Page 56 of His Wild Duchess
“Well, sir, I -”
“Did ‘ya hear that, Fred?” Winnifred exclaimed, flipping around to face her husband as a few droplets of wine flew through theair. “The lady called you asir!When was the last time someone called you asir?”
“I’d say,” Fred replied, resting his hands at the top of his bouncing belly, “When George showed up on our doorstep!”
Winnifred smacked her glass against the table, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “Now, ain’t that right! You see, dear Pen -” she paused, throwing Penelope a look over her shoulder, “Might I call you Pen?”
Penelope’s mouth opened and closed, coherent words escaping her. Not that she expected them to regard her with the same titles the rest of London did, it felt odd to hear someone other than immediate family and George call her by her name. Not only was it her name, but it was a pet name, nevertheless. Her eyes glanced in George’s direction. He watched her in a peculiar war, an eyebrow raised as though he waited to see what she might do next. Suddenly filled with the idea that her response could disappoint him if she weren’t careful, Penelope swallowed down her fear.
Inhaling deeply to calm the overwhelming burst of thoughts swarming through her mind, Penelope gave Winnifred a tight smile.
“You may,” she replied.
“Then you see here, Pen, when your husband came to us out in the west, he was about this thin,” Winnifred paused to hold up her slender pinky-finger, “And had about five coins jinglin’‘round in his holey pocket. You see, that work he did up in New York -”
“Now, now,” George interjected, leaning forward in his seat. “Why would you bring that up, Winnie?”
Penelope stiffened, despite telling herself that Winnifred Miller was a happily married woman, from the looks of it. Every now and then, sheand her husband would meet each other’s gazeand simply smile. What was there to be jealous about? Shaking her head, Penelope took a large gulp of her drink.It is a fake marriage, after all,she thought to herself.Who am I to feel the slightest bit of envy?
Waving a dismissive hand at him, Winnifred kept her attention focused on Penelope. “Those money-thievin’, boot-lickin’ business men in the cities caught wind of Georgie’s sweet, rich accent and did what they do best.”
“A-And what would that be?” Penelope asked, though she was quite unsure of the things the woman was saying.
“Stealin’, of course!”
Penelope looked over at George. “Your wealth was stolen?”
As he began to shake his head, Fred smacked a fist against the table, the noise startling the plates and glasses, Antony scooting even closer over Penelope’s feet.
“Not his wealth,” Fred answered for him, “Just what he had on hand, you see. Which was a good bit, I’ll tell you that.”
George grumbled from his seat. “Icould’ve told her that.”
“Anyhoo,” Winnifred exclaimed, her voice raising to counter that of her husband, “Your husband was pulled into some bad business. He came out west for a better shot at it.” She took a few steps back to rest an arm around her husband’s shoulders, leaning down to press a loud kiss against the top of his balding head. “That’swhere we came in!”
“Georgie showed up lookin’ for work and a cot to sleep in,” Fred explained. “Luckily for him, we had a surplus of both.”
Penelope cleared her throat. “So, whatexactlywas the work you do out in the west?”
“We run a farm, dear,” Winnifred responded with a shrug, as if she should’ve known. “What else is there to do out there? Freddie tends to the cattle and horses, I harvest and sell at the local market. We got fresh honey, butter,andmilk every day!” Glancing out one of the windows, Winnifred raised an unimpressed thin brow. “Suppose you can’t quite say the same out here, can ya?”
Blinking a few times, Penelope looked away. Perhaps if she had the opportunity to grow in the life she wished she had, the life the Miller’s so proudly lived, it would’ve all been easier for her to handle. Their accents, their way of speech, their loud brashnessthat echoed off the walls. It all looked incredibly freeing, and entirely out of Penelope’s reach.
“You sure have come a long way, Georgie,” Fred mused, clapping a hand down on the Duke’s shoulder. “I’ll say, we’re mighty proud.”
“Even if you haven’t sent that thank-you note yet!” Winnifred teased.
George shrugged with a wide smirk on his face. “Lost in the mail?”
They laughed together for the second time that evening, all falling in place alongside one another as though they had never been separated in the first place. Penelope watched from the opposite side of the table, the lip of her glass resting against her chin as her running mind overtook her.
“Hard to think this ain’t even your real home,” Fred said as he looked around the room. “Whaddya call this? Your townhouse?”
“That’s right,” George replied with a nod. “For the London Season.”
“You’re tellin’ me that seasons are different in London?”
George laughed boisterously. “Heavens, no, Fred. It’s the social season, you see? When things like Parliament are in session, andthe lords and ladies hold the greatest balls. In the off season, the Ton goes to their manors or estates.”
