Page 19 of His Wild Duchess
“Very well.” Giving him a nod, Penelope went to shut the door. “Goodnight, your Grace.”
“Don’t you find it odd,” George called out, stepping closer, “that we should call each other that?”
Penelope tiredly held the door open. “Call each other what?”
“Your Grace.”
“It’s standard.”
“It’s odd,” George said with a chuckle. “At least, in only each other’s company, it’s odd.”
Penelope leaned forward, peering out into the hallways skeptically. “Is this another one of your charms?”
“Only if you want it to be.”
She rolled her eyes. “Goodnight,” she said, moving to close the door. Before it shut, with only a sliver of light peering into the hallway, she whispered, “George.”
A lopsided grin spread across his lips. “Goodnight, Penelope.”
And somehow, an evening with a drunken man and a very large dog turned out to be relatively uneventful.
How extraordinary.
CHAPTER 6
Penelope wasn’t quite sure what she expected out of married life. For most women, it meant starting a family and popping out babies like it was a yearly affair. Some wives traveled alongside their husbands across the country, while others stayed home and waited for their return. Only a handful found real love, like her mother and her sister.
Sitting at one end of the dining table, Penelope raised a brow as she watched her husband.
The Duke, or George, as he wished to be called in only their company, had a stack of books on his side of the table, his sharp nose already buried in one. The plate of food given to him had been pushed aside, replaced by papers and a quill with ink. His hair was only loosely bound that morning, most of the dark strands falling over his face.
Penelope let her gaze drift to the window. Perhaps it was the day to take the pack outside so they could stretch their legs. She very much needed the air. Everything felt rather cooped up withinthe townhouse, with all the animals and the unusual tension between Penelope and George. She eyed him again. George was fully absorbed in his work, not bothering to look up at her.
“Do you remember when I mentioned Lady Tollock?” he suddenly asked.
Penelope’s head shot up, red hair falling over her face. “Of course.”
“Her annual ball at Benedict House is in a few days.” George held up a formal invitation for her to see. “I already sent word of our attendance.”
“Well, shouldn’t we discuss it first?”
George’s dark eyes widened as he shrugged. “What is there to discuss?”
“I told you before,” Penelope replied. “I do not do well around people, especially the Ton.”
“You’ve been saying that,” he mused, leaning back in his seat, “but you haven’t explained.”
Looking away, Penelope caught a glimpse of a few birds flying overhead out the window. At that exact moment, she prayed to switch places with them. “I didn’t think it needed an explanation.”
George didn’t move, his stare unwavering as he waited for her to keep talking.
“I am not what the Ton expects out of a woman,” she finally said. “It’s as simple as that. They don’t look at me with the adoration they gave my sister.”
“The Ton can look at you however they want.” George laughed at that, turning his attention back to his papers. “As long as you let them know I’m a distinguished and married aristocratic gentleman, I couldn’t care less what they say behind our backs.”
Penelope sunk into her seat. Nerves rarely affected her as much as they did when she was in her teens. She might feel it, but she never succumbed to the emotions. There, at the table with breakfast between them, Penelope felt her heart race below her chest, and she began to panic. Obviously, George wouldn’t understand her relationship—or lack of it—with the Ton. She clenched her hands into determined fists below the table.
“I need you to care.”
