Page 67 of His Wild Duchess
And just like that, he was gone.
Penelope remained there for a few moments longer, till the feeling returned to her legs. Perhaps he realized that he could get rid of her sooner rather than later, and rushed to find outabout the cottage. The thought brought her down more than she expected it to.
The end date Penelope had so confidently demanded now felt like a strange omen, one that signaled an end to a life she never knew she sought. It was not that of a married lady, not a Duchess or mother. That was not unpleasant, but not what she craved. It was the togetherness that George brought her, the sense of having someone to come home to, to rely on, to cry upon. Being wed, no matter how fake it turned out to be, meant having those things. But things grew more than she ever expected them to, and suddenly, George was no longer just the sarcastic, sharp tongued charmer Duke she had first met.
He was George, her husband.
The next afternoon, before taking the dogs out for their routine walk, Penelope searched the townhouse’s halls for Butternut once more. Despite being a growing cat who loved treats and eating more than any other animal Penelope raised, Butternut often found pleasure in hiding away some place when treats were up in the air. When she still resided at Egerton, Butternut often lounged and made nests within Owen’s drawers and coats. Perhaps it was only that acted as if they did not want her that made Butternut eager to express her undying love for them.
Penelope passed by George’s study, growing nearer to his bedroom. She rapped her knuckles against the door, but only silence answered. She inhaled deeply, calming her racing heart as she pushed open the door, peering in to see it empty andquiet. She hadn’t been within his room before, even after living within the townhouse for weeks by that point.
George’s room got hit by the sunlight perfectly by midday, the light streaming in so brightly it seemed as though the floor was ablaze. Penelope cautiously crept into the bedroom, her hand eagerly running over the foot of his bed, the woody smell of him filling her as though he stood directly behind her.
“Butternut?” she whispered, making a few sounds to get the cat’s attention. “Want a treat, Butternut?”
Nothing dared to stir around the room. Letting out a sigh, Penelope began to open his wardrobe, peeking within the folds of clothes but not seeing a little animal fast asleep within. Eventually, it felt as though Penelope was in there for herself more than anyone. It had been a few days since Vauxhall gardens, and George hadn’t spoken to her in the same way as before since. It was as if there was a new kind of wall between them, one that she feared was too high for her to climb.
Crossing the room to his dresser, Penelope pulled open the top drawer and gasped. Butternut lay curled up within George’s clothes, obviously having made a nest for herself. The clothes had been pushed around to form a pillowy bed, one that fitted around the cat perfectly. Sleepily, Butternut lifted her head, letting out a whiny meow as she yawned. Penelope reached into the drawer, running her hand over the cat’s head. Butternut’s purr deepened the more she petted her, and the cat snuggled back into her makeshift bed, probably now more unwilling to move than she’d been before.
Penelope was moments away from picking the cat up when the bedroom door creaked as it was swung open. George entered the room without even looking in her direction, obviously too much in a hurry or caught up in his own mind to pay attention. He removed his coat in one swift motion, draping it over a chair before moving to his desk, rolling up his white sleeves along the way. He reached up to his collar, unbuttoning a few to expose the beginnings of a collarbone and chest.
Feeling the rush of heat swarm to her face, Penelope felt frozen in place. What could she possibly do to get out of the situation without being in the wrong? There was Butternut, of course, but now minutes had passed, and she hadn’t made her presence known. George was so fixated on his desk that he never dared to look over his shoulder, never once questioned the shadow near over the bedroom’s entryway.
Taking in a deep breath, Penelope said, “George.”
Jumping about a foot in the air, George flung around, his eyes wide and wild as they landed on her. “Darling,” he breathed, hands on his hips, “Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”
Warmth touched her heart. He hadn’t called her that in a while.
“I-I’m sorry, George,” she said. “It was Butternut.”
Crossing the room, George peered into the drawer to see the cat snoozing once more. He reached, running his hand along her back and receiving his own chorus of purrs while Butternut held her paws up in the air for him.
“Can’t be mad at a thing as precious as you,” he cooed, scratching beneath the cat’s chin. He glanced in Penelope’s direction. “And I suppose the cat isn’t too bad, herself.”
Penelope huffed, turning her face away. “Flattery still comes easy to you, doesn’t it?”
He laughed before leaving the dresser and returing to his desk. “I believe Winnie was looking for you,” he said with his back facing her.
“Oh,” Penelope said, glancing up at the grandfather clock in his bedroom, “I suppose it is time for the dogs to go out. Winnie has enjoyed coming on the excursions with me. Would you…” she paused, chewing on her lip for a moment when the confidence eluded her. Turning back to him, Penelope no longer allowed her inner turmoil to cloud her any longer. “Would you like to come along, George?”
Even from where she stood, Penelope could see George’s body tense and straighten up further. He had his hands flat against the desk, leaning down over a series of letters and papers that were scattered over the wood. Not once turning around, George’s face and emotions remained unknown to her. Even more so the longer he stayed quiet.
“I’m afraid not,” he finally said.
Penelope sighed. “Right.”
“Right, what?”
Standing beside the door, her hand wrapped around the knob, Penelope turned to face him, seeing his foot tap impatiently against the floor. “Excuse me?”
George turned around, irritation clear on his face. “Why ask if that was what you expected me to say?”
“I didn’t -”
“Never mind it,” he mumbled, putting his back to her once more, his hands flexing and clenching repeatedly at his sides.
Penelope stared at the back of his head, unsure if she should pry into his attitude change or not. No longer wanting to put effort in where he did not give it back, Penelope rolled her eyes, and left his bedroom without another word.
