Page 55 of His Wild Duchess
She could only nod, entirely engrossed by his face, and how near he was.
“Penelope,” he said, slow but sure of himself.
Staring up at him, the entire world around them seemed to fade away. Penelope no longer felt burdened by the sadness of her departure, the lonliness and despair that clouded her future. All that mattered was that George was there, and he held her in his hands as though she were a delicate creature, when she knew that she hadneverbeen considered ‘delicate’. It was odd, but somehow, everything she had needed.
George began to dip down, his face growing closer to her own. The breath hitched in her throat as he was only a few hairs away, eyes never once leaving her. Penelope’s eyes fluttered shut, the anticipation pulling the air from her throat. She reached, barely standing on the tips of her toes, eager for his embrace but afraid of what it might all mean.
Moments before George’s lips touched her own, a crash and clatter came from the townhouse. The dogs jumped to alert, none of them standing any longer. A few glanced back towardsPenelope, waiting for a command that allowed them to go see what was happening. George, much to her dismay, pulled away, his eyes narrowed as he looked over the back of the townhouse.
Within the moment, the backdoor opened, and Mrs. Howard hiked up her skirts before running up to them, sidestepping by the excited animals.
“Your Grace,” she called out, eyes latched irritably on George. “Some…peopleare here to see you. A Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
George’s face lit up. Releasing his hold on Penelope’s hands, he gave her a quick grin before running past the housekeeper, ripping open the door as loud shouts ran amok through the townhouse. Even as the door swung shut behind him, Penelope could make out laughter and yells, as though the house was suddenly full of strangers.
Mrs. Howard gave her an annoyed look. “Pray for us all, your Grace. They are…Americans.”
Penelope’s eyes grew wide as a breeze brushed by her, suddenly on the colder side as dark clouds streamed across the sky, quickly covering the sun and matching the disappointed change in her mood.
CHAPTER 15
“Atoot and a holler later, and the man decides to buy the farm. Ain’t that the darnest thing you ever heard?” Winnifred, one of the Americans, exclaimed, earning a resounding series of cheers from her husband, Fred, and George.
That evening, with two new guests in the townhouse, the kitchen went all out on a large feast to commemorate their arrival. The wine was flowing, but it was hardly needed to keep up the loud and enthusiastic atmosphere. Penelope, who was quite used to a rambunctious evening where her pack was concerned, found herself sitting at the dining table with a pounding headache and a twisting stomach. Nothing, no books or lectures, could have prepared her or anyone, for that matter, on the culture of the Americans.
Winnifred Miller, a petite blonde with rosy cheeks and ruby-red lips, had the voice of a singer, able to use her entire body when she spoke. Loud and echoing, Winnifred commandeered an entire room without even noticing she did so. Penelope feltentranced since the moment she saw her, mesmerized by the woman’s clothes and blunt attitude. The wonderment she first felt soon took on an anxious tinge, becoming overpowered and shadowed by the woman’s enveloping personality.
“All the man needed was a talk from you,” Fred Miller, her round and belly-forward husband, cooed from her side, scooting out of his seat to press a loud kiss against the side of her face. The American man was as rosy-cheeked as his wife, eyes always following her around the room as though his world revolved around her.
Penelope watched in amazement. Her eyes snapped over to George across the table, who stared up at his friends with the broadest smile she had ever seen. A bit of her bristled at it, knowing that he hadn’t shown her such happiness in the short few weeks that they had been together. Shoving the thought away as something childish and careless, Penelope took a slow sip of her wine, hoping the drink could soothe some of the racing nerves within her.
“Let me get this straight,” George said, leaning forward in his seat as Winnifred stood from hers.
Neither of the two men in the dining room stood as she snagged onto her glass, walking around the room with a half eaten plate, still discussing and chattering as though she never left the table. Penelope stared at her, forcing her mouth to remain shut as the lack of decorum took her for a loop. If her mother were there - god forbid, if Owen was there - they’d never hear the end of it. Penelope imagined if the Ton could see them now, thearistocratic men and women who made a big deal to say that George couldn’t possibly be an Englishman any longer. They would be astonished, and probably feel rather glorified.
Not that Penelope was one to care or participate in the proper manners aristocratic Englishmen and women take pride in, but it was different, in a way. Their blatant disregard felt even too much for Penelope, as evensheparticipated in the bare minimum of societal standards. She watched Winnifred in wonderment, as George casually laid back in his chair, pushing backwards as to get a look at the married pair.
“You managed to convince that wily old man to purchase the land?” he asked.
Fred shrugged. “Why not? Now we’ve got fine neighbors that we know and trust.”
“But the land -”
“Requires more work than the man can provide,” Winnifred interjected with a wave of her glass. “Guess what, Georgie?Weare well and able to do it all!”
George raised an amused brow. “For a fair price, I presume.”
“Only the fairest!”
Roars of laughter spread through the dining room once more. Penelope found herself struggling to contribute, letting herselfadd a chuckle to the mix, despite their laughter overshadowing it as though she never did it in the first place.
Below the table, with a heavy head resting on her lap, was Antony. Even though the mastiff tended to spend most of the evening keeping a close eye on George, the arrival of their guests kept the dogs rather reserved and timid, much unlike them. Penelope felt they mimicked her, in a way. She rubbed her hand over Antony’s wrinkly face, petting in between his ears till his eyes closed, a low rumble coming from his throat as though he purred.
“Now, my mama would be appalled if she knew how rudely we were treatin’ our hostess!” Winnifred said as she rounded the table to approach Penelope, a wide and friendly smile on her face. “I heard you like to collect critters. When can we meet ‘em?”
“Oh, let’s see,” Penelope mumbled, hesitating as Antony buried his face further against her lap, “Perhaps another day, after a night’s rest.”
“Georgie tells us you have a pack of ‘em,” Fred called out from the opposite side of the table. “What could lead a good English girl like yourself to raise a pack of strays, I wonder?”
