Page 50 of His Wild Duchess
“Yes, your Grace. Though inclement weather and foot traffic might lengthen it on the odd day.”
Searching through his pocket, George pulled out a few stray coins, dropping them in the driver’s hand.
“Your Grace,” the driver said sheepishly. “I couldn’t possibly -”
“I insist. It was you who informed me about the property, correct?”
Mr. Mansfield sighed, looking down at his feet. “It belonged to me aunt, your Grace. A lively woman, you see, though she preferred the outdoors to people.”
George cast his gaze over the cottage and its surroundings. The building was larger than the others they had visited, but nothing too much for a single woman and a servant or two to handle. A porch wrapped around the front, a rocking chair left from the previous owner swaying back and forth as the breeze swept by. Tall trees stood on one side of the cottage, while the other was neighbor to expansive fields, weeds and overgrown bushes popping up every now and then. In the distance, George could make out a farm, though it was too far to be sure.
“Your aunt lived here alone?”
The driver nodded. “For most of me life, your Grace. I visited as a tot, spent lots of time out in those fields, picking wildflowers and berries.”
“If it was so close to your family,” George asked, “Why offer it to me?”
Mr. Mansfield’s warm gaze followed Penelope as she poked her head out one of the windows, a wide smile stretching across her face. “Her Grace reminds me of me aunt.”
George raised a brow.
“Well, in the best way possible, your Grace! Who are we to deny someone’s greatest pleasure, you see? Me aunt wished for solitude, and lived a long life ‘cause of it. Where’s the harm in it?”
With his hands tucked in his trouser pockets, George gave the driver a firm nod before making his way into the cottage property. Whether he knew it or not, Mr. Mansfield had a heart of gold that deserved something more than a life of drudgery. George made a mental note to give him some sort of promotion the moment he had a chance to.
Dipping into the cottage’s front door, George felt his heart swell. Everything looked incredibly perfect. Furniture already was stored inside, covered with a white sheet to keep the dustout. The kitchen, perhaps, would need some work done on it, but it was minimal. Exiting out the back door, George watched the dogs run amok through the field, the tiny spaniel Ali trying to balance carrying a long stick in her mouth while Antony chased her relentlessly.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Penelope asked, breathless from excitement and running. She stood within the field, her arms extended to either side of her. “And the barn, George - did you see the barn?”
“Sure,” he called out, taking a few steps to meet her in the middle. The barn was half the size of the one at the townhouse, and had a few structural problems, but George couldn’t find a true flaw in it. “And a stable,” he said, nodding his chin towards another building.
“Oh, yes!” Penelope jogged towards it, pulling open the wooden door with a loud creak. “It is the perfect size for Fiona, don’t you think?”
George felt a smile spread across his face, though he had yet to feel the happiness that normally came with it. “I believe it is!”
As she sped through the fields once more, picking up tufts of grass and purple wildflowers along the way, George let his gaze cling to Penelope. For the first time since arriving, he felt a wave of happiness wash over him. There was nothing more joyful than seeing her so free, so willing to let herself enjoy the nature all around her. The animals enjoyed it just as much, following at the heels of their guardian sharp barks and excited whuffles.
Despite it all feeling like a nail in the coffin that cemented the end of their marriage, George kept the smile on his face, removing his overcoat and tossing it into the grass before running after her. None of the feelings within him made the slightest bit of sense, but he wouldn’t let it stop what he had already had.
George ran alongside Penelope, feeling the wind run through his hair and freedom from responsibility beckon him forward. He reached, grasping onto Penelope’s hand as they tumbled into the grass, dirt staining their clothes and laughter filling the summer air.
The next few days were a blur for George. Time was ticking, and he needed to work on opening the stud farm so he could uphold his deal with Penelope. There was an end date, after all, and he needed to be ready at that point. Most afternoons, he remained in his study for hours on end, moving funds towards the farm and collecting sponsorships from interested Ton members. Correspondence with Mr. William Fitzburgh, Penelope’s in to London’s premier racetrack, went swimmingly - much better than George ever thought it could.
One afternoon, days after the visit to the cottage, a knock came from the study door.
“Come in,” George called out, his attention not lifting from the letter he wrote.
Small, quiet footsteps clicked against the floor as the door creaked open. Not a word was said as the steps moved closer to the desk, cushions exhaling as the guest took a seat.
“Well, won’t you speak instead of just -” Cutting himself short, George finally looked up to see Penelope sitting across from him, her green eyes narrowed as a mischievous smirk grew across her lips.
“No, no,” she mused, leaning back in the seat, “Go on. Finish your sentence.”
George was not one to fumble around a lady. Not as a young heir in London, and certainly not when as a handsome and rich adult in the Americas. In fact, romance was normally the other way around, with high-spirited women growing shy and timid where he was involved. But there, in the comfort of his own study, he found himself opening and closing his mouth like a fish, searching for the words but unable to find them.
Looking away, Penelope pressed a hand over her mouth as if to hide a laugh.
George cleared his throat, standing suddenly from his desk and spinning around to face the window. “I’m afraid I’m far too busy for idle chatter.”
