace to stop fretting about her having partners.
Penelope cast a quick glance at the back of her fan, where she’d written the steps to the quadrille. Confident that she could acquit herself well, she turned and faced Freddy. With his friendly demeanor and surety of steps, they moved through the dance with no problems. Her brief peeks at her closely held fan—drat Aunt Phoebe for pilfering her spectacles—kept her going in the right direction at all times.
Mr. Belton and Miss Grainger moved past them smoothly as they executed the steps. The two other couples in their group were unknown to her, but nevertheless familiar. As the number ended, a gentleman behind her bumped her elbow, causing her fan to fly to the floor. Before she could retrieve it, Mr. Belton bent and picked it up.
“What’s this?” He held the fan up, the scrawled words facing Miss Grainger and the two other young ladies. The three girls raised their fans in unison to cover their smirks as they exchanged glances.
“I’ll take that, thank you.” Penelope snatched the fan from his hand, and waved it furiously in front of her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Grayson. I must get some air.”
“Wait, Miss Clayton, I’ll escort you.” Freddy called to her, but she shook her head and kept going. The crowds were stifling, and she felt as though she couldn’t breathe. But without her spectacles she wasn’t certain she was even headed in the right direction.
“Miss Clayton.” Another man hailed her. She turned her head toward the voice, but continued on, plowing into a footman holding a tray of drinks.
Sticky lemonade splashed on her chest, and ran in rivulets down her bodice. The tray and its glasses crashed to the floor, and conversation in the general area ceased. Mortified, she watched the lemonade trickle down between her breasts.
“I’m so sorry, miss. Please, let me get you something to clean up with.” The red-faced footman glanced back and forth as another footman hurried over with several serviettes in his hand.
“No. Thank you, anyway, but I’m fine.” Penelope backed away, and finally spotting the French doors, moved quickly in that direction.
She burst through the opening, taking deep gulps of the cool night air. Holding her wet skirts away from her body, she ran as far as she could without ending up in the dark garden. She blinked furiously to keep the tears from falling, and rested her fisted hands on the marble balustrade at the end of the terrace. Now the entire ton would know what she’d been telling herself for weeks. She did not belong here.
She peeled off her gloves and tried, ineffectively, to wipe some of the sticky liquid off her chest and neck. Her best efforts had not held the tears back, and she swiped at her wet cheeks with annoyance. A warm hand descended on her shoulder, and before turning around, she knew it was Drake. Her chin dropped. How sad that she knew his touch and scent so well. Another reason she didn’t belong. The man was slowly changing her from an analytical scientist to a wishful young lady—who had no right to hope for the things she did.
/> “Penelope. Look at me.” His soft voice started up the flutters in her stomach again. “Please?”
Why did he have to be so wonderful? So caring, so—him. Taking a shuddering breath, she stiffened her back and turned toward him.
He took both of her hands in his. “What imagined disaster happened this time that had you fleeing the ballroom?”
“What makes you think I was fleeing? Perhaps I merely wanted some fresh air.”
“Why is it your normal scent is something flowery, but now I smell lemons?” The glint in his eyes told her he knew exactly what her imagined disaster had been.
My usual scent is flowers? He knows my scent?
“I’m not absolutely certain I care to be identified by my smell.”
A long reflective silence followed while he regarded her. “I saw you bump into the footman. It was a crowded room. Those things happen all the time. It wasn’t your fault.” His voice was a gentle chide.
“Please, Your Grace, don’t try to excuse my clumsiness. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and crashed into the poor man.”
His eyebrows rose. “Ah. We’re back to Your Grace again.” He grasped her elbow. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a water fountain a few steps down on the right side of the house. I’m sure by now you would like to rid yourself of the lemonade. I imagine it must be quite sticky.”
The pale moonlight provided enough illumination for them to find their way to the fountain. Drake pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and drenched it in the bubbling water. “Here.”
It felt good—soothing—to have the stickiness gone. She reached as far into her bodice as she could, wiping the mess off. She threw Drake a questioning glance at his groan. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Are you finished?” His sharp tone caught her by surprise.
“Thank you, yes I am. I do feel better now.”
…
Drake studied Penelope in the moonlight. From the moment he’d first seen her this evening, he’d been enraptured. The messy, inept girl who’d arrived at their door weeks ago had turned into a beautiful young woman. Her beauty had always been there, but now he knew the soft, compassionate person underneath. She was both funny and serious, courageous and fearful, smart and unsophisticated. An enigma, for sure.
Every thought and feeling was plainly written on her face. Not having developed the coyness so prevalent among the ton young ladies, she was a breath of fresh air. She would make someone a treasured wife one day.
But why did the thought of another man as her husband bother him so much? One who would spend his life with her? Hold her in his arms, take her to his bed?
Although the girl had said many times she had no interest in marriage, he doubted she would get through the Season without an offer that appealed to her. She was simply too warm and nurturing to go through life with only her plants to love. Look what she’d done for Marion.
Without conscious thought, he reached out and ran the back of his fingers down her soft cheek. Her beautiful green eyes widened, and she licked her lips. Her breasts rose and fell as her breath quickened, and in the dim light he could see the pulse throbbing in her neck. Despite his best intentions, he could not deny the intense physical awareness between them.
Claiming her lips, he crushed her to him, all thoughts of inappropriateness fleeing his mind. Her breasts were soft against his chest, causing another part of his body to harden. His pulse racing in time with her heartbeat, he placed his hand on her lower back and edged her forward, the intimacy of the position heating his blood further.
“So sweet,” he mumbled as his lips released her and moved to her neck, scattering soft kisses on her warm skin. Fisting her hands in his coat sleeves, she seemed to hang on for her life.
“I don’t understand what you do to me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and moved back, taking in her swollen lips and glazed eyes.
“Whatever it is, you do it to me as well,” she whispered.
Drake walked away from her, hands on his hips, head down. “This cannot continue. I need a wife this year, but someone who knows the ton, who can step into the position of duchess.” He looked up at her, his jaw set. “I need to be very careful of my selection. I can’t,” he waved his hand between them, “do this. You are an innocent, and I cannot be dallying with you.”
A gasp brought his attention to her stricken face. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around her middle as if to protect herself. “You are so right. It is a good thing I have no intention of ever seeking a husband, especially one as highborn as yourself.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I wish you luck in your search. Now if you will excuse me.” She swept past him, and then stopped, not turning around. “And I agree. This cannot happen again. Nor will it.”
She turned back and looked him directly in the eye. “Ever.”
Chapter Fourteen
Penelope tugged on the cuffs of her cornflower blue morning dress, tucked an errant curl behind her ear, then knocked softly on the duchess’s sitting room door. Her Grace had just sent word that she would like to speak with her.
It was two days after the coming-out ball, and although everyone told her what a success it had been, she still cringed when she remembered the mishap with the footman. But nothing could have been permanently stamped on her brain more than the kiss she and Drake had shared. Right before he told her how inadequate he found her. Well, perhaps he hadn’t quite said that, but he had certainly inferred it.
She’d managed to avoid him since that fateful evening, and had started taking her meals with Marion in her room. She told herself it had nothing to do with cowardice, and everything to do with helping Marion. The young widow was coming along quite nicely, and they had enjoyed several walks in the garden.
“Come in,” the duchess called.
She entered, and came to an abrupt halt when she saw Drake sitting next to his mother. He glanced at her, then found the vase of flowers alongside him very interesting.
“Please, dear, have a seat.” The duchess folded her hands in her lap and smiled. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything, Your Grace. You’ve been so kind to me.”
“Excellent. Marion would like to take a trip to the country. From what she tells me, she tried to leave the grounds during one of your strolls recently and the noise and confusion of the city drove her back. Needless to say, I am thrilled she wants to take this step.”
Not sure where this was going, Penelope merely nodded.
“Drake has graciously offered to escort Marion to Manchester Manor for a short visit. My daughter has asked that you accompany her on this trip, since she feels so comfortable in your presence.”
Travel to the country with Drake? And stay? She slanted a look at her nemesis, who regarded her with raised eyebrows and a smirk. A challenge, perhaps?
“Of course, Your Grace. I would be honored.” Actually, if not for the time she must spend with the duke, she would enjoy a trek to the country. Time out of doors with clean fresh air, and the lovely smell of early summer flowers and flora.
“When did you want to leave?” she asked Drake, coolly assessing him.
“Tomorrow, first light. If we do that, we only have to stop overnight once.”
Anxious to leave his presence, she rose. “I will begin to prepare myself for the journey, then. If you will excuse me, Your Graces.” She turned on her heel and, chin raised, left the room.
Drat!
…
The sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon when Penelope climbed into the carriage that would take her, Drake, and Marion to Manchester Manor. Drake had opted to ride his horse, Abaccus, leaving the two women to travel in the carriage. It was just as well. Things were still awkward between them. To think she actually had begun to admire the man! Let him search for his “perfect” duchess and live happily ever after.
Marion reached over and touched her hand
. “Thank you so much for coming along. I hope I’m not taking you away from any exciting social events.”
“Not at all. Frankly, I could use some time away. I’m not used to all these entertainments. Until now I’ve lived a very quiet life. In Boston it was just Father and me, and since I’ve moved to England, it’s been just my staff and me.”
Marion leaned back and rested her head against the seat. “I really want to return to the Manor. I remember it being so peaceful and lovely as a child. Also, there are no memories of Tristan there. After our whirlwind courtship during my Season, we had a quiet wedding at St. George’s Bloomsbury in London. Shortly after we returned from our honeymoon on the continent, he was ordered back to sea, and I returned to the country with my family.” She jerked as the carriage started up. “It must seem odd to most people that I’ve mourned him for two years. But Tristan was my life-long friend as well as my husband. I still miss him.”
“No. Not odd to me. You loved him very much, and I think if I felt that strongly about someone, I’d be absolutely lost if anything happened to him.” She turned to glance out the window as the sun disappeared from view when Drake rode past the carriage. Her resolve strengthened, she added, “Although I never plan to be in such a position.”
“Oh, don’t say that. You will find the right man one day. I just know it.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t want to find the right man. I will return to the country once the Season is over and take up my scientific work once again.”
“But don’t you want children?”
Penelope shrugged away the pain of that thought. “A cat perhaps.”
…
A few hours later, the slowing of the carriage jolted Penelope awake. She looked around, at first a bit confused as to where she was. “Goodness, I didn’t realize how tired I was. I’ve slept the morning away.”
The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous) Page 12
