Page 82 of His Wild Duchess
Though, by that point in the day, Penelope needed a friendly companion, and went about searching for a dog or two. The foxhounds had taken a liking to the Millers, and she assumed they’d be following them around some place. The wolfhounds were masters at sleeping in places she’d never guess, so they were out of the question. Butternut was as elusive as they came. But there was one who was hard to hide, who had a particular affinity for one of the household members, that also hadn’t gone anywhere besides his study since they returned from Yeats Manor.
Penelope curved around the corner to come upon George’s study. The door was only open a crack, not much noise comingfrom the inside. Penelope tip toed over, trying to peer through to see if she had managed to catch George in a moment where he finally wasn’t in his study, drowning in paperwork. When she couldn’t see a thing, Penelope pressed a hand against the door, pushing it open slowly to avoid it making a creaking noise.
Light pooled into the room the further she pushed the door open. In the back of the room, sitting against the floor with his back pressed against a bookcase, was George. Beside him, with a large head resting against his lap, was the mastiff, Antony. Both of them had their eyes closed, soft and gentle sighs coming from their lips every now and then. Antony stirred ever so slightly, getting himself more comfortable over George’s legs. In return, George let out a long, soft breath, rubbing his back against the books and running a hand down the dog’s long back. Neither even bothered to open their eyes.
Penelope couldn’t stop the smile from passing over her face. They were an image of pure bliss, sleeping so soundly close to one another. Antony was a large dog, and didn’t sleep on people often. Penelope had yet to understand the allure George had for the beast, but it seemed it would always remain an enigma. Guilt stung in Penelope’s heart at the thought of parting them, but she wouldn’t even dare to think about leaving Antony behind.
Before Penelope could creep back out, a noise came from beneath George’s desk. Stepping out from the shadows was Butternut, her fur ruffled as if she had just been grooming herself. With a tail striking high into the air behind her, Butternut trotted over to Penelope, letting out a trilling noise before following her out the door. Penelope stole one more glance over her shoulder at George before leaving. She triedto press the image in her mind like a flower, determined to remember it for as long as she lived.
That evening, Penelope made her way to the dining room with a heavy heart. She had thought of all the things she could say to George, but it all fell flat. Not only did none of it feel like enough, but it wouldn’t be right. What if she pleaded for him to let her stay, and forced him into it through pity? George was a kind man. He wouldn’t turn her out if that was what she insisted upon. And yet, neither of them had wanted the marriage to begin with. There was no reason for George to want her to remain by his side. He made his way into London, and had more than enough backing to help him remain in the fold.
Penelope had no place there, or at Yeats Manor for that matter.
Rounding into the dining room, Penelope was shocked to see only George within. There were even two seats at the table rather than floor. The entire pack, including Butternut alongside the dogs, lazed around the floor of the room, taking up every piece of space as they sprawled out nonchalantly. Penelope gaped at them, not expecting to see them all within the room. Across the room, George stood beside the table, seemingly trapped by the wolfhounds on either side of him.
“Good evening,” he said, sounding a bit beside himself.
Penelope forgot her manners. “Where are Winnie and Fred?”
“Dining out,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “I apologize, I should have let you know beforehand.”
“No, no,” she murmured. “I only…I only wished to see them, is all.”
George nodded firmly. “I understand.” As he moved to the table, a frown twitched at his lip. “Hopefully I am…adequate company.”
She watched him from her side of the table. “Are you teasing?”
“Why would I be?”
Penelope shook her head at him as she took her seat at the same time he did. “Your company is more than adequate.”
He smiled. “Perhaps I was teasing,” he said. “But it was nice to hear you say it.”
Penelope laughed as the servants began to serve the meal. She was surprised at her ability to become so easy beside him, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. She melded alongside George, felt truly like she confidently knew herself. To laugh with him was a blessing, though it made Penelope dread the coming hours even more. Was he able to laugh and tease so easily because it hadn’t changed much at all? He would go about on his days as though nothing had dared to touch him. Penelope looked down at her food.
“I had a splendid nap this afternoon,” he suddenly said.
Penelope glanced at him. “I heard.”
“You heard?” he repeated. “How?”
She nodded towards the great black mass poised by George’s side. “From Antony, of course.”
George watched her with skeptical eyes, though his gaze flicked to the animal with the slightest hint of suspicion. “If I had more time, I’d dive much deeper into that,” he murmured with a grin. “I suppose he just went running to tell you, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Penelope cooed. “Felt as though he tamed the cold heart of the perpetually busy Duke.”
“My, my!” George threw his head back as he laughed, reaching down below the table to give the mastiff a good scratch behind the ears. “What a fine storyteller he is.” Looking back up, he leaned in his seat, letting his gaze weigh heavily on Penelope.
Raising the glass to her lips, Penelope watched him over the rim. “Why do you look at me like that, George?”
“How?”
“Like==” she paused, breath catching in her throat. The last time he looked at her in that way, they’d shared an intimatekiss. Penelope looked away, feeling the rise of heat flood to her cheeks. Lowering the glass, she cleared her throat, turning back to him with her lips pressed firmly together. “Never mind.”
George frowned, shoulders lowering. “You can tell me, darling.”
The pet name felt rather cruel at that point. She raised her fingers to her mouth, feeling the pressure of his phantom kiss brush by her. “Never mind it, George. Truly.”
