Page 59 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“If she agrees, then you may call on her one morning this week. A chaperoned visit, of course. I will send word to you.”
“I am honored, Your Grace.” Lord Graham bowed and made his leave, surprising Edmund.
Many eager lords did not know when to leave his presence. He paused, finding his time had not been wasted, and thought about this man making his sister happy.
He walked on through the ballroom, finding a corner from which to keep an eye on Arabella without overcrowding her or making her feel too watched. However, he also found himself keeping an eye on Finley, who circled the ballroom like a hungry wolf, his attention on his own sister.
Edmund put it aside; he didn’t need to involve himself in their family politics more than he already had. Not unless Penelope was in danger.
ChapterThirteen
“Penelope, that dress was made for you!” Mary gushed as Penelope let herself be praised beneath the light of the chandeliers. The light made her gown shimmer, and she let the full skirt sway a little in appreciation.
“I agree, but may we please acknowledge the fact thatIwas the one who convinced our darling Pen to buy it?” Cecilia’s voice rose above the clamor of admiration for her dress, and Penelope knew she would have to go along with the ruse of having bought it herself.
“You did, indeed.” She giggled. Oh, how she wanted to admit that the Duke had bought her the gown. “And Mary encouraged me to wear it tonight.”
“And to think we are terrible influences when our combined efforts make you look this charming.” Daphne laughed, shaking her head.
“Has my brother seen you in it?” Arabella asked, her eyes flashing with knowledge of Penelope’s situation. After all, she had been the one to catch them on the balcony—something Penelope tried not to think too hard about.
Penelope’s heart pounded. “Not that I am aware, but I am sure I do not mind greatly what His Grace thinks.”
“I am sure you do,” Arabella countered, somewhat mischievously.
Behind her, Cecilia chuckled.“As you can see, our new friend is fitting in very well with our group,” she teased. “She has you figured out already, Penelope.”
“It seems as though everybody has me figured outbutme,” Penelope snorted, trying to look nonchalant. But deep down, it felt true.
It was as if she was merely sitting in the back seat of a carriage while somebody drove her to every place without her ever getting a say. Although the fact that her friends knew her, the real her, brought her endless joy.
It was more Finley’s interference that could never sit well with her.
But he was better before, she mused, before shaking herself off.
“There is plenty of time, Pen,” Daphne told her, her voice gentler.
Brightly, Penelope smiled, trying to push away her worries. They all knew there was not plenty of time, and to pretend there was… it was an exercise in futility.
“Either way,” she continued. “We must all plan something! The five of us. A tea party, perhaps?”
“I shall host,” Cecilia said quickly. “The house has felt too empty and quiet lately. Reginald has been busy, and I have been horrifically bored. I fear that I will soon ask the stable hands if I can help brush out the mane of my mare, just so I have something to do with my hands.”
“That is because you spend too much time with them on your husband, and you do not know what to do with them otherwise.” Mary sniggered.
Cecilia smirked. “Oh, Mary, I assure you that this lady knows what to do with her hands even when her husband is not around.”
Girlish laughter erupted, and Penelope laughed harder at how scandalized Daphne and Arabella looked, fighting the urge to laugh at something they clearly thought they shouldn’t find funny.
“A lady must behave!” Daphne hissed, her face pink, insistent propriety in her voice.
“Oh, do not judge us, Daph.” Cecilia sipped on her wine. “You have children—you understand the inner workings of one’s body and what it does when wracked with the pleasure a man gives.”
“Heavens, Cecilia.” Penelope laughed, trying to stifle the sound. Cecilia’s vulgarity was so different, the fresh air she craved after the suffocation of Langwaite Manor. “You do know how to speak out of turn.”
“I speak plainly and simply,” Cecilia huffed. “If you all do not like it, then it is only because you are jealous and hungry for what Reginald bestows upon me nightly. Well, I dowishit was nightly, but as of late, it has not been because he has been locked away in his study over acquiring a new bit of land further up north. I barely got him to attend tonight! Perhaps that is why I am so irritated.”
Her comment only coaxed more crowing laughter from Mary, and Penelope couldn’t help but let loose, finally. It was as if the tension from the week—the constant thinking about her kiss with Edmund, the fear of Finley finding out, the worry over the dress being discovered only for Finley to barely react at all—drained out of her.
