The Duke's Quandary (12 page)

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, entered, 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.”

Westfall stood, the movement catching Penelope’s eye. “Goodness, I didn’t realize someone else was in here with you.”

Drake nodded toward the man. “Miss Clayton, may I make known to you John Westfall, who is our stable master. Westfall, this is Miss Penelope Clayton, who is a guest of my family.”

The stable master tugged on the brim of his wool cap, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

She smiled, her cheeks a bright red, almost matching her outfit. “I apologize again for interrupting.”

“Not at all. Mr. Westfall was just telling me about his new son, who apparently is having some issue that is depriving Westfall and his wife of sleep.”

“Isn’t that the way with new babies?” She smiled warmly at the new father.

“No, miss, I’m afraid it’s more than that. The tyke seems to be in pain.”

“Oh, dear. Is he crying a great deal?”

“That he is. Day and night. Has m’wife in a bit of a pother. Convinced, she is, the lad will die.”

Penelope frowned. “Does he draw his little legs up?”

The man nodded.

“I cannot say for sure, but it sounds to me like your baby is suffering from colic.”

“What?” Both men said at the same time.

“It’s a disorder some babies have. My father used his knowledge of plants to offer medicinal assistance to our neighbors from time to time. Two of the plants I’m familiar with can ease a bit of the problem with colic.”

“Where can I get some of these plants, miss?” Westfall’s eyes lit up, no doubt at the thought of a full night’s sleep.

“I’m sure there is some chamomile right here in the woods behind the house. And no doubt there will be some ginger root in the kitchen. I can fix a tea for your son. Now please understand, I can’t guarantee the mixture will correct the baby’s problem completely, but I know the properties in the plants should help.”

A smile broke out on John’s broad face. “Anything you can do, miss, would be much appreciated.”

Penelope patted the stable master’s hand. “I will have something for you this afternoon.”

Drake stood in awe, as the woman he knew to be shy and fond of hiding behind plants, turned and strode from the room, determination in her steps. Yes, there was definitely more to Penelope than met the eye.

…

Penelope settled on the rose and green striped window seat in the drawing room. Marion nodded her thanks to the footman as he placed the tea things on the low table in front of her. “Thank you, Stiles. Please ask His Grace if he would care to join us for tea.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

“How was your ride with Joseph?” Marion passed a cup of steaming liquid to Penelope.

“It was very nice. Mr. Fox is a charming gentleman.”

That afternoon had been her third outing with the rector. Over the past few days, they’d gone for a carriage ride, a picnic, and a stroll through the village. Even in her naivety, she was aware of the man’s apparent interest. A bit disconcerting. She felt nothing for him except a warm friendship. He’d held her hand this afternoon while they were strolling, but she’d felt nothing.

Certainly nothing like the few times Drake had kissed her, or even came near. No pounding of her heart or fluttering in her stomach. Nevertheless, it was pointless to pursue that line of thought.

On the occasions she and Drake had come across each other at the Manor, he’d been stiffly polite. He seemed to avoid her otherwise, with dinner being the only meal they all shared. Those occurrences were somber affairs, with Drake gulping more than his usual quota of wine as she and Marion discussed her latest outing with Joseph.

Since she hadn’t changed her mind about marrying, it mattered not, anyway. Mr. Fox would make some woman a wonderful, warm, loving husband. But not her.

“Perhaps you will end up married to the rector,” Marion teased.

Penelope shook her head and returned her cup to the saucer. “No. I’m fond of him, but not in the way you would be of a husband.”

“That’s too bad.” Marion slanted a speculative glance at her. “Maybe because someone else has caught your eye?”

“Ah, tea.” Drake entered the room, most likely having come from a ride. His usually well-groomed hair was tossed about, his cravat loosened, and his face flushed with the wind. “It appears I’m just in time.”

“Indeed you are.” Marion handed him a cup and passed the tray of scones. “I’m surprised to see you. You seem to be avoiding us. Where have you been?”

He settled in the chair next to the fireplace. “Nonsense. I haven’t been avoiding you lovely ladies. I’ve been busy. Just came from giving the new mare a run. She’ll be an excellent addition to our stable.”

Penelope shifted in her chair. Drat the fluttering that took up residence in her stomach at the man’s appearance. His glance barely slid in her direction before he became extremely interested in his tea cup.

“I’m glad to hear it is not Penelope or me that has kept you from our presence. I thought perhaps you were unhappy to have brought us.”

Drake looked stricken. “Not at all, Marion. I’m very glad to have brought you here. I think the steps you’ve taken recently are wonderful.” He darted a glimpse at Penelope, but remained silent on his thoughts about having her along.

“Your Grace, Mr. Joseph Fox has requested an audience, if you please.” Stiles stood in the doorway, holding a small card in his hand.

“Ask him to join us here, Stiles. And see that Mrs. Penson sends in some more scones and hot tea.”

Stiles had barely left the room when Joseph strode in, bringing the scent of country air with him. “Good to see you, Manchester.” Bowing in Marion’s direction, he said, “Lady Tunstall, good afternoon.” He turned to Penelope and took her hand, placing a kiss on her fingers. “Miss Clayton.”

“Why don’t you sit over here, Fox, and have some tea.” Drake pointed to the chair across from him, even though the space next to Penelope was vacant.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” He took his seat, and addressed Penelope. “Have you recovered from your ride, Miss Clayton?”

“Why? Did something happen?” Drake looked from Penelope to Joseph.

“Just a small mishap. Miss Clayton tripped over a root while we stopped to admire the scenery.”

“Indeed? And what scenery was that?” He glared at the rector as if he suspected the man of nefarious purposes.

“The view from the pond, on that little hill. I thought Miss Clayton would enjoy seeing the village laid out in front of her.”

”For heaven’s sake. It was a minor incident. Certainly no worse than any other misstep I’ve had.”

Drake glared in her direction. “I fail to understand why you were wandering about, tripping on roots, when you were supposed to be taking a carriage ride.”

She and Marion exchanged glances as silence descended on the group. Drake rotated his shoulders. “What was it you wanted to see me about, Fox?”

“I would prefer if we spoke in private, Manchester.”

Uncomfortable at the sudden tension in the room, Penelope patted her lips with a serviette and stood. “I will leave you gentlemen to your meeting. Marion, would you like to continue with our embroidering?”

Marion’s raised eyebrows no doubt resulted from her awareness of Penelope’s abhorrence of needlework. However, she rose and followed her from the room.

…

“What can I do for you?” Drake had a very bad feeling about this requested meeting. He was sure it had something to do with Penelope, and doubted it would be to his liking.

“I’ve grown fond of Miss Clayton over the last few days.” Joseph folded his serviette and placed it alongside the cup of tea he hadn’t touched.

“Is that so?” Drake leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. If the man was here to make an offer for Penelope, he would not make it easy for him. Why that was, he didn’t want to dwell upon.