Page 3 of His Wild Duchess
“Her Grace Alicia has managed her own home for eight years,” Penelope snapped, no longer interested in answering his questions. “Her family thrives at Garvey Manor.”
“You don’t say,” the stranger muttered, touching his chin pensively. Then, suddenly, he turned to face her fully, his head tilted curiously as he inspected her.
As his eyes dragged to where shouldn’t dare touch in proper society, Penelope flinched backwards, unable to hide her surprise. A burning blush spread across the bridge of her nose, betraying her shock.
The man approached slowly, his lips curled until he shrugged, sighing heavily as though he were disappointed. “Well, you will just have to do, then.”
Penelope’s eyebrows shot upward. She drew a breath to demand some answers, but footsteps came from outside the drawing room.
Owen rushes into the drawing room as though he were in a rush, already extending a hand to greet the stranger. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. Owen glanced in Penelope’s direction before theysnapped back to her, surprise and irritation laced behind his emerald eyes. “Sister,” he grumbled.
Flashing him a toothy smile, Penelope crossed her arms, defiantly standing her ground before Owen dared order her to leave.
Turning his attention back to the stranger, Owen gave him an impatient smile. “I am Marquess Owen Caney. May I inquire as to your name?”
Reaching, the stranger clasped Owen’s hand. “George Hounton,” he said. “The Duke of Yeats.”
Penelope’s eyes widened. Not too long ago, perhaps only a few months, Penelope had read about the passing of the Duke of Yeats in the papers. No one had mentioned a son or any sort of heir to the Dukedom. Obviously, this Hounton was the new Duke of Yeats.
Penelope fought the urge to roll her eyes. It grew more evident by the second as to why he acted so prideful, holding himself so that he was better than the rest.
Owen looked taken aback for just a second before he bowed his head respectfully, gesturing to the plush seats at the center of the room. “Please, take a seat, your Grace.” His eyes snapped up to Penelope, impatience clear in his contorted face. “Dear sister, if you would be so kind?” Despite the gentle words, his voice was sharp and clear.
Penelope was ready to snap back at him when the Duke raised a hand from his seat.
“Perhaps Lady Penelope should stay here,” the Duke said, voice tinged with a peculiar kind of amusement. “I believe I need both of your attention.”
Owen hesitated but nodded for Penelope to sit beside him. She warily crossed the room, ignoring her brother's heated stare when he realized she was barefoot.
Once satisfied, the Duke reached into his coat and retrieved a pale envelope with a broken seal. Penelope turned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of it.
The Marquess of Egerton’s seal!
Penelope fought the urge to grab the letter before Owen could. Her brother took hold of it gingerly, eyeing the seal with confusion. He remained silent as he unfolded the letter inside, eyes scanning the words. Penelope watched from beside him as he read, unable to lean close enough to read the letter herself. His eyes quickly went wide.
Looking up, Owen turned to the Duke. “Your Grace,” he began, “are you serious about this—this plan?”
The Duke frowned, brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, obviously perplexed. “It’s signed and sealed with a solicitor’s agreement. The contract is valid.”
Looking between them, Penelope clenched her fists on her lap, unable to hold back any longer. “What the devil is going on?”
Normally, Owen would snap at her for using improper language, even expel her from the room for daring to speak in such a way in front of a Duke. On that day, Owen merely blinked at her, shaking his head as if he didn’t fully understand it himself.
“P-Penelope,” he said, the letter shaking in his grasp. “It looks like…well, I believe that…actually, let me put it this way…I-I mean -”
The Duke leaned forward, looking as if he held back a laugh. “Lady Penelope,” he said, “it seems that our fathers worked out a deal together years ago. To pay off a debt, the late Marquess of Egerton promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to the Duke of Yeats’ heir.”
Penelope gaped, unable to speak.
A smug smirk spread across his face. “And now, I’m here to collect.”
CHAPTER 2
Penelope shot to her feet. The Duke’s words echoed painfully in her head.
Pay off a debt. Promised his daughter’s hand in marriage.
For a moment, she wondered if Alicia had felt the same way all those years ago when the mere threat of an upcoming scandal overturned her life.
