A snicker passed amongst the gentlemen.
“It is not the time to discuss marriage,” Penelope replied calmly.
“Isn’t it?” Anthony asked. “The duke’s condition has worsened, I hear.”
“How bad is he?” Thomas asked.
“His Grace is weak,” Penelope answered honestly. “He is confused and prone to vomiting.”
Anthony mock-toasted with his glass. “What dreams may come, eh, sweet?”
She blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“His Grace is a ruthless whoreson,” Thomas replied, not without a hint of his usual awed respect. “If he’s tortured by the loss of his wife and his sons, he has no one but himself to blame.”
Penelope censured Thomas with a look. “His Grace needs rest.”
“His Grace”—Anthony leaned forward—“needs the future of Ithwick secured. Ithwick and Pensteague flounder on their own. The estates must be reunited. And you, unfortunately, are the key to making that happen. You had best resign yourself, my sweet. I asked the vicar to read the first banns on Sunday.”
Thomas raised his brows. “Didn’t I tell you the storm would come? If resignation does not appeal,myoffer still stands.
Anthony’s gaze snapped to Thomas. “Don’t tell meyou’vebeen courting Penelope.”
Penelope glanced between the men. If Anthony and Thomas were not in league with one another, what the devil was going on?
“Stop,” she said with a shake of her head, “bothof you. I’m not marrying again.Thaddeusis heir to both Ithwick and Pensteague. Whether or not the estates are reunited will be up to him.”
“Penelope,” Anthony spoke with exaggerated patience, “do you understand how a title is passed from one generation to another?”
“Of course,” she said, though she did not.
“Birth and marriage records must be submitted, reviewed,” Anthony continued. “An easy enough process in most cases”—he swirled the liquid in his glass—“but everything becomes much more fun when things are...murky.”
“What do you meanmurky?The line is clear.” Pen stiffened. “My marriage was witnessed. Thaddeus’s birth was attended by Her Grace and Mrs. Renton.”
“You mean Thaddeus’searlybirth?” Anthony asked. “And remember, the duke never actually gave his consent, not before your marriage.”
Penelope clenched both fists at her sides.
“Anthony is correct, I’m afraid.” Thomas sighed. “Were he to submit a claim, it could takeyearsfor the dispute to be resolved.”
“Despite your efforts,” Penelope said, “I am not without friends.”
“Hurtheven and Ashbey?” Anthony asked. “Even if you were to enlist them, there is stillsomuch for the courts to review. Thaddeus, for instance, was bornafterCheverley went to sea.”
“We were legally wed,” she argued. “Any child born of—”
“And then,” Anthony interrupted, “there is Cheverley himself. He never did actually see the child, did he?” He shook his head as if sad. “Seven years and Cheverley never took leave. My guess is that he was ashamed he had to raise your bastard.”
She stared at Anthony and the lines of his face became ugly.
He’d played his final card, and the deck had been stacked from the start.
If Cheverley were not alive, her hands would be well and truly tied.
The laws were against her.
The courts were against her.
