The Duke's Quandary (19 page)

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

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 8
th
, 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.

“Now, what is this problem that has you so distressed?” He smoothed back the errant curls from her forehead before handing her a handkerchief.

“You are going to be extremely angry with me.”

His stomach took a dive. What in blazes had the girl done? Burned down the orangery? Smashed one of Mother’s prized trinkets? Adopted a nest of mice? He shifted his legs and lifted her chin with two fingers. “What have you done, my love?”

Her swollen eyes met his. After opening and closing her mouth several times in imitation of a fish, she shoved a crumpled piece of vellum into his hands. “Here, read this.” She slid off his lap and began to pace, wringing her hands.

The short missive gave him absolutely no clue as to what this was about. He looked up at her and extended the paper in his hand. “What does this mean, and who is Lovelace and,” he glanced down, “Farnsworth?”

“Me.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s me.” She waved. “I’m him.”

“Who?”

“Farnsworth.”

He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “Perhaps you need to start at the beginning. I have the feeling I’m coming in at the very end of something.”

“I’m L. D. Farnsworth, and they want to give me an award at a dinner, but I can’t go because I’m a woman, and they think I’m a man, and they will be very upset, and I might have to go to prison.”

He shook his head to clear it from that breathless speech. “Let’s slow down, sweetheart, and start from the beginning. Why would this,” he paused, “Lovelace, think you’re a man?”

“Because I pretended.”

“Pretended what?”

“To be a man.”

“What for?”

“Because I’m a woman.”

Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “Penelope, you are making no sense whatsoever. Why would Lovelace want to give you an award, and why does he think you’re a man?”

She twisted the soggy handkerchief and wiped her nose. “It’s a long story.”

“I have plenty of time. And, I believe this is a story I need to hear—even if I am shaking in my boots at what you are about to say.”

She pulled out the chair in front of his desk and sat on the edge. Despite the turmoil in his brain, he noted how much like a duchess she appeared. Straight back, raised chin, flashing eyes. He felt a rush of pride.

“When my father passed away several years ago, he left behind all his work.”

“No doubt. I don’t believe one is permitted to take anything with them when they move on to their final reward.”

She scowled at his attempt at levity. “I had been Papa’s partner for years. At the time, I was a mere eighteen, and my trustee, Lord Monroe, insisted I travel to England, since it appeared there would soon be a war between America and England.

“Once I settled in, I continued with my botany work. Each time I discovered something new and exciting, I sent it to the Linnean Society of London.”

Drake held up his hand. “Before you continue, please explain the Linnean Society of London.”

“Very well. It is the world’s oldest active biological organization. The Society has established a meeting place for the cultivation of the science of natural history—of which botany is a part. It’s extremely well-respected.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“My father had sent a few of his reports there, so, naturally, when I discovered new and exciting things, I sent them along.”

“Naturally.”

“However, the Society does not allow women within its ranks.”

“Of course.”

She shot him a sharp glance. “Are you going to continue interrupting me?”

“No. I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“They would never have accepted my findings if I had revealed myself as a woman. Since they knew my father had passed away, I made up a name and sent reports under L. D. Farnsworth.”

“Whom they thought was a man.”

“I guess so. . .well, yes, they would assume that.”

“I believe I remember the night you arrived saying something about not being able to send the information to them because women were not permitted in the Society? Am I correct?”

“That’s right.”

“If memory serves, Abigail took offense at the need for your perfidy.”

She nodded.

“What has that have to do with your tears?”

“The Society wants to hold a dinner in my honor, and present me with some type of an award for my work. And I can’t go because they will be expecting a man.”

He tapped his clasped fingers against his lips. “Tell them no, that you wish to leave the Society. You have not sent reports since Devonshire, so it will die down in a short time.”

“Um, that is not exactly true.”

He raised one eyebrow. “What is not
exactly
true?”

“I did send one final report. About the specimen I found before I left Devonshire. And…there may have been another final report recently.”

“I believe there was a conversation between us where I made it known that I wished you to stop dealing with this. Did you send this report after that discussion?”

Her chin quivered and one tear slid slowly down her cheek. “Yes.”

Drake’s jaw tightened. Memories of his mother doing precisely what she wanted after his father had forbidden it rose to the forefront. Through the years, despite Father’s objections, she’d rescued a string of hideous animals.

The Manor had turned into a menagerie as she had attempted to hide their presence from her husband. He still remembered his father’s roar when he had found an injured squirrel with a bandaged leg in his bed one night. And the tears his mother had shed that had kept his father from banishing the wounded animal.

She had romped with the village children, hiked up her skirts to wade in the pond on their property, and one time had even hurled a snowball at Father’s face when he insisted she come inside, and stop cavorting in the snow like a child.

Bloody hell. He wanted a biddable wife, one who would do as she was told. He thought things were coming along nicely, and Penelope was accepting her place. Apparently, he had been mistaken. “Tell them you will be out of town.”

“I have. They changed the date.”

“Tell them you are too frail to travel.”

“I have. They will send a special carriage to transport me.”

Drake slumped in his chair and rubbed his temples.

“I have a suggestion.”

He stopped moving his fingers to stare at her from under furrowed brows. “I am afraid to hear this.”

“You could pretend to be me.”

Stunned into silence, he gaped at her. “Madam, do I have this correct? What you are suggesting is that I, as a man, will pretend to be a woman, who is pretending to be a man?”

“It could work if we skip the middle part.”

“What?”

She sat forward, excitement flashing in her eyes. “If you pretend to be L. D. Farnsworth, and go to the dinner, then accept the award.”

His head jerked back in shock. “I can’t possibly do that. It’s dishonest.”

Her shoulders slumped, causing his stomach to tighten.

“They might ask me questions I have no answers to.”

“I will go with you. I can whisper the answers.” She took in a trembling breath.

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous this all sounds?” He shoved his chair back and rose, then strode to the window. It appeared his life would be one mess after another. How was he to uphold his ducal dignity with a wife who had a propensity for trouble? He took a deep breath to calm himself. Apparently, what he would do is just what his father had done. Repeatedly. But his father had loved his mother a great deal. Love wasn’t something Drake had planned for. Or wanted.

Anger once more rose as the frustration of being in this position roared through him. “I will not do something as foolish and dishonest as pretending to be someone else. And furthermore, you will dispense with this science nonsense immediately!” Despite the tears now rimming her eyelids, he continued. “A true duchess does not get herself involved in subterfuge and discord. It is time you realized your place, and began to act with sufficient dignity.”

With a cry of anguish, Penelope covered her face with her hands and stumbled from the room.

Drake banged his fist on the window frame and took deep breaths to get himself under control. This would never work out, and he suddenly felt trapped in a situation there was no getting out of.

“What in heaven’s name did you say to Penelope?” The dowager’s voice cut through his exasperation.

“This does not concern you, madam.” He strode to his chair and sat ramrod straight, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“I disagree.” His mother’s arm swept toward the door. “That lovely girl just left this room in tears. And your shouting carried to the corridor. What has happened?”

“If you must know, and I have no doubt you will not leave this room until you do, my wife,
the Duchess of Manchester
, has been pretending to be a man!”

A few moments of silence followed his tirade as Mother stared at him, wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”

Drake pushed his chair back and paced behind the desk. “Penelope has been sending reports to the Linnean Society of London, under a pseudonym. A man’s name.” He glared at her.

She flicked her fingers at him. “Go on.”

“Apparently, they were so taken with her work that they have decided to bestow some type of an award to this—this—this person. Who doesn’t exist!”

“Oh, dear.”

“Indeed.” He sat once again. “My wife wants me to go to this dinner, pretend to be this man she has been writing reports as, and accept the award.”

To his abject horror and irritation, his mother burst out laughing.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited until she had wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and composed herself. “I fail to see the humor in this.”

“Yes. I imagine you wouldn’t.” She sighed and tucked the handkerchief back into her pocket. “And what would be the harm in you doing this for her?”

“She is my wife.”

“Precisely.”

“My duchess.”

“Right, again.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Perhaps I do. I think maybe you don’t.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His mother stood and fixed her skirts. “Just think about it. Don’t throw away what you and Penelope have together. Sometimes it is hard to see the entire forest because you are so focused on the trees.”

…

Penelope studied Drake from where she sat in front of her mirror as he dismissed Maguire. He closed the door softly and padded across the room, his eyes never leaving hers. He took the brush she’d forgotten about from her hand. “Allow me.”

He drew the brush through her hair, causing her heart to thump. “Your hair is like silk,” he whispered. In the candlelight, he appeared almost dangerous, the flickering light casting shadows over his face.

Her eyes slowly drifted closed, the knot that had taken up residence in her stomach since their disagreement beginning to ease. She took in a deep breath, enjoying his ministrations.

“I have decided to attend this dinner of yours and accept the award.”

Her eyes snapped open, and a smile replaced the drawn expression she’d had on her face. “Thank you.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders, and considered her in the mirror. “Merely because there is nothing else to be done at this point.”

She nodded.

He laid the brush aside, then he bent, moving her hair to kiss her neck. She emitted a soft moan of contentment. He eased her nightgown off her shoulders, the sleek material gathering at her waist. Eyes raised to meet hers, he smiled. “So beautiful.” His hands slid to her breasts, kneading, reshaping, rubbing her nipples with his thumbs.

She shivered, tingles racing from his clever hands to between her legs, where she felt herself soften and weep. He released one breast and caressed her chin, raising it as his lips slowly met hers. She sighed at his slow, drugging kiss, losing herself in warmth and pleasure. The velvet of his tongue teased her lips, urging her to open to him.

The warm air between their heated bodies was filled with the scent of him, the light essence of brandy, a spicy aroma of bath soap. She slid her hands into his still damp hair, tangling her fingers in the waves, tugging, bringing him closer.

In one swift movement, he encircled her body and pulled her up, the nightgown drifting to the floor. Her sensitive skin rubbed against his banyan as he crushed her to him. One large hand held her snug against him as the other hand wandered over her skin, touching, skimming, then cupping her bottom, pressing her against his hardening length.

No matter how tightly she held him, it would never be close enough. Times like this she wanted to crawl under his skin, become a part of him. Soon he would enter her and she would feel complete, like nothing she’d ever felt before in her life.

Could what she feel be love? Had she fallen in love with her husband? If only he gave her one sign that he cared for her that way, her worries about the future would vanish.

A breathless gasp escaped her lips as he released her mouth to scatter soft kisses and nips along her neck, beneath her ear. He groaned and quickly cradled her in his arms as he headed to the bed. He laid her gently on the covers, his eyes never leaving hers as he tugged on the belt of his banyan, shrugging it off.

His erection stood thick and proud, raising her heat even further. She reached out for him as he climbed on the bed, encircling his silk-covered steel with her hand.

“That’s it, sweetheart. I love when you touch me.” He slid his palm over the dampening curls on her forehead, his eyes burning with desire.

…

Drake closed his eyes as Penelope ran her delicate hand over his erect manhood, her hesitant touch firming as she caressed him. His palm drifted over her silky skin, dipping into the curve of her waist, rising over her hip. He used his tongue to lick her nipples, the dusky rose puckering, hardening into pebbles.