Page 3 of The Duchess' Ultimatum
Penelope jumped in the air when she heard her father’s voice. Having sneaked into the manor as quietly as a mouse, she had hoped to make it to her bedroom without being seen. But no sooner was she closing the front door behind her was she caught out.
“Father!” she cried, spinning about and clutching at her chest. “You scared me half to death.”
“I asked you a question,” he said with a pointed look.
The Viscount of Elderglen was not the man he used to be, and certainly not the father he once was. As a little girl, Penelope hadalways seen her father as a most stern and powerful figure. Tall and strapping, commanding of presence and quick to temper, the type who demanded attention the moment he entered a room. And one who was given it too. Slightly scary also, while still possessed of a kindness that came out increasingly the older he turned.
Now, he was but a shadow of that once domineering titan.
His back was crooked, forcing him to walk with a cane. His hair was shock white and receding up his scalp, which itself was covered in pockmarks. His voice was cracked, his skin was wrinkled, and his knees shook continually, as did his entire body because the effort of standing on his feet was more than he would ever admit.
“Father…” Penelope sighed as she crossed the foyer to where he was standing in the entrance to the hallway. “What are you doing awake? You should be in bed.”
“And you should not be home.”
She laughed and, when she reached him, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t change the subject…” Gently, she placed a hand on his back while the other took him under the arm. “What did the doctor say about walking around like this? It is not good for you.”
He blew through his lips. “I am not that far gone that I can’t leave my own bed when I wish to.”
“During the day, perhaps,” she agreed. “But this time of night? Where is the staff?”
“Hiding from me, I am sure.”
She chuckled again. “Come on.” Carefully, she helped to turn her father around and then started to lead him back down the hall toward his room. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
“You did not answer my question,” he said as they walked slowly.
She shrugged. “I thought it would be obvious. I grew bored and figured a good night sleep was what I required.”
“Penelope,” he sighed. “It is early.”
“Not early enough for you to be walking about.”
“This isn’t about me,” he said with another deep sigh. “This is about you – doing as I asked, not as you wish. Did I not request that you attend the ball tonight? And did you not promise me that you would?”
“Which I have done,” she said primly. “Ask Evelina, if you doubt me. I was there. I was seen. And having fulfilled my promise, I chose to come home.”
“That is not…” He clicked his tongue. “That is not the point.”
“No,” she agreed. “That point is that you did not listen to me when I told you I didn’t wish to attend the ball tonight. I told you, did I not, that I would not enjoy myself.”
“You did not even try.”
“I did,” she lied. “But as I knew would be the case, I did not wish to stay there. Here is where I would rather be, and here is where I am.”
Her father grumbled under his breath but the effort it took him to walk such a small distance was enough that he couldn’t muster the strength to press his argument.
I love how much he cares for me. And he knows that I do. I just wish he knew that there was no need for him to worry as he does. Why is everyone so insistent on trying to force me into a life I don’t want?
They made the rest of the trip in silence, slow paced, finally reaching her father’s room by which point his body was trembling. There, Penelope helped her father back into bed, having to lift his legs for him because he could not summon the strength.
Penelope hated seeing her father wither away like this.
It was strange to hear her older sisters speak of the man he once was. Evelina, as well as Margaret, often told of a different man entirely to the father she knew. A cruel, harsh man who wasshort of temper and not anything approaching what most would call a good father. Of course he had been different back then, a drunken gambler taken by sorrow after the death of his wife.
Penelope had never known her mother, as she died giving birth to her. Just as she had never much known that version of her father as he had changed considerably these past ten or so years. In her eyes, he was always kind and gentle, a little rough around the edges, but with a good heart.
That was why she did not mind caring for him as she had done. Some girls wanted to marry. Others wanted to raise families. But Penelope would count the years looking after her father as a life well lived.
