The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hutton, Callie

  “That’s all right,” Marion said as she pulled on her kid gloves. “We both did. I just awoke myself. It looks like we’re stopping here for luncheon.”

  Once the carriage rolled to a complete stop, a footman jumped down from the top of the vehicle, lowered the steps, and opened the door. Drake stood there, his hand out to assist her. How she wished she was graceful enough to brush him aside and alight the carriage by herself. But that would be childish and also courting disaster. She took his hand, avoiding his eyes.

  “Did you have a pleasant ride?” His deep voice, combined with the warmth of his hand, caused her to shiver. “Are you cold, Miss Clayton?”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped, and tugged her hand free.

  Marion’s eyes widened at her remark. Penelope chose to ignore it, and headed to the inn. She was indeed being surly, but only if she kept her defenses up would she survive this trip.

  The inn appeared to be doing a good business. As soon as they entered, the room grew still, which Drake was no doubt used to. No one could look at the man and not know he was a highborn gentleman. Once everyone had taken their measure of the group, they returned to their food, the conversation at a lower pitch.

  The innkeeper hurried forward, tugging on his forelock. “Good afternoon, Your Grace, may I direct you to a private dining room?”

  “Yes, that would be fine. The ladies would probably like to use the necessary before we dine.” Drake removed his gloves and hat, handing them to a serving girl who had followed the innkeeper out.

  “Very good, Your Grace. This way, if you please, and m’daughter, Annabelle, will direct the ladies.”

  Drake entered the private dining room and headed toward the window. A slight drizzle had begun, which meant he should ride in the carriage with the ladies when they departed. The thought of the strained silence that would ensue had him considering whether a bit of dampness on Abaccus’s back might not be a bad thing

  “Manchester!” A loud voice interrupted his musing. “I thought that was you.” Joseph Fox strode into the room, his hand extended. “Are you traveling home?”

  Drake pumped the affable man’s hand. He and Joseph had shared many adventures as boys, before going their separate ways. Although they’d both been at Oxford at the same time, they hadn’t seen much of each other. Joseph had attended Oxford Divinity School, while Drake, along with Coventry, found himself in the type of situations a divinity student would shun.

  “Very nice to see you, Rector. Yes, I am headed home. A nice little break from the activities in Town.”

  “Are you travelling alone?”

  “No. My sister, Marion is with me, as well as—”

  Both men turned toward the doorway as Marion and Penelope entered the dining room.

  “Marion. It’s so good to see you. It’s been a long while.” Joseph moved toward her and took both of her hands in his, and studied her face.

  Slight lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes as she greeted her childhood friend. “I’ve been in London for the past two years. I’m so looking forward to returning to Manchester Manor for a short visit.”

  Drake was proud of how well she received Fox. Perhaps she was truly coming out of her malaise.

  Thanks to Penelope.

  Joseph lowered his voice. “I was very sorry to hear about your husband. Lost at sea, I understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I pray for him every night.”

  Marion dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

  Fox then turned his attention to Penelope. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

  “Penelope, this is Mr. Joseph Fox, a longtime friend of our family. He’s Rector at St. Gertrude’s church in the next village over from ours.” Marion tucked her arm into Penelope’s, and smiled at Joseph. “This is Miss Penelope Clayton. She’s visiting with us in London for the Season. We’ve become friends, and I asked her to travel with us.”

  Joseph executed a bow worthy of the finest ballroom in London. “Miss Clayton. It is truly a pleasure.” He shot a glance at Drake. “Manchester, why is it you always get to spend time with the most beautiful women in England?” He looked back at Penelope. “He always had the prettiest ladies on his arm when we were at Oxford.”

  Drake snorted. They were rarely ladies. And why the devil was Fox getting so friendly with Penelope?

  “Have you eaten yet, Joseph?” Marion turned to her brother. “We should ask the innkeeper to set another place.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have not yet had luncheon, and would be delighted to dine with you.”

  Marion beamed, apparently enjoying the company. Fox had always been able to set people at their ease, and make them laugh.

  A regular charmer.

  “May I escort you to the table, Miss Clayton?” The rector extended his arm and Penelope placed her hand there, her face flushed.

  Drake helped Marion to her seat, then settled himself across from Joseph. “So tell me, Fox, how is your wife?”

  The man tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “Wife? I am not married.”

  “Oh, thought I’d heard that,” Drake mumbled. “Engaged, I suppose?”

  “No. In fact I’ve been looking for the perfect woman for some time now.” He looked pointedly at Penelope, who flushed again.

  “Looking for the ‘perfect’ woman seems to be a popular past time.” Penelope shook out her serviette and placed it on her lap.

  “Ah, but when I find her, I will woo her with poems and flowers and rides down country lanes. Picnics and strolls along the lake.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Penelope beamed, her eyes bright.

  Drake snorted. It was just like Penelope to fall for some sweet talking preacher. Despite his holy calling, Fox had always had a way with the women, and apparently nothing had changed.

  “Miss Clayton is a scientist,” Drake blurted out. “She likes to dig around in the dirt and find unusual specimens.”

  “Is that so?” Joseph leaned closer to Penelope. “Tell me about that, Miss Clayton. I am enamored with science. And I find a woman who uses her God-given intelligence a breath of fresh air.”

  “Indeed? And you don’t find a woman who crawls around in the dirt unladylike?” she asked, glaring at Drake.

  Joseph leaned back as the serving girl placed bowls of fragrant stew, a basket of bread, and a crock of butter on the table. “Not at all. I like to fiddle in the garden myself, and would love to have you join me at the vicarage to show me some of these plants, Miss Clayton.”

  “She’ll be too busy.” Drake’s jaw clenched so hard his gums hurt. What the devil was the matter with him? He wanted Penelope to find a nice man to marry. Marry? Where did that come from? Fox was only being himself. It was most unlikely he had an interest in Penelope, aside from being polite. With that reassuring thought, Drake relaxed his muscles, and dug into his food.

  “May I call on you, Miss Clayton, when you’re not too busy?” Joseph asked.

  “Yes, of course.” Penelope nodded. “It would be delightful to have the company of a pleasant gentleman.”

  Drake twisted his neck to relieve the tension in his shoulders. If Miss Clayton wanted to make a fool of herself by encouraging a man who loved to court the ladies, with no intention of anything permanent, then so be it. It wasn’t his concern, or problem.

  Shortly after they finished their meal, Joseph leaned back. “Since it appears to be raining a bit more heavily, could I be so bold as to ask for a ride to Manchester?”

  “Why, Joseph, we would love to have your company on the ride, wouldn’t we, Penelope? Will you continue to ride Abaccus?” Marion asked Drake.

  Ride Abaccus in the rain, getting soaked, while Fox whiled away the hours entertaining the ladies in a snug, dry coach? “No. I think I’ll join the rest of you in the carriage.” He pushed his chair back with such force it banged against the wall, and he stood. “We should be on our way.”

  …

  Penelope laughed at another fu
nny story with which Mr. Fox entertained the group. The afternoon hours in the carriage had gone by quickly. The rector proved to be a delightful traveling companion, his jocularity a distinct contrast to Drake’s sullen mood. The man had sat ramrod straight the entire time, glaring at Mr. Fox every time he opened his mouth.

  Now, Drake sat slumped in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window at the miserable day. What in heaven’s name was the matter with him? A lot of the stories Joseph had regaled them with included escapades of him and Drake as boys. She especially enjoyed the story of how Drake and Joseph once tied Abigail to a tree to keep her from following them. Instead of laughing along, Drake seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in dismissing the stories with a grunt or snort.

  The carriage slowed down in front of another inn. This would be their stop for the night. Penelope was more than ready to leave the vehicle for the day. Her muscles were stiff and her bottom sore from the hours sitting. Marion appeared a bit peaked, also, which was understandable, given how long it had been since she’d even left her room, let alone traveled for hours.

  The innkeeper stood in front of the carriage door with a large umbrella. “Nasty weather we’re having, Your Grace. Please step into the inn, where we have a nice private dining room ready for you with a goodly fire.” The cheerful man took the ladies first, returning for Mr. Fox and Drake.

  The innkeeper’s wife led them into a cozy room, warmed from the blazing fire, which chased away the dampness. Penelope still felt the need to run her hands up and down her arms. She removed her bonnet and gloves and handed them to a serving girl, who also collected the gentlemen’s hats and gloves.

  “Now then, Your Grace. Will you be needing rooms for the night?”

  “Yes,” Drake said. “One for the ladies, and another for Mr. Fox and myself.”

  The innkeeper ducked his head and hurried away. Within minutes, the innkeeper’s wife and most likely their daughter entered the dining room with bowls and platters of food. Turbot, eel, and salmon swimming in a savory sauce were placed on the table, along with a thick soup, vegetables, and a haunch of venison. A basket of fragrant bread had Penelope’s stomach grumbling.

  After availing themselves of the bowl of warm water and cloth to refresh themselves from the road, the four sat at the table and began their meal. The innkeeper poured wine and then left them to their dinner.

  “You’ve been here before?” Joseph asked Drake in between bites of the hearty food.

  “Yes, every time I travel to and from London I stay here. I’m very satisfied with the food and accommodations.”

  The rest of the meal proceeded in silence. Penelope was tired from travel, and grateful to be sitting on something that wasn’t moving.

  No sooner had she taken her last sip of tea, then she felt the need to retire for the night.

  “Are you ready to go up, Penelope?” Marion placed her serviette on the table, alongside her plate.

  “Yes. I admit. I’m quite tired.”

  Marion stood and shook out her skirts. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse us. What time shall we leave in the morning?”

  “If we break our fast at sunrise, and get right on the road, we can be in Manchester before luncheon.” Drake stood, along with Mr. Fox, as the ladies prepared to depart.

  “We’ll be ready.” Marion stifled a yawn and joined Penelope at the door of the dining room.

  Penelope turned back to speak with Marion, and heard the rector say, “With your permission, Manchester, I would like to pay my addresses to Miss Clayton.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The day after they arrived at the Manor, Penelope knocked on the library door and waited to hear Drake’s, “Come in.”

  “Good morning, Your Grace. I wonder if you could frank this letter for me.” She held out the precious article on the discovery of her new specimen. The hours spent drawing the plant and writing her findings would be well worth it when it appeared in the Linnean Society Report. Of course, the essay would appear under the name L. D. Farnsworth, her pseudonym, but she knew the truth of it.

  Next she would have to finish the report on the cross breeding she’d been experimenting with before she left Devonshire. It felt good to get back to her work. Thoughts of balls, gowns, and the ton had fled her mind the moment she had stepped out of the carriage yesterday and breathed the fresh country air of Manchester Manor.

  “Yes, I’ll be happy to frank your letter.” Drake leaned back in his chair and tapped his lips with his pen. “I am sorry to hear you addressing me as ‘Your Grace’ again. I thought we had moved beyond that.”

  “I prefer to keep our relationship on a more formal basis, Your Grace. I don’t think it is wise for someone like me to be on a first name basis with someone like you.”

  He dropped the pen and stood. “Penelope, stop it.” He moved around to the front of the desk and rested his hip on the edge. She caught her breath at his nearness. He was so masculine, and disturbing. She shivered at the memory of being in his arms, of feeling his lips on hers. He studied her with an emotion she could not identify. Nor did she want to.

  He appeared to reach out to her, but then dropped his hand on his thigh, drawing her eyes to where they should not be. “I have no idea what you mean by someone like you, and I am sorry if I offended you. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt your feelings, or make you feel as if you were—somehow—beneath me.”

  Oh, how she wished she could hate him. Or at least be able to dismiss him as beneath her regard. Instead she found her insides melting, her knees practically buckling. She mentally shook herself, needing to be in control of these bothersome feelings. “Nonsense. I didn’t feel that way at all. In fact, I am glad you reminded me that anything except a passing friendship would ever be between us. Soon the Season will be over, you will find—and marry—a suitable wife, and I will return to my science.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, his lips tightening. After a minute she began to squirm, feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Mr. Fox wishes to call upon you.”

  “Indeed.” She fiddled with the inkwell on the desk. “Did you tell him I have no interest in being courted?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “We’ve been through this before. I am a scientist. I am socially inept. I crawl around in the dirt, as you so aptly put it.”

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for that remark as well. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Dare she hope he was jealous? She almost snorted at that thought. “Fine. If Mr. Fox wishes to call upon me, I have no objection. He is a pleasant man, and I enjoy his company.”

  The pulse in his neck jumped. “Very well, then I will tell him you accept his address.”

  “Good.” Chin raised, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door with a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary.

  …

  Drake winced as the door slammed. That was something Lady Daphne would never do. A true lady wouldn’t show her anger, or her hurt, or anything, for that matter. And a duchess must be a true lady at all times.

  He returned to his desk, pulled out a ledger book from the shelf alongside him, and began to leaf through the pages. Columns of numbers, corresponding to supplies and other purchases, were neatly written in his steward’s cramped script. On the other side were entries of monies received from the tenants’ rentals, and local farmers who bought the popular ale brewed by the Manor for generations. It gratified him to see the increasing revenues. At least this was one area where he saw results.

  It was too bad women couldn’t be put into a ledger with neat columns. This side for behavior, that side for names. This side for expected attributes, that side for traits to be avoided. Add them up and the perfect woman emerged.

  About an hour later, a rapid knock on the door broke his concentration. He laid his pen down and stood to stretch his tight muscles. “Enter.”

  His stable master, John Westfall, enter
ed, crushing his cap in his hands. He was a fairly new employee at the Manor, having held his position for less than a year. His wife had recently given birth to their first child. Drake had spoken to the man a few times, but today he looked exhausted and strained. “Yer Grace. A word, please?”

  He nodded for the man to continue.

  “I’m afraid I caused a problem today. You see, m’wife is having a time with the new little one. He cries all day and night, and we haven’t been getting much in the way of sleep. Her mum was supposed to come to help out, but took sick, and wasn’t able to travel.”

  “Please, Westfall, have a seat. You look a bit sapped.” Drake waved to the chair in front of the desk. The man sat on the edge, almost as if he was afraid his impressive bulk would shatter it.

  “So what is this problem that has occurred?”

  “I was trying to give m’wife a little bit of a rest, and forgot about the arrival of the new mare. The man from Grossman’s arrived with ‘er, and she was a bit frisky. I had to move things around in a hurry to get ‘er settled. What I’m trying to tell you, Yer Grace, is Abaccus is not in his usual stall.”

  Drake waved his hand in dismissal. “That’s no trouble, as long as I can find him.”

  “He’s in the old stable on the opposite side of the Manor. I know you like doin’ yer own groomin’ and tack, so I didn’t want you thinkin’ yer horse ran off. Once things settle down, I can move him back.”

  “No, do not concern yourself. Where you’ve put him is perfect. But what is the trouble with the little one?”

  The man shifted, shaking his head. “Not sure, Yer Grace, he cries all the time, and appears to be in pain.”

  “Oh, sorry to interrupt, but the door was open.” Penelope entered the library, dressed in a deep red riding habit, double rows of brass buttons down the front of the snug jacket. On her head rested a matching hat; the feather curled saucily toward her mouth. “Marion and I were just going for a ride and I left my spectacles here this morning.” She pulled on black leather riding gloves as she looked around the room. “Ah, there they are.”