Page 77 of His Wild Duchess
“There is not a soul in London who was born ready to take up a role like Duke or Duchess,” he explained. “Just look at me!”
“You’re a marvelous Duke.”
George faltered at the sincerity behind her words for a moment before he could gather his thoughts once more. “I fled before I had even reached the age of twenty,” he continued. “For a decade, I was nothing more than a foreigner. I wasn’t a Duke at all. All of this, the balls, the meetings, the Ton. It is difficult foranyone to handle, Penelope, but you have done the one thing that no other person in your shoes has ever done before.”
She raised a brow. “What would that be?”
“Admitted your fear,” he replied. “That is the first step to overcoming it.”
Penelope lowered her gaze, the hectic flush slowly fading from her cheeks. “I did run from it, though.”
“Loads of people do.”
“George,” she murmured. “You do not need to lie to make me feel better.”
He chuckled. “Have I ever been a liar, darling?”
“I suppose I wouldn’t know, would I?” she replied with a little smirk.
A warmth filled his chest as she slowly became normal again. Despite telling him of the things that made her overwhelmed enough that she fled the ball, it seemed as though there was something else that lingered behind her eyes, something that brought the slightest bit of a frown to her rosy lips once more. Penelope looked away from him, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Is there something else, Penelope?”
“No,” she quickly said. “I do not think so.”
“Truly?”
Penelope hesitated, her head tilting back towards George before snapping away just as fast. Whatever it was that lied within her mind, she refused to let it come forward. He let out a sigh, not entirely willing to blame her for it. He still held the contents of that letter within him, and he wasn’t at all eager to let them out anytime soon, not when she was so close to him.
“I hope you won’t look at me differently,” she suddenly said, avoiding his question.
“Whatever for?”
Penelope shrugged. “For being such a bundle of unwarranted emotions. No one wishes to see a grown lady cry.”
He watched her with parted lips. There was so much he wished to say, so much that lay dormant beneath his chest. He remembered Fred’s words, when he pushed the pad of his finger against the center of his chest. Too much was within his heart to lay it out on her feet in that moment, when she was already so overcome with her own emotions. The last thing George wanted to do was bring her tears once more, to overwhelm her again. Instead, he took in a deep breath, determined to get his point across without sounding like a lovesick child.
“If I look at you differently,” he began in a quiet voice, “It would only be with admiration.”
Penelope glanced up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite serious.”
She scooted to face him with wide, curious eyes. “What ever could you possibly mean by that, George?”
“Do not be ashamed of your emotions,” he said. “You, Penelope, are the kind of lady poets write of. That is why I admire you.”
She scoffed. “Because I cry?”
“Don’t tell me you scorn tears.”
“In what way has a crying woman ever been seen as anything other than a nuisance?” she asked with a bewildered laugh.
“Never a nuisance,” he replied. “I wish I could show my feelings as much as you can. You are all sincerity without losing a particle of dignity.”
“Don’t tease me, George.”
“I wouldn’t dare, darling.”
