***
Penelope was not certain if she was in a dream. Had she just married James under a streetlamp on a London street? No. Yes. She held James’s hand. He was real; that was all she knew.
“Mr. Peters,” James called the butler as they arrived home.
“My word, Your Grace,” gasped the shocked butler. “Are you quite well?”
“Yes, never better,” said the duke. “Best day of my life. Please arrange for a bath, so we may freshen up and prepare for guests tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the butler, trying to recover from the shock of seeing Marchford and Penelope in such a grimy state. “Any particular occasion?”
“Twelfth Night tomorrow. Thought it a good day to have my wedding ball.” He winked at Penelope, and she smiled in return. “And you can be the first in the household to greet my new bride, Penelope Lockton, the Duchess of Marchford.”
Penelope smiled so broadly she thought her face might crack.
The butler stammered again and smiled himself, most uncharacteristically. “Yes, yes, quite. I wish you both every happiness!”
“Thank you, Peters,” said James. “Let my mother and grandmother know, and tell them my mother may decorate as she wishes and my grandmother may invite whomever she pleases.”
“That is certain to please and displease them both,” laughed Penelope.
“As long as you are my bride, I care not.”
“But what of the unpleasant gossip regarding our marriage?” asked Penelope, a cloud coming over her eyes.
“Gossip?” asked James. “The Comtesse de Marseille was revealed to be a traitor, Lord Felton’s house was blown up, and most shocking of all, my grandmother and mother were seen making pleasant conversation. My dear lady, there is so much other more interesting gossip right now, I could have married the fishmonger’s daughter, or even the fishmonger himself, and nobody would raise an eyebrow.”
“I will fight off any and all tradesmen who might wish to take you from me,” asserted Penelope with a grin.
“I thank you.” James closed his eyes for a moment and opened them slowly. “I fear we must both be in need of sleep.”
Penelope nodded. Now that the excitement was over, she was aware how her whole body ached. “I know this is not very wifely,” she said as they walked up the stairs together, “but I desperately need sleep and a good wash.”
“Yes, rest. I shall see you in the morning.” James stopped under one of the mistletoe traps and kissed her on the forehead.
Back in her room, Penelope was attended by several excited maids, who had just heard the news they were now waiting on a duchess. They helped her remove the bloodstained gown, which she relinquished to them to be burned. The garment had served its purpose well. She did not need it anymore.
The maids provided hot water to wash, and Penelope did as best she could to remove the dirt and grime.
“May I express my best wishes for your future together,” said Abigail. “And if I may suggest, there is a bath down the hall. Maybe you would like to relax in the hot water.”
“Oh yes.” Penelope wrapped in a dressing gown and padded down the hall in her bare feet. She opened the door of the room with the large tub. It was mostly dark but for one candle. The smell of rose water and lavender soothed her senses.
She stepped inside and dropped the wrapper to the floor, walking to the tub. Suddenly, James emerged from under the water.
“Penelope!”
“James!”
“What are you doing here?” they both asked together.
“I fear my maid has taken things into her own hands,” said Penelope, turning to find her wrapper. Husband or no, her cheeks burned at being caught naked by James.
“Come back!” James reached out and grabbed her hand. “My duchess, please join me.” His eyes twinkled in the candlelight.
She glanced down. He was naked. She looked away, only to have her eyes drawn down again. He was very, very naked.
“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, trailing one finger down her stomach, traveling below her belly button and beyond.
She caught her breath. Despite being exhausted, parts of her body were coming alive. She held on to his other hand and climbed into the tub, resting her back on his stomach. Warm water gushed around her, easing all the places of soreness and tension.
James grabbed a pitcher and poured warm water over her head, down her back. It felt so good she had to stifle a groan. He took some soap and began to work it through her hair, massaging as he went.
A satisfied sigh escaped her lips. Her body went limp as relaxation flowed through her. She had never known the simple act of washing hair could be so sensual, so utterly all-encompassing.
He poured water over her head again, washing away not only the soap, but also all the pain and anxiety of the past few days. She leaned back on him, her eyes closed. Never had she felt so relaxed, so happy, so safe.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I hope you shall not grow tired of hearing it, for I feel I shall need to constantly remind you.”
“I also may need to remind you of my love for you,” murmured Penelope.
“Hopeless cases, the both of us,” said James. His hands began an exploration of her body, and she floated in the water, allowing him to touch, massage, caress any part of her he so desired.
When he reached that secret place that made her catch her breath, she opened herself to him, knowing she was safe, protected, adored. Soon the tension built up so that she wanted, craved, needed more.
She turned around, straddling him in the tub, and he guided her to join him, completing her in a way she had not known possible. He was her other half, her mate, her love forever. She held on to his shoulders as he increased the pace, water slopping out over the side of the tub.
She chased after a building sensation within her, circling in her core, twisting up tension, until suddenly something within her exploded, filling her with an unspeakable joy.
James cried out and they both collapsed into each other, floating down into the warm water. Penelope doubted she could raise her head off his chest even to prevent from being drowned.
“I love you, my duchess.”
***
The next day, Penelope stood next to James as they greeted the guests to their wedding celebration. Bella had expanded on the decorations, turning the entire house into a Christmas feast for the eyes. Never had Marchford House kept Twelfth Night with more merriment.
Antonia also did not disappoint. Despite the last-minute invitation, the ballroom was packed with friends and well-wishers, including Penelope’s sisters and their husbands, all notable members of the ton, and many members of Parliament. It was glorious. Penelope was the last of her sisters to marry, and to a duke no less!
Penelope held James’s hand, and the rest of the party seemed to slip away. She was married to the man she loved—to the only man she had ever loved. She had not thought it possible, but apparently nothing is impossible for God.
James’s warm, misty-green eyes met hers. He was impeccably dressed, though she now had a preference to seeing him with less clothing. Still, he was a striking figure, and he was all hers. I love you. He did not need to say the words. It was there in his eyes. Suddenly bagpipes started up a deafening but joyous song.
“Ten pipers piping?” asked Penelope with a laugh.
“Yes. I am remiss, I missed a few,” said James. “Still looking for a pear tree, but I expect a partridge will be on the menu tonight. As for dancing ladies and leaping lords, we will see what we can do at the dance.”
“Oh no!” Penelope’s joy diminished with a sudden realization. “You have given me all these presents and I have given you nothing. And it’s Twelfth Night!”
James wrapped his arms around her. “You have given me the best present of all
. You have given me yourself. And a very memorable Christmastide! There is nothing more I could ask for and nothing more I could want.”
Everyone gathered around them, wishing them well. Antonia and Bella arrived, arm in arm of all things, with Lord Langley straggling behind them with a bemused smile.
“I am still stunned to see you both in each other’s good graces,” said James.
“We found something we agree on,” said Bella.
“We approve of your choice of bride,” said Antonia, giving Pen a warm embrace.
Penelope was flooded with a warm swell of joy. It was no small thing to win over two such imposing ladies. And Antonia was not the hugging type.
“However, I find the decor something appalling,” continued Antonia.
“And the number of persons in attendance is hardly what I consider the small, intimate affair as we agreed upon,” countered Bella.
“That’s better. Everything is making more sense to me now,” said James.
His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I shall be leaving soon, but I want you to know how proud I am of you. I love you with my whole heart.”
“Thank you.” James blinked away emotion and cleared his throat.
“Ah, you are all misty for me!” Grant was next in line and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Grant,” said Marchford. “For everything.”
“It was nothing. Love to force my friends into marriage under streetlamps.” Grant smiled. “Can’t stay long. Must get back soon.”
“Is anything wrong?” asked Penelope.
“Oh no. Nothing has ever been so right. But I like to watch when the little one sleeps and eats, and opens his eyes. Never been so amused by an infant.”
“You are well on your way to becoming a good father,” said Penelope.
“Goodness. There’s something I never thought I’d be accused of. Best of everything to you both!”
Penelope’s sisters came next, surrounding her with love and kisses. Then they descended on Marchford, giving him the full dose of the Rose family love.
“We are so happy for you,” said Amelia.
“We wish you all the best,” sighed Sophie.
“Much joy to you!” declared Mariah.
“Sugar and spice, Pen, you married a duke!” exclaimed Julia.
The Earl of Darington was next, with his sister, giving Penelope a pang of regret. “Oh dear, I have not found spouses for either of you.”
“I told you she was Madame X.” Kate glared at her brother. “And I don’t want a husband.”
Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, realizing she had revealed herself. This marriage thing was making her soft in the head.
“You have employed your time far better,” said Darington. “You saved my life, and for that, I thank you. We wish you every happiness.”
The line continued until they had greeted every well-wisher. The chairs were cleared away, the music started to play, and they began to dance.
“You dance divinely, Your Grace,” said Penelope.
“Only with you, my duchess.” James’s eyes smiled at her in a way that was for her alone. “Only for you.”
***
Three months later, Penelope sat on the settee surrounded by her sisters and Genie Grant. Miles the cat and Genie’s adorable tot were the only males allowed in the room. Miles rested his large, furry head on Penelope’s lap as she stroked him while listening to the complaints of ladies.
“I do love him, but I confess I miss sleep. Grant says to use a wet nurse, but I wouldn’t miss a moment with my boy,” said Genie, cradling her baby boy.
“My little one has a foot or something stuck in my ribs,” said Amelia.
“I am craving the most odd things,” sighed Sophie.
“My back is killing me,” declared Mariah.
“La, I’m so fat!” exclaimed Julia.
“I’ve been feeling a little queasy myself,” added Penelope with a small smile.
Her sisters were quiet a moment, then turned to her, their eyes as wide as their smiles. “Are you?” they all asked together.
“Yes!” Penelope could not help but smile as all the expecting Rose sisters and Genie exclaimed their joy and happiness to hear a little ducal heir was on the way.
“What is all this squealing?” James strode through the door, strong and tall as ever. “I can only assume you are being attacked or—”
“I told them.” Penelope rose with a grin.
James strode forward and clasped her hands in his. “Very good. All according to plan.”
“Your plan?” Penelope raised an eyebrow.
“Well, someone’s plan who is vastly smarter than me.” He raised his eyes for a moment and came back down for a kiss on Penelope’s lips to the cheers of her sisters.
The Lord’s plans were very good indeed.
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to my editor, Deb Werksman, who nicely pointed out the original beginning of this book needed some love (and an additional chapter); this book is so much better because of you. Thanks to my agent, Barbara Poelle, who believes in me more than I do. I am very appreciative of my beta reader, Laurie Maus, whose initial feedback on my chapters is so helpful (should have listened to you more). Thanks to my kids, who are very supportive of my writing and even suggested a lemonade stand in front of the house to sell books—someday I’ll write something you can actually read. And to Ed, who is my rock.
About the Author
Amanda Forester holds a PhD in psychology and worked for many years in academia before discovering that writing historical romance was decidedly more fun. Whether in the rugged Highlands of medieval Scotland or the decadent ballrooms of Regency England, her novels offer fast-paced adventures filled with wit, intrigue, and romance. Amanda lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. You can visit her at www.amandaforester.com.
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