Page 25 of His Wild Duchess
Lord Carnelian nodded eagerly. “We’ll need to hear those stories, your Grace!”
Tucking Penelope’s arm around his own, the Duke steered them out the other door of the drawing room, and back into the noisy halls.
“Andthatwas only round one?” Penelope asked in their tense silence.
The Duke sighed. “If there is one thing I have never missed about London, it is the Ton, and their frivolously foolish society.”
Penelope found herself entranced, staring at the side of his face. He was certainly a hard thing to understand, but bits of it began to grow clearer by the second. The ball was proving one thing: the Duke used Penelope’s name as a cushion before trying to propose his stud farm ideas to an unsuspecting aristocrat.
They reentered another ballroom within Benedict House, this one with an ornate water feature in the center. Servants walked through crowds with trays of drinks, raising them high above the Ton’s heads as to not dare to spill a drop.
“Over here,” the Duke said under his breath. “Round two, darling. I hope you’re up to it.”
Penelope followed his gaze, forcing herself to swallow her anxiety when she noticed the group of handsome couples mingling, all around the same age as her. At any other occasion, it would be her worst nightmare, the exact group she’d do anything to avoid when attending society’s balls alongside her mother.
The Duke wasn’t slowing his pace as he approached them. “Good evening, all,” he greeted in a loud, booming voice.
Attention snapped towards him. A few looked aghast, as though they could really hear the tinge of an American accent on the edge of his voice. Others were merely intrigued, their faces tinted with disdain.
“Your Grace,” one of the men said, giving him a curt nod. “How is it to be back on solid ground? Yeats Manor still a gorgeous heaven in the summer?”
“The Manor is being refurbished during the season,” the Duke replied. “I haven’t had the chance to take my,” he tugged Penelope forward, “New wife for a visit yet.”
Eyes latched onto her.
“My, my,” a Lady said, one gloved hand against her rows of pearls, “If it isn’t Lady Caney!” She paused, and shook her hand. “Begging your pardon! It’s your Grace now, isn’t it?”
Penelope swallowed, the sound of the title foreign against her ears. “How do you do?”
“Your Grace,” a different Lord called out, “I heard a rumor that you had plans to conduct some new business now that you have returned.”
The Duke breathed in deeply, obviously eager to talk about his stud farm. “Well, I am glad that you mentioned it. I certainly do have new business ventures that London will be quite excited to see, if I do say so myself.”
The gentlemen shook his head, almost giving the Duke a look of pity. “Trade, your Grace? I would never want to disappoint the Duke of Yeats, but I can’t see too many artistocratic men sponsoring any business you might be seeking to conduct.”
“While I appreciate your concern, my plight goes further than sponsorships. If you’d allow me to -”
“Your Grace,” one of the women called out, “Tell us of the New World. How distasteful were they?”
The Duke frowned. “My Lady, I would not call an American distasteful in any scenario you present to me.”
“They aren’t the most civilized, your Grace. We’ve all heard the stories.”
“If you make it a habit to call hard-working men and women uncivilized,” the Duke said with a growing edge to his words, “Then be my guest.”
“You see, your Grace,” the gentleman from before piped up as the woman gaped, “What sort of Englishman would hold himself in the way you do now?” Stepping closer to lower his voice, as if he had any eagerness to shield the Duke’s reputation, the Lord said, “Doyoueven consider yourself to be English anymore?”
Their talk continued on without much more of the Duke’s involvement. Instead, he listened to them make more comments about the New World and its inhabitants, earning a few laughs here and there. Penelope tried her best not to stare at the Duke, though her empathy reachedout to him in a way she never would have imagined. It seemed as though the Ton had already spent their time making up their minds about the Duke before he had even arrived back on English soil.
An older gentlemen who stood off to the side, listening closely, stepped closer to their encircled group. “Your Grace,” he said, voice rugged and scratchy, “Your late father was a great Englishman, one who I had often visited and conducted business with. When he reached the last years of his life, he told me of your return, and I’ll tell you what I told him.”
The Duke faced him, his eyebrows furrowed together. “What was it?”
“Americans have no business holding titles in England.”
There was the slightest change in the atmosphere within their circle. The Lords and Ladys turned their attention eagerly to the Duke, not bothering to hide their curiosity in what might be said next. Penelope glanced around at them all, her patience growing thinner by the moment.The Duke was growing red in the face, obviously moments away from causing a scene—a scene that would break her bargain with him if she allowed it to continue.
Penelope stepped forward. “My Lord,” she said to the older gentleman, “George Houston is as much of an Englishman as you are.”
