Page 9 of All Duke and Bothered

Penelope swallowed as Tyson returned, said something to the duke, and both left in the direction of Papa’s study. Penelope’s feet felt like they were filled with sand.

She pulled the ribbons of her bonnet. “I do not have a good feeling, Alex,” she said as she returned to the foyer and hung the bonnet on a hook on the wall.

“Oh, Pen!” Alex followed her, and together they walked to the door to her father’s study.

Penelope stood, clenching and unclenching her fists, staring at the heavy mahogany door. What did the duke want with her papa that would change her future? The thought of the duke being involved in her life in any way chilled her whole body, head to toe.

“Don’t worry, darling,” said Alex, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder. But her voice didn’t have the confidence she must have wanted to show. “It must be something good. But even if it isn’t, your papa will protect you.”

Penelope looked at her and forced a smile. Alex was ever so optimistic, so kind. She saw only the best in people. Penelope supposed she tried to, as well. But something about the duke made her hands tremble.

“You’re right. Papa won’t let the duke harm me.”

“Harm you?” Alex asked in alarm. “Why would the duke harm you?”

“Did I say harm? I only meant I do not know the duke’s intentions. And he clearly doesn’t find me agreeable…”

But last night, he had kissed her. He’d claimed she was a flirt. Perhaps he’d come to ruin her completely.

“Don’t worry, Pen.” Alex took Penelope’s hand, and the two stood staring at the door while dread replaced her blood drop by drop.

What felt like hours later, the door opened, and Papa marched out with a somber expression. He stopped abruptly when he saw Penelope and Alex standing there. There were dark circles under his eyes; he must have not slept at all last night. His jaw was set in a mournful expression, his mouth firmly shut. He wore the same plain tight-fitting coat with curving tails he’d had on at the ball. Tight knee-length breeches and stockings covered his legs, and a tall stiff linen neckband circled his neck instead of the cravat fashionable today. His powdered wig looked rather crooked over his flushed and sweaty forehead.

Sometimes, several days would pass without Penelope seeing Papa at home as he seemed to spend many nights in gentlemen’s clubs and slept almost all day long. He often had dinner at the club as well, and Penelope had dinner by herself at home. During those lonely times, her only solace was her art.

Her passion felt like a dirty secret she had to hide. And she knew that if she wanted to pursue it seriously, she’d need to accept the loneliness that came with going against what was considered appropriate for a woman. She’d never have a husband—most men didn’t approve of a woman who wanted a career as an artist—or, therefore, a family.

But she had the firm belief that despite his frequent absences and disapproval, Papa still loved her and would still protect her when it came to the important things. She knew he had her best interest at heart because he was her papa. With Mama gone, all they had was each other.

“Ah, Penelope,” Papa said, eyeing her with a blank expression. “Come in. You may come in, too, Alexandria.”

When Penelope and Alex entered Papa’s study, the duke was standing against the mahogany bookshelves fit for hundreds of volumes, though all were empty. Dull, gray daylight fell on the dark desk, which held nothing but a pen, an ink jar, and a single piece of paper that looked like a contract of some sort. A half-full bottle of brandy and a single glass stood on the sideboard next to an empty vase. How long had it been since Papa had done any business related to their estate here—or any business besides drinking? Between the dark shelves, on the dull, mint-green paneled wall, was a darker rectangle left from a painting that no longer hung there.

Mama’s painting of their country seat, Beckett Manor, where Penelope had grown up, where they had had rare happy days as a family…

Grandhampton seemed to occupy half of the study with his presence. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and proud, one side of his face lit by the light coming through the window, the other in the shadow. He was dressed so immaculately—his black coat had a high, sharp collar and a pristine, handsomely tied cravat that highlighted his olive skin tone and chiseled features.

How could someone so cold and cruel and intimidating be so strikingly beautiful?

His onyx eyes were on her, the same strange, cold fury in their depths that had a drop of cold sweat roll down her spine.

Papa closed the door behind Penelope with a thud that made her shudder.

Grandhampton looked her over, his dark eyes glinting, making her feel small and vulnerable, as though she stood naked before him, despite the layers of her chemise, corset, dress, and spencer.

“I do like the look of the future duchess I just bought,” he said. “I’ll have to see you for the rest of my life, after all…”

Shock hit Penelope, and she gasped soundlessly. Alex’s head turned sharply towards her.

With a crooked smile, the duke said, “Are you ready to pay for your sins?”

“What can he mean?” she asked, turning to Papa.

Papa went to the sideboard and poured brandy into a glass. When he’d downed the contents, he said, “You’re betrothed to the duke.”

No. No. No. He couldn’t possibly mean that. He couldn’t possibly betray her like that.

The floor careened under her feet. The dread she’d felt ever since she was introduced to Grandhampton turned into a dark storm. A thrashing gale that was sweeping destruction across her life.