The Light in the Duke's Shadow: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 2

  “I told you,” Penelope reminded her mother.

  Lady Winchester sighed at her daughter. “You have to marry, Penelope. You have a duty to not only the family but to yourself.”

  “I will forgive myself,” Penelope assured her mother.

  Lady Winchester shook her head at her daughter. “You might. I doubt your father will indulge your whim in this instance.”

  “Must we talk about him,” Penelope said as she withdrew her hand from her mother’s grip.

  Lady Winchester sighed. “Why, of course, we shall talk about your father. What has gotten into you lately?”

  “Mother, are you truly happy with all of this?” Penelope asked as she turned her head back towards the woman.

  The Marchioness of Winchester was a beautiful woman, and many had told Penelope that she looked so much like her mother. Penelope did not see the resemblance between herself and her exquisite mother when she looked into the mirror.

  Lady Winchester said in a discreet tone, “Why would I not be happy to be presenting my lovely daughter to the world? Penelope, you can do so well for yourself.”

  There was an ache in her heart with her mother’s words. “Cannot I do well by myself? Why must I marry?”

  “Someone has to inherit the land and look after things once your father is gone,” Lady Winchester reminded her daughter.

  Penelope sighed. “And I as a woman cannot do those things.” Penelope finished the old sentiment. She had heard it enough to know it by heart.

  “And yet you persist in this childish game of yours,” Lady Winchester said in tones of disapproval. The woman lowered her voice as a tall man walked near them.

  Penelope’s eyes went to the man’s tailcoat and the dark ponytail of his hair that hung down the sombre blue of the coat’s material. Penelope shook her head “Other women have made their own path in this world. I can as well.”

  “And what of the lands and inheritance of the family?” Lady Winchester asked as she fanned herself lightly.

  Penelope noted the colour under her mother’s make-up. The woman was becoming quite vexed. Penelope said soothingly, “Perhaps we should take our leave before our sullen moods offend the host of this event.”

  Lady Winchester slapped her fan closed against the palm of her hand. “Very well,” Lady Winchester consented. She pressed her lips together and gave Penelope a stern look. “If I press you into staying, you might just offend someone beyond what I can repair.”

  “I would never,” Penelope said, but she could tell her mother was not listening. Penelope had chosen what she said carefully, despite what her mother might think. She knew well enough how to talk to these people, after all. It was one of the things her mother had impressed upon her so heavily.

  The murmur of voices around them made Penelope look around the room. The candles flickering gave the scene a surreality. There were knots of people here and there doing their best to entertain and bewitch each other. Beautiful ladies hid smiles behind fans as gentlemen hooked their thumbs in their overcoats and chuckled at the lovely picture the ladies before them made.

  How must it be to know that you can have whichever lady strikes your fancy? Penelope watched a tall man a few feet away who seemed to be sizing a potential group of ladies up in that way that men did. Penelope turned her face towards her mother again.

  Lady Winchester took in a breath as Penelope watched the woman calm herself. “Indeed, we should go before others catch wind of our disagreement and it just makes your social situation worse.”

  “I truly am sorry, Mother,” Penelope said. The very exasperation in the woman’s voice made Penelope feel as if she were once again six and failing to meet her exalted expectations.

  Lady Winchester waved off her daughter’s words with a subtle gesture of her wrist. “Let us not speak of this further. I shall go and find our host and explain our departure.”

  “What shall you say?” Penelope asked in curiosity.

  Lady Winchester said, “I will say simply that you are not feeling yourself. That should be suitably true.”

  ***

  Penelope shifted in her blue dress as she waited in the foyer of the home where the ball was taking place. The ruffles were not Penelope’s favourite, but her mother had insisted that Penelope looked quite enchanting in the ruffled fabric. Penelope’s fingers brushed over the ruffles that covered the lower half of her dress, and she sighed internally.

  Lady Winchester’s elegant form emerged from the ballroom and headed with purpose towards Penelope. Penelope drew herself up to her full height, which was still dwarfed by her mother’s 5’6” frame. A man intercepted Lady Winchester, and Penelope never saw a bit of frustration in her mother’s features. Lady Winchester dipped her head gracefully to the man whom she clearly knew.

  Whatever the two were saying was lost to Penelope, but then she was not that interested. Penelope could imagine for herself what bland platitudes the two must be saying. She let her eyes go to the bold fabrics that covered the walls.

  The walls of the old house held the images of cranes in flight through wispy woodlands. Penelope smiled at the whimsy of it. Surely someone with real imagination and life inside them had once lived in these halls if the wall coverings were any indication.

  “I see you are admiring my wife’s cranes,” a man’s rich voice said near Penelope, startling her. “I apologise for causing you a fright,” the man said.

  Penelope turned towards the man as she laughed lightly while her cheeks coloured at being caught so out of sorts. The gentleman’s hair was graying, and he had a softness to his face that Penelope took to immediately. “My own fault for being caught dreaming,” Penelope assured the man.

  His cheeks crinkled up as he smiled at her. “My wife would often daydream as well,” he said in a wistful tone that made Penelope ache inside.

  She hated to ask but felt compelled. “Where is your wife now?”

  “Oh, she is off on a very long daydream,” the man said. He paused for a moment. Penelope saw how he pulled himself inward, restraining his emotions.

  Penelope said softly, “I wish I could have met her. She decorated a lovely home.”

  “You are too kind,” the man said with another sad smile at Penelope. “Are you leaving the party so soon? A young lady like yourself should be dancing and winning some man’s heart.”

  Penelope looked down at her feet. “I am afraid that I am not feeling myself. It was a wonderful ball, Sir.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.” The older man waved off her compliment. “My son and his wife put these things on now. I just dawdle around in the library and nip a few drinks.”

  Penelope laughed and covered her mouth behind her gloved hand. She smiled at the man when she got her laughter under control. “That sounds like a better way to pass the time than dancing.”

  “Ah, so you dislike dancing?” he said with a grin as if he had caught her out in some sort of embarrassment.

  Penelope shook her head at the man and his amusement. “I like dancing well enough. I just like reading better.”

  “That is a wise thing,” he said. “Ah, here now, is this the Lady Winchester?” The man was no longer looking at Penelope, but his eyes instead had gone behind her.

  Penelope turned and saw her mother had freed herself of her previous companion. Lady Winchester walked up and put her hand out to the older gentleman that Penelope had been conversing with. “Lord Gregory, I did not know you were about.”

  “That is because I am not supposed to be,” Lord Gregory said with a twinkle in his eyes as he took Lady Winchester’s hand and gave it a gentle pat with his free hand. He gave Penelope a wink before he continued, “I was just conversing with this lovely young woman.”

  Lady Winchester smiled. “This is my daughter, Lady Penelope Withersfield.”

  “You did not tell me that your mother was Lady Winchester,” Lord Gregory said to Penelope. “Then again, we were talking of my Beatrice and reading. So, it was probably my flig
ht of fancy that kept the discussion from coming up.”

  Penelope decided that she liked Lord Gregory very much. He was not like most other nobles who were stuffy and put far too much emphasis on how a person held her hand or if she used the right tone. No, Lord Gregory seemed to have more in his head than silly rules for a society mad with its own amusement.

  “Your daughter said that you two were leaving for the night,” Lord Gregory said in a tone that was almost sad.

  Lady Winchester inclined her head as she drew her hand back to fold gently over her other hand in front of her. “Yes, Penelope is feeling off, and I thought it better that she go home.”

  “Can never be too careful,” Lord Gregory said with a nod of his head. “Well, young lady,” he said turning towards Penelope. “I do hope that we shall see you more this Season. My son and his wife are due to hold another ball here later, and I would be thrilled if I could slate a dance for you then.”

  Penelope smiled and dipped her head ever so primly. “I would be honoured, Your Lordship.”

  “Very good,” Lord Gregory said as he patted his chest as if looking for something. “I must be off and see if I can locate my pipe. Good evening, Ladies.”

  Penelope and her mother replied, “Good evening, Your Lordship,” in unison. The man gave them a small wave before he wandered off down the hall.

  Penelope whispered, “He seems nice.”

  “Lord Gregory is a dear man,” Lady Winchester said softly. “I sent a maid after our shawls. It is still quite chilly after that storm today.”

  Almost as if summoned by Lady Winchester’s words, a maid who looked to be no more than fifteen came scurrying into the foyer. “Begging your pardons,” the young maid said. Her cheeks were quite pink, and Penelope was sure that wherever she had gone to fetch the shawls was quite a distance. The maid held out the shawls to Lady Winchester who took them with a smile.

  “Thank you very much,” Lady Winchester said kindly to the young maid who gave the noblewoman a curtsy before hurrying off to continue her duties.

  Penelope smiled at her mother as the woman held out Penelope’s shawl to her. Penelope took it and swiftly swept it around her shoulders. The air from the door opening when people arrived or departed had made the foyer rather chilly in its own right. Lady Winchester settled her shawl as well and said, “Well, let us find our coach now.”

  The doorman gave them a bow as he opened the door to allow them to leave. Penelope and Lady Winchester both dipped their heads and murmured their thanks. Lady Winchester let her fan dangle by the band around her wrist as she held her skirts up slightly to keep them out from under her shoes. Penelope followed her mother’s example.

  “The night might be chilly, but it is breathtaking,” Penelope said as she stared up at the stars. “Look how clear the sky is, Mother. I think you could probably see even the planets that are said to be out there somewhere. You might discover one just like Sir Herschel and be a famous astronomer.”

  Lady Winchester shook her head as she waved her hand at their coachman. “We are ready to depart,” she said to the man who quickly hurried away to get their coach for them.

  Penelope smiled and said, “I think if we discovered a planet we should name it after father. He would hate that.”

  “Do be quiet,” Lady Winchester said with a sigh. “You go on about the most preposterous things. I often ponder where you learn of such things. Is it that governess of yours?”

  Penelope’s smile broadened at her mother’s words. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

  Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

  Lady Winchester laughed. “Yes, I do think it is your governess’ doing.”

  Penelope sighed and looked up at the sky. Her governess was a lovely woman who spoke French and had quiet humour that Penelope enjoyed more than most. There was no pressing for applause, simply a smile upon the woman’s lips when she strove to lighten the mood of a room.

  “You never did say whether you found any of the gentlemen that we met in this foray to your liking?” Lady Winchester’s question was not so much pressing Penelope to the point of compulsion, but it left her little room but to answer.

  Penelope looked away from the twinkling stars and at her mother. The woman’s blue eyes were like stars, really, Penelope decided as Lady Winchester’s eyes caught the light of the lamp outside the manor home. “I cannot say,” Penelope said noncommittally.

  “Seems to me that a lady of your learning should know whether she sees a man as a potential husband,” Lady Winchester said as she pressed her lips together.

  Penelope lifted her shoulders in a shrug, the material of her dress constricting the movement of her shoulders upward ever so slightly. Perhaps the dress had been tailored a bit too snugly. She might have noticed it more if she had consented to dance more than she had. Then again, Penelope did not favour dancing much, especially when it concerned gentlemen who fancied themselves halfway to the altar with her.

  She knew that her mother would press her soon enough into giving in and answering the question, but for now, Penelope chose to avoid the waiting disagreement. There was not a way to tell the woman that Penelope saw too much of her father in all the men she had seen at the ball. Penelope frowned and knew that she would never tell her mother that. How could she say such as that to her own mother?

  Lady Winchester stood beside Penelope unaware of the war of emotions that waged within Penelope. Penelope did not want to suffer the fate of her mother. There had to be another way, another sort of man in this world.

  “Penelope,” Lady Winchester said in that way she had that told Penelope she required an answer.

  Penelope drew in a breath and said finally, “I did not particularly like or dislike them. That is really the trouble.”

  “Do not dance around with your words. It is unbecoming of a lady,” Lady Winchester scolded as she shifted her shawl tighter around her.

  Penelope pursed out her lips. “None of them seemed to have any true fire in them. There was no passion or intellect to be found skittering around their empty heads. It is a wonder that they do not sing like the seashells at the shore when held up into the wind.”

  “Penelope Withersfield,” Lady Winchester hissed in reproach to her daughter. The woman’s eyes darted around, but they were still quite alone.

  Penelope sighed. “All of them were dull or fancied themselves the dictators of the kingdoms they rule in their hollow heads. Why should I be a subject to their whims? It is quite a fate that you would have me tied to, Mother.”

  “You act as if I send you off to the gallows,” Lady Winchester said with a frown. “You really must outgrow this overly dramatic streak, Penelope. It is fit more for the roguish actors of the theatre than a lady of your standing.”

  Pulling at her shawl, Penelope pretended to peer deeply into the dark night and promptly ignore her mother’s redressing of her. Perhaps she was overly-dramatic, but failing anything short of a death scene at the end of the night would probably be passed over by Lady Winchester’s discerning eye. Penelope was about to say something to her mother, but her thoughts were stolen by a loud noise that brought her up short.

  “I say, I hope that was not the carriage,” Lady Winchester said as she peered down the street in the direction of the loud noise.

  Penelope dropped down a step on the stone staircase that led to the sidewalk. “That did not sound of wood and stone, Mother. It sounded like someone was being murdered. Did you not hear the shout?”