Page 45 of All Duke and Bothered

Calliope snorted in a very unladylike manner, her pale cheeks reddening, her bright blue eyes blazing as she stared ahead. “I have other plans for my life than to have a Lord Chapman command me to make his babies and entertain his friends.”

“Why, are Preston and Lord Richard talking about marrying you off?” asked Penelope. “Preston never mentioned anything to me.”

Both ladies looked at her sharply. “Preston?” asked Calliope. “Do you call my brother by his given name now? Does it mean you two have made up?”

Made up, loved up, and essentially merged into one being every night as soon as they were alone in her bedchamber. Three nights of little sleep, but of many activities that made her body ache and glow…activities she couldn’t in good conscience talk about with an unmarried young lady like Calliope.

Three nights that, she dared not hope, may be the beginning of a lifelong happiness.

“We did,” said Penelope, trying and failing to hide a smile. “And you were right, Calliope, I only needed to give him a chance.” She thought of how much she loved her daily painting sessions with Miss de Luca, and how much she had improved. All thanks to him. “He’s a wonderful man.”

A wonderful man who still had something over her papa that could destroy him.

A secret that she hoped she would get out of her papa today. She glanced around, looking for a short, stout figure wearing a powdered wig. But he was nowhere to be seen.

“So there’s a chance of happiness,” said Emma, as delighted as Calliope. “I’m so glad. Our husbands are both stubborn grumps, but we love them for it, don’t we?”

“Did you know right away?” asked Penelope. “That you loved the Duke of Loxchester?”

Emma sighed and smiled. “No. But quite soon. I thought he was not a good man at first, because of the way he treated me, but he saved me. Multiple times. I think that’s what Grandhampton is doing. He seems like a coldhearted man only interested in his own affairs, but deep down, I believe both of our husbands are very warmhearted indeed. But they are wounded souls that need to heal. As soon as I saw that in Sebastian, I fell in love with him.”

A wounded soul… Yes, Preston was one. Penelope knew Preston was still grieving Spencer’s death, and he’d opened up that he’d blamed himself in that, and that he’d even blamed her because he was sure she had led Spencer on.

And yet, none of that explained why he was so set on destroying her father… Suddenly, she spotted his white powdered wig about fifty feet away as he slowly walked along with his stick.

“Ladies,” she said, “do you mind if I talk to my father? I see him walking over there.”

Both of them looked at him. Calliope nodded, a puzzled frown on her face. “No, of course not, please go ahead and talk to Lord Beckett. You don’t need our permission.”

Penelope cleared her throat. “I know…it’s just…don’t mention me seeing him to Preston. Please.”

Calliope and Emma looked at each other. “If you don’t want us to, we won’t,” said Emma.

Calliope added, “Though I fail to see why Preston would mind you seeing your own papa.”

“There’s a small disagreement between them. I couldn’t tell you what it’s about, but I’d like to get to the bottom of it myself. I’ll rejoin you shortly.”

“Of course,” said Emma.

They nodded and she hurried forward. Quickly, she caught up with him. He turned to her, his face puffier and redder than she’d remembered from last seeing him. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes made her stomach clench in worry.

“Papa,” she said. “Here you are.”

“Ah, Penelope,” he said, his gaze darting away from her. “A little chilly for a walk, don’t you think? I do not have much time.”

As they walked slowly, his walking stick dug with squelching sounds into the wet path.

“Have you been well?” she asked carefully. A whiff of alcohol, a long unwashed body, and stale sweat reached her. Was this really him, the baron? Could he have fallen so low?

“How can a man be well without money, Penelope? What a silly question. Use your brain. I’m scraping by. But keeping up appearances is hard without a full staff of servants to keep the house.”

“Alexandria sends her regards,” she said. “She wrote me from the country.”

“Ah. Please send her my regards back. If only her papa could lend me more money.”

The Duchess of Ashton turned the corner of the path ahead, accompanied by two younger ladies, and Penelope’s heart skipped a beat. They had now been introduced. They were of equal standing. Would this powerful woman recognize and greet her?

The duchess looked stunning in her emerald green spencer and a tall white bonnet decorated with red poppies, puffed emerald green gauze, and elaborately placed peacock feathers.