Page 26 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
Edmund could not look away from Lady Penelope, not even as Benjamin pressed a drink into his hand.
“Edmund, are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” he lied, his eyes fixed on Lady Penelope’s neck as she tugged on a strand of hair.
Something hit him, something he did not like—something that roused in the empty cavern of his chest.
“You are not!” Benjamin sighed. “You are—Edmund, are you looking at Lady Penelope Clarkin? I advise you now not to do it. You have been absent and do not know how her stepbrother is. Heavens, he almost had a man strung against the wall last week for brushing against Lady Penelope accidentally to get to another part of a room at a dinner party.”
“I am not looking at her,” Edmund said quickly, turning away abruptly. “Not at all. I am merely keeping an eye on Arabella.”
“I do not believe you.” Benjamin laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Have you taken a fancy to the beautiful spinster?”
“Spinster?”
He chuckled. “She is five-and-twenty and has never been courted because of Lord Langwaite’s interventions, of course. The ton already calls her an old maid.”
And yet she is the most beautiful woman in this room, Edmund thought, before quickly pushing the notion away.
He should not think such things. He had teased her outside Julian’s only because he had sensed her nerves and had wished to rile her, to see how far her pretense would go. But ultimately, he had wanted to protect her from being involved in the escort’s business.
“Well, as I said, I was not looking,” he muttered, sipping the wine his cousin had given him. “How is it being back at Enthorpe? You must have missed your residence.”
“Oh, it is not like Blackstone Hall, of course, but it is home. In fact, did I tell you that I have ordered a renovation of the drawing room? It is a slow process. You must let me show you. I am working with the best furniture maker…”
And once again, his cousin’s voice faded into the background as Edmund discreetly looked at Lady Penelope out of the corner of his eye.
ChapterSeven
“Ladies,” Penelope said cheerfully, having guided Lady Arabella over to her friends. “This is Lady Arabella, the Duke of Blackstone’s sister.”
She noticed how, despite the proud tilt of her chin, the young girl looked around her as if worried, or anxious. Penelope understood the feeling rather well.
“Lady Arabella, these are my friends. Mary Pemberton, the Countess of Bathurst.” Penelope nodded towards Mary, who curtsied with an intrigued smile. “Cecilia Davis, the Marchioness of Wetherby.” At her introduction, Cecilia nodded her head elegantly, curtseying as well. “And this is Daphne Galpin, the Viscountess Ayersfield.”
“It is lovely to meet you all,” Lady Arabella said, taking them all in and muttering under her breath as if trying to commit their names to memory. “Is it all a bit overwhelming, is it not?” A nervous laugh slipped free. “My cousin, the Viscount Enthorpe, saw me through my debut in my brother’s… absence, but I believe I am still not quite accustomed to the ton’s scenes. It is all so beautiful, though.”
“We will be more than happy to guide you,” Mary insisted. “Do call on us anytime. We have all been there. Lady Penelope is, of course, still there.”
“Charming,” Penelope huffed, frowning. “I am only still in such a place because Finley is protective. He wishes me to marry well.”
“It seems I might have my own sibling challenges,” Lady Arabella sighed. “I wish to converse more informally with you if that is all right. I think it would help me to feel more comfortable. At home, I am simply Arabella.”
“Very well.” Daphne smiled. “How was your debut?”
“Well…” Arabella trailed off, glancing around. “Like I said, I have faced some challenges. Many suitors danced with me at my first ball, only to quickly enquire about my brother and my father. They only wanted to feed their own curiosities, or be the men with the most knowledge to likely boast to their social circles.” A light flush spread across her face. “I romanticized the thought of a man simply approaching me because I amme, not the lady who might give him information.”
“How terrible.” Mary furrowed her brow, her voice soft with sympathy. “However, that is all the more reason for you to know that the wait will be worth it.”
“Indeed,” Arabella agreed. “But I look at the suitors now, and they are all hesitant to approach me now that my brother has returned. The ladies seem to whisper, though. I do notice them looking at him. The spotlight is off me, at least, but now it seems that his presence keeps everyone at bay.”
Penelope understood such things. Her own brother, for a different reason, was a hindrance to her prospects.
She began to say something, to sympathize, but Mary was already sighing, rolling her eyes.
“They are all terribly narrow-minded,” she muttered. “You have done nothing wrong, yet look at how they glare.”
“I believe they are jealous,” Daphne added, fussing over Arabella, always the softer-hearted of the group. “Whether the suitors will approach you or not, you are still the sister of a duke. Your status alone will give them a rival. You are beautiful, Arabella, and every suitor here likely thinks so. Truly, they could be nervous to approach a lovely lady such as yourself.”
