Page 75 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

Chapter Twenty-Two

The carriage rolled through the gates of Brigrock Hall just before sunset.

Penelope looked out the polished glass window as the great stone house emerged between the ancient, sweeping oak trees. It was an imposing monument of gray stone walls, climbing dark green ivy, and tall windows that burned a rich, welcoming gold with candlelight.

The first time she had come to this estate, her heart had been half-wild with panic, her shoes sinking into the muddy earth as she frantically searched for Nicholas through the terrifying dark.

Now she arrived sitting upon velvet cushions, returning as its Duchess.

The thought still felt strangely heavy, almost surreal, against her skin.

Beside her, Nicholas nearly climbed directly over Malcolm’s lap to see better, his small boots dangling precariously close to the Duke’s immaculate trousers.

“We are really living here?” the boy asked, pressing his nose flat against the glass for perhaps the sixth time that afternoon.

“Yes,” Malcolm said, his deep baritone rumbling through the small space of the carriage.

“For always?”

“For a very long time, I imagine.”

Nicholas turned around and grinned so hard his cheeks turned a bright, vibrant pink.

Penelope watched the two of them together quietly, her gaze softening. Nicholas leaned his small frame against Malcolm’s side without a shred of hesitation now. It happened entirely naturally, unconsciously, as though some lonely, fatherless part of her son had simply decided it belonged right there against the big man.

And Malcolm let him.

There was no sudden stiffness in the Duke’s shoulders. No awkward, aristocratic correction about posture or personal space. Just one large, leather-gloved hand resting absently but securely against Nicholas’s shoulder whenever the carriage lurched too hard over the gravel path.

The sight pressed somewhere deeply tender, somewhere long-hidden, inside Penelope’s chest.

With a final crunch of iron wheels, the carriage stopped before the grand stone steps. Before the footman could even move to lower the iron steps, the heavy oak front doors of Brigrock Hall exploded outward, and a mass of chestnut-and-white fur came hurtling down the steps.

“Nicholas!” Penelope exclaimed, reaching out a warning hand.

It was too late, for her son launched himself straight out of the carriage door the moment it swung open, diving directly into the dog’s frantic path.

Hector hit him like a joyous cannonball. Nicholas fell straight backward into the smooth gravel with a delighted, ringing shriek, while the massive hound pinned him down, licking his face with wild, enthusiastic devotion.

“Traitor,” Malcolm said, stepping down from the carriage and looking down at the ecstatic dog.

Nicholas laughed so hard he could barely draw breath, his arms wrapped around the hound’s thick neck. “He missed me! Look, he missed me!”

Malcolm turned back and offered Penelope his hand to help her descend. His broad, calloused fingers closed around hers with immense care, as if she were made of fragile glass. Warm. Steady. Every single time he touched her now, her pulse seemed to notice and skyrocket before the rest of her mind could even process the proximity.

As her slippers hit the gravel, the grand front doors opened fully. A long, pristine line of housemaids, footmen, and estate staff stood waiting in perfect formation inside the cavernous, marble-floored entrance hall.

Penelope instinctively straightened her spine, her aristocratic training taking over. She had managed a grand household before at Romwich Hall. She knew exactly how servants watched a new, unexpected marriage. She knew how kitchen staff whispered, how maids gossiped, and how elderly butlers observed every single glance, every cold silence, and every forced smile between a master and mistress.

Malcolm, however, walked past them seeming entirely unconcerned by the weight of their scrutiny.

“Welcome home, Your Graces,” the silver-haired butler said, bowing deeply from the waist.

Home.

The word caught in Penelope’s throat, sending a strange thrill through her veins.

Nicholas had already scrambled upright from the dirt, entirely unbothered by the gravel dust on his coat, and was currently trying to convince the massive hound to greet the staff with proper decorum.