The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hutton, Callie

  London, England

  June 11, 1814

  My Dear Mr. L. D. Farnsworth,

  I am writing on behalf of the Linnean Society of London, England.

  We are most impressed with your recent report with regard to your latest findings. Once again, you have proven to the Society that you are a dedicated scientist who has contributed to the study of botany in many ways.

  Therefore, it is with great pleasure that I inform you the Awards Committee of The Linnean Society has named you as Scientific Contributor of the Year. A dinner in your honor will be held beginning at eight o’clock pm on Friday, the twenty-second day of July, in the Year of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and Fourteen.

  We are all quite anxious to meet you, and bestow upon you the acknowledgment well deserved for your work over the last few years.

  Your response is eagerly awaited.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Mr. Maxwell Lovelace, President

  Penelope’s heart thudded and her stomach twisted into knots. She took a deep breath, and after reading the note over once more, paced the room, the letter crumpled in her hands. What in heaven’s name had she gotten herself into? What would the members of the Society say? Worst of all, what would her husband say?

  I am in a great deal of trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  London, England

  June 12, 1814

  My Dear Mr. Lovelace:

  It was with a great deal of appreciation and humbleness that I read your missive. I am honored and blessed to be considered for such an award. However, on the 22nd day of July, I will be out of the country, as I leave for exploration in India on the 10th of July. I am sure the Society has many other esteemed members just as worthy to accept this honor.

  I wish you well, and again thank you for your kindness.

  Sincerely yours,

  L. D. Farnsworth

  …

  Drake and Penelope walked arm in arm through the garden. The rain from the previous days had finally abated, and the sun had made a return visit. Despite the dampness on the ground and in the air, a stroll had definitely been in order. Drake had found her in her sitting room and invited her to walk with him to help clear his mind. He’d been stuck behind his desk for hours dealing with estate matters.

  “Oh look at that lovely Hesperis matronalist!” Penelope left his side and carefully picked her way through the greenery. She bent and studied the seedling. “These are very strong specimens. Dame’s Rocket sometimes have problems, but these look wonderful.”

  “Penelope.”

  She turned, her face beaming. “Yes?”

  “The hem of your gown is dragging in the dirt. Please come away from there and let us continue our walk.”

  His stomach muscles tightened at her slumped shoulders. All the sparkle and happiness drained from her face as she hiked up her skirts and moved slowly back to him. “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. I should be sorry. It is just that. . .”

  “I know. Duchesses don’t poke around in the mud.”

  Drake sighed and tucked her arm into his. “I realize you enjoy botany. But can’t you just take pleasure in a lovely garden, and how the gardeners have arranged the plants?”

  “Oh, I do,” she said. “I love how the garden is arranged, and I think you have the absolute best gardeners. Probably in all of England. It is just that I. . . Well, never mind.”

  Would they never have any peace in this matter? Truth be known, Penelope was making an excellent effort in learning her duties and responsibilities. Perhaps he should allow her some leniency in this work of hers. He mentally shook himself. No. His duchess must uphold her position, and that position was not on her knees in the mud.

  However, his mother had tumbled around in the snow with her children, yet she was very much a duchess. It was all so confusing.

  …

  London, England

  June, 13, 1814

  My Dear Mr. Farnsworth,

  I am in receipt of your note of June 12. I hope all is well with you.

  Surely you must realize that there is no other member of our society so deserving of this award than yourself. Your contributions have been outstanding, and you do yourself a disservice to believe otherwise.

  I am happy to inform you that I have been authorized by the Award Committee to change the date of our annual dinner to accommodate your schedule.

  Therefore, we will now be honoring you and your work on July 8th.

  Anxiously awaiting your response, I remain,

  Sincerely yours,

  Mr. Maxwell Lovelace, President

  …

  Drake bowed to Penelope and took her hand in his as he led her in the quadrille. “In case I haven’t mentioned it, you look exceptionally lovely this evening.”

  She beamed, a slight flush rising to her face. “Thank you, Your Gr—”

  He shook his head to silence her, and stepped to his right as the dance commenced.

  It appeared his wife was making some progress, and becoming more comfortable in her role. At least he no longer found her digging in the garden. Lessons with his mother had smoothed out some of her rough spots. Unfortunately, she still had a tendency to hurry through the house, knocking into furniture and startling the staff.

  Just yesterday a downstairs maid had dropped a tray of silverware because Penelope had turned a corner and had run smack into the woman, resulting in a racket that had brought several people running. Then she had made the entire situation worse by dropping to her knees to help the maid retrieve forks and spoons.

  When he had arrived on the scene, his wife’s delectable derriere was waving at him as she crawled under the table to reach a knife. She had turned when he’d addressed her, shoving her spectacles further up her nose. Several strands of hair had come loose from her topknot, and had caressed her cheek. Her bosom had heaved from her efforts, her cheeks were flushed, and then she’d made the mistake of licking her lips.

  Much to his chagrin, instead of correcting her behavior, he’d taken her by the hand and hustled her up to his bedchamber where he had made love to her all afternoon. She was definitely a distraction.

  He’d caught her feeding scraps to a mongrel at the back door of Manor House, and consoling a maid, who cried on her shoulder because her young man had deserted her. She seemed to have no sense of propriety, but his mother, sisters, and the entire staff adored her. Most times, she had him feeling queer in the attic.

  He and Penelope, along with Lord Johnstone and Miss Priscilla Avery, completed the intricate steps of the dance with his wife only making minor mistakes. At least Johnstone no longer needed to rub his chin after Penelope’s head had hit him when she was supposed to “dip” and didn’t.

  “Would you care for some lemonade, sweetheart?”

  “That would be very nice. I find I am a bit parched.”

  He took her arm in his, gaining a great deal of satisfaction when several gentlemen glanced in her direction as they made their way across the floor, and she ignored them.

  He had no idea why he felt that way.

  “Manchester.” Before they reached the refreshment table, a raspy voice drew his attention.

  Drake turned as Dowager Duchess Wynddare moved slowly toward them, leaning heavily on her cane.

  “Take my arm, young man, and help me to that chair.” She waved her cane in the direction of a red brocade parlor chair next to an oversized potted plant.

  The three moved to a quiet spot, the dowager duchess closing her eyes briefly as she settled in the chair. She turned her gaze toward Penelope. “Gel, fetch me a glass of lemonade.”

  “I will be glad to bring you some refreshment, Your Grace,” Drake said.

  Once again the older woman waved her cane. “No, I want to speak with you for a bit. I want some news of your family. Every time I see your mother she is surrounded by a gaggle of women.”

  Drake watched Penelope set off to do as she had been bid. The Dowager Duchess Wyndda
re was a feared persona of the ton. Well known for her outspoken opinions, she was one of the few women who could make or break a girl’s success during her Season. One well-placed comment and a young miss could be reduced to wallflower status.

  The dowager duchess followed Penelope with her eyes, then turned to Drake. “So you’ve finally taken your title seriously and married yourself a duchess.”

  Uneasy at her serious visage, he merely nodded. He attempted to fight the cold knot of dread in his stomach at what the harridan would say next.

  “I can see by your expression that you’re thinking I’m likely to pass some type of judgment on the gel.”

  Drake stiffened, ready to defend his wife, even if he put himself on the wrong side of this known virago. However, before he could speak, the woman laughed, and thumped her cane on the floor, garnering the attention of several people conversing nearby.

  “You’re very much like your father.”

  Not expecting that comment, he arched one eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  “Yes. I remember when he first married your mother.” She leaned forward, peering into his eyes. “He was afraid of her, too, you know.”

  “Afraid of my mother? I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

  She sat back against the seat, her eyes bright with mischief. “She was a bit of trouble, like your own wife.” She cackled some more. “Don’t look so surprised, young man. I’ve seen the way you watch your duchess, with that look of terror at what she might do next.”

  He could feel the heat rising to his face. What had the woman seen that would cast dispersions on his wife?

  “She’s perfect, you know,” the dowager said.

  Drake shook his head in confusion.

  “I’m sure at one point, like your father, you thought you needed someone who is as stiff as you are. But that would have been a disaster. Your duchess will keep you on your toes, and bring some laughter into your life.” She winked, and gestured with her head at Penelope making her way across the room with the glass of lemonade.

  His chest filled with warmth as he watched his duchess smile and nod to various people as she slowly walked toward them, her eyes returning to the liquid she carried.

  She reached them without spilling a drop, the glow of happiness on her face warming his insides, and tugging at his heart. Yes, perhaps she was not the perfect duchess, but she could very well be the perfect duchess for him.

  Drake took the glass from her and handed it to the dowager. “If you will excuse us, Your Grace, I will be taking my wife home now. She appears fatigued.”

  The older woman tossed back her head and laughed. “Go on with you. Yes, very much fatigued. And you are very much like your father.”

  …

  June 15, 1814

  London, England

  Mr. Lovelace,

  In regard to your lovely note, I failed to mention in my previous missives that I have no coach at my disposal. Since I have had issues with my back for some time now, I am unable to hire a hackney.

  Friends will be sending a well-sprung carriage for my trip out of the country. Since it is impossible for me to attend your dinner—and accept this illustrious award—I wish to extend my congratulations to whichever worthy gentleman the Society deems will receive this accolade.

  Again I wish to thank you for this honor.

  Respectfully,

  Mr. Farnsworth

  …

  Drake entered his mother’s sitting room and almost made an abrupt turnaround. Instead of just his wife and mother, who he had planned on taking tea with, three of his sisters, and another young lady, crowded the area, chatting merrily and sipping tea.

  “Here he is now, ladies,” his mother waved and beckoned him to a chair between her and Penelope.

  He groaned inwardly. “Mother, I hadn’t realized you were having company. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Indeed?” His mother’s brows rose. “The only company is Miss Marsh, and I assure you she would not be offended by having a gentleman in our midst. Isn’t that right, Miss March?”

  The girl turned a lovely shade of red, gulped, then nodded, all the time keeping her eyes glued to her tea cup.

  “There, you see. Our company is delighted to have you join us.” It amazed him how his mother could spout blatant lies while looking as innocent as a newborn babe. Reluctantly, he took his seat, and the cup Penelope held out to him. He glanced at her briefly, amused at the mirth in her eyes. Sometimes it was disconcerting how they connected without speaking.

  The advantage in taking tea with so many women was his ability to gather his own thoughts, since not one of them ever stopped talking. And no one seemed interested in including him. He lost count of how many conversations were going on at the same time. In fact, it appeared his mother was currently involved in three conversations. And never missed a response.

  Amazing creatures, women.

  He reached for a lemon tart, and out of the corner of his eye, a slight movement caught his attention. He looked closer, and to his horror, saw a mouse nibbling on a crumb one of the ladies had dropped. The creature was practically on top of his sister, Sarah’s, foot. Good lord. If any of the women saw the mouse absolute chaos would erupt.

  He quickly assessed the situation, ready for battle. None of the women were aware of their unexpected guest. He tapped his shoe rapidly three times, trying to scare the thing off. All conversation ceased, and six pairs of eyes turned in his direction. But the blasted mouse never even looked up.

  “Sorry. My foot had fallen asleep.” He shook his leg. “Please, continue ladies.”

  The mouse regarded him from his feast on the floor, and Drake swore the creature smiled.

  He shifted in his seat, trying to think of a way to chase the thing away, when the mouse moved farther into the circle of women, and began to munch on another crumb. Sybil moved her foot, kicked the mouse, and it scurried across the circle of women.

  The description of the end of time so frighteningly laid out in Revelations was no competition for the ensuing screaming, jumping, arm waving, and general melee. Women hopped onto chairs, screeching to wake the dead. Miss Marsh appeared to swoon, landing on her bottom on the floor where she remained, since none of the ladies were willing to venture off the chairs.

  Except Penelope. In a flash, he realized his wife was the only calm one in the bunch. She slowly moved around the room, making a tsking sound, motioning to the mouse with her fingers.

  “What the devil are you doing, Penelope?”

  She turned to him, an expression on her face leaving no doubt what she thought of his question. “I am trying to catch the mouse.”

  The ladies all screamed again.

  “Get out of the way. I will ring for someone to bring a broom, and I will whack it.”

  “What? No. Absolutely not. He’s a poor defenseless animal.”

  What did she intend to do? Catch the thing and make him a pet? Shaking his head in disgust, he rounded the chair where they’d last seen the mouse and got to his knees. He peeked underneath the chair just as the mouse ran out and smacked him on his nose.

  The ladies all screamed again.

  “Oh, look, there he is!” Penelope shouted.

  How the bloody hell could such a small mouse cause such a large pain in his nose? Eyes watering, he climbed to his feet just in time to see Penelope scoop up the mouse like an expert rodent catcher. She cupped her hands together, and held them up, a huge smile on her face. “Got him.”

  The ladies all screamed again.

  Drake burst out laughing at her expression. Leave it to Penelope to be on the side of the mouse. He watched her as she left the room, whispering to her clenched hands. As the other women climbed down from their perches and settled themselves back on the chairs, Dowager Duchess Wynddare’s words echoed in his head. Your duchess will keep you on your toes, and bring some laughter into your life.

  …

  London, England

  June 17, 1814

&nbs
p; Farnsworth,

  One of our committee members has graciously offered to send his carriage for you on the night of your award ceremony on the evening of July 8th, at precisely seven o’clock. He will supply the conveyance with pillows for your back.

  Respectfully,

  Lovelace

  Penelope crushed the letter in her hand. That was it, then. She had tried to avoid this catastrophe, but to no avail. The best solution was for her to pack a bag and head to India in truth.

  She sat on the end of her bed and stared out the window at the cloud-covered city. Unable to sit still, she jumped up and paced. Of course she couldn’t leave the country. She was being foolish. But what in heaven’s name could she do at this point?

  The Society would be scandalized to know she’d been pulling the wool over their eyes all this time. What would they do? Could she be arrested for this? Would she be thrown into prison? Was there a law against pretending to be a man?

  Sweat beaded on her forehead as one horrible consequence after another flitted through her mind. She needed to talk to someone, gain a perspective on this.

  You know there is only one person.

  With determination, she smoothed her hair back, washed her hands and face, and stiffened her shoulders. She left the room and headed to the library, the letter clutched in her hand.

  A soft knock resulted in a bid to enter.

  She raised her chin and stepped into the room. Drake sat behind his desk, a pile of papers to his left. A slight smile graced his lips as he regarded her. “Good morning, wife.” His smile disappeared as he took in her agitation. “Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

  “Yes. I am in serious trouble, husband. And I have no one else to turn to.” Then she covered her eyes with shaky hands and burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Drake circled the desk and enveloped Penelope in his arms. “What is the problem? Are you ill?”

  She merely shook her head, clasped his forearms with more strength than he would have given her credit for, and continued to bawl. He laid his arm around her shoulder and drew her toward his chair. He settled himself, then pulled her onto his lap, resting her cheek against his chest. Rubbing circles on her back, he held her until her sobs turned to shuddering whimpers.