Page 60 of His Wild Duchess
My wife? he repeated in his head.Since when was Penelope not just…Penelope?
Shaking his head, George suddenly recalledthe moment after the last ball they attended, and how close they ended up in the townhouse’s foyer. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel her presence directly in front of him once more, her warm breath fanning his face pleasantly.
Perhaps…perhaps George found himself jealous.
“Aren’t you listenin’, Georgie?”
Pulled out of his thoughts, George blinked a few times before focusing on Fred. Him and Penelope had made their way to the stable doors, and were waiting for George to follow.
“I beg your pardons,” George quickly said as he followed behind them.
Fred smirked. “Somewhere else, Georgie?”
“Thin ice, Freddie,” he said, snapping his fingers at him. “You’re on some thin ice.”
Letting out a low chuckle, Fred bumped his elbow into Penelope’s side, muttering to her, “Sounds more and more like my little lady every day.”
Penelope giggled, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile that hadn’t quite faded. As she led the stallion into his stall, Fred and George hung back near the front, where Fiona curiously watched from the back of her own stall.
“I suppose this is your retired racehorse?”
“Fiona,” George said.
Much to all their surprise, the mare’s ears seemed to perk up at the sound of George saying her name. Even more surprising: she waded forward, coming to the stall door and stretching her muzzle out hesitantly at him. George, who had not expected the sentiment whatsoever, cautiously stepped towards her, extending his hand for her to smell before daring to encroach on her boundaries. Once Fiona sniffed and snorted at him, but did not move away, George inched closer, letting his hand fall over the mare’s head.
George rubbed his hand between Fiona’s ears, smiling to himself as she nuzzled him.
“Have you done this before?”
George looked over his shoulder at Penelope. With Vaun back in his stall, the saddle removed and hung back up on the wall, she stood directly behind George, her green eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“No,” he replied. “Is she not a friendly mare?”
“Not outright.”
George looked back at Fiona, smirking. “Then I suppose you aren’t the only one with some innate talent, darling.”
She stepped closer, running her hand along Fiona’s neck at the same time as him. Penelope watched his hand move, her lips slightly parted as though there were a few words trapped on the tip of her tongue. George watched her out the side of his vision, feeling on the edge of his seat with anticipation, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was waiting for. Could it be a few words that managed to cure his jealousy, even though he had no idea on what could possibly accomplish such a thing?
Just with her standing beside him, Fred positioned behind them, felt gratifying enough. Let the jealousy come, even when he had no sense of understanding it. In the end, he stepped closer to Penelope, their hands almost grazing by each other.
“Penelope,” Fred suddenly said, “I was tellin’ George not too long ago that we oughta do somethin’ to celebrate our arrival, don’t you think?”
Her eyebrows raised. “If George suggested it, then I don’t see why not.”
George’s brow furrowed as he shot Fred a stare, his hand leaving the mare. There had been no discussion of doing anything to commemorate their arrival, besides a large dinner and a few expensive bottles of wine he had been saving. There was too much to do for him to even think about distracting himself with some other thing.
“Now,” George began, “Hold on one moment. I didn’t -”
“Did you hear that, Georgie?” Fred interjected as he threw an arm over George’s shoulder. Within an instant, he did the same to Penelope, drawing her close to his wide stomach. Resentment flared within George again, but he swallowed it before saying something he would’ve surely regretted later.
Fred beamed from ear to ear. “No need to fret! Pen here wouldloveto do somethin’ fun,” he exclaimed, giving him a few suggestive winks.
Rolling his eyes, George racked his brain for somewhere to take them. Not that he cared much for aristocratic society, but he knew that the Ton would find much to talk about with the arrival of the American couple. Surely their gossiping would continue on for the rest of the season without a doubt as to what there was to discuss. There was no place to go to avoid it, and George found himself lacking in minding it. He glanced over at Penelope to see her gaze locked onto him.
“There are always the Vauxhall gardens,” George finally said.
Penelope’s eyebrows shot up once more. “I have never visited Vauxhall.”
