She would have her freedom, and he would have his.
So why, he wondered, was he agonising so much over where to place her?
Having read once again the parchment entitled ‘Timothy Simmons,’ James leant back in his chair and sighed. He was distracted – there was no doubting it. Distracted by learning of the existence of this Timothy, distracted by questions of whether his own title meant as much to him with the knowledge that it could have so easily been someone else’s, and distracted by thoughts of Lady Penelope.
He did not want to think of her. But somehow, she kept worming her way into his thoughts. What was she doing at Amblewood? Was she getting herself into trouble? How would her parents take the news of her engagement? Was she regretting the decision to agree to his proposal of marriage – especially with the caveats he had imposed?
And then the ever-present, niggling question that he refused to think about, but which would not leave him alone: did he truly wish to live separately from her?
He was still angry at her for lying to him, and he thought her foolish, and yet still when he envisioned them wed, he pictured her at Dunloch Castle, her laughter tinkling through the halls, her auburn hair loose down her back as she roamed the corridors, exploring, trying to get him to join her on one of her excursions.
With an irritated sigh at the direction his thoughts had once again travelled, James turned his attention back to the parchment before him.
He knew Timothy’s name and where he lived…but for now, he did not think there was anything he wished to do with that information. So many lives would be affected, and for what? For him to meet with a man who shared his blood, yes, but who had been a stranger to him for his entire life.
Perhaps one day, he thought, locking the parchment away in his desk, he would want to know more, want to meet him. But for now, it seemed fairer to leave things be.
Because, as he told himself regularly, it didn’t really change anything. He was the Duke of Dunloch, and he would be for the rest of his life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
London was as busy, noisy, and crowded as Penelope remembered, and as usual, she shuddered at the thought of living there. Only the brevity of her stay made it tolerable – and her mission.
First, she needed to find the Duke’s sisters. Secondly, she needed to persuade them to help her win back their brother.
She only hoped they knew him better than he seemed to know them, for he had dismissed them many times as silly girls. But they were her only hope in discovering a way to make her future husband forgive her.
She waited until her parents were out of earshot to make discreet enquiries with their London butler, Soames.
"I wish to find the aunt of the Duke of Dunloch," she told him, thinking that was the best place to start to find the sisters. She was sure he had said at least one of them was staying with her. "Could you find out where she lives?"
Soames was as efficient as ever, and after a day spent shopping for clothing for her trousseau, Penelope returned to the London townhouse to find him ready with the information she required.
Thankfully, the house was not far, and she could easily pay a call and only need to take her maid to chaperone her on the busy streets of London.
She only hoped that the Duke's sisters would have an idea of how she could win him back.
She woke early the next morning, excited and nervous about her mission. At home, she would have used such time to wander the grounds, enjoying the fresh morning air and the dew-dropped grass.
But in London, she could not wander so freely. She found it hard to wait for an acceptable hour for house calls, and when it came, her mother looked surprised to see her putting on her cloak.
"It's not like you to go visiting, Penelope," she commented. "Would you like me to accompany you?"
Penelope shook her head. She certainly did not want her mother with her, for she would be far too interested in what Penelope had to say to the Duke's sisters, and so much of it was information she did not want to share.
As far as her parents knew, there was nothing amiss between her and the Duke's betrothal, and she would like to keep it that way – for she hoped, very soon, that would truly be the case.
"No, thank you, Mother," she answered, pulling on her gloves. "I am calling on the Duke's aunt and his sister, since I am in town. I think it better I make their acquaintance alone, this first time…"
Her mother nodded. "Very well. I must say, Penelope, you are rising to the challenge of being the wife of a duke very admirably. I am very impressed with your dedication to making the right impression."
Penelope's smile was a strained one. Her mother certainly would not be proud of her if she knew what a poor impressionshe had in fact left on the Duke. Nor would she be pleased at Penelope's deception – both towards the Duke and towards her own mother. She only hoped that, unlike the Duke, her mother never learned that she had been lied to.
Once this was all resolved, Penelope vowed she would endeavour to tell the truth in all situations and think more carefully before concocting any schemes.
"Thank you, Mother. I shan't be long, and I'm taking Mary with me."
They walked the short distance to Lady Fitzgerald's home. Penelope only hoped that she would be received by the lady and the Duke's sisters. Did they know of their brother's betrothal? She didn't even know their names and was sure this would be a rather embarrassing visit. But she didn't care. She was desperate. She would do anything she could to avoid entering into a marriage with the Duke while he still despised her.
