Page 2 of Her Sinful Duke

As they walked through the corridors of St. Catherine’s Nunnery, they passed by tall stone walls adorned with ancient tapestries, each telling stories of saints and biblical scenes. All around them, there was flickering candlelight, casting dancing shadows on the cold stone floors. Wooden doors lined the walls leading to various rooms where the other sisters prayed, worked, and slept.

Penelope had been taught to move with quiet reverence there. The sisters wore traditional black habits, their heads covered by white veils that framed their serene faces. Despite the solemnity of their surroundings, there was a sense of peace and tranquility in their demeanor as they carried the weight of their faith with grace and humility.

That was, at least, what could have been said of every other nun there but Penelope. Even her title was different. She was merely an oblate like Ciara, although she was now of age to become a nun or leave the nunnery and marry which had not even crossed her mind. Then again, remaining there as a nun was an equally unpalatable option. However, seeing that she had been sent there by her own family, and only they had the power to bring her back to London, Penelope knew that she had to endure much more than mere floggings at the hands of the cruel abbess. She wondered how the other girls endured it, but she knew better than to ask such a question out loud, for one could never know who was loyal to the abbess, and such words could merit unspeakable punishments.

Finally, Ciara stopped in front of a door, standing aside. It was obvious that Penelope was to enter alone. She inhaled deeply, wondering what sort of punishment the abbess would have in mind for her now. She almost laughed at her remembrance when someone told her, a while back, that discipline within a nunnery should be administered with compassion, understanding, and a focus on spiritual well-being rather than harsh punishment. The abbess was obviously not of that opinion.

“Thank you.” Penelope smiled at Ciara then knocked on the door.

She was not called to come in immediately. Not that Penelope expected to be. The abbess always made them wait, even when she had called for them. It was a simple but powerful reminder of their roles in the nunnery. Penelope was not impatient. She knew that whatever was coming would eventually come. She would not be able to evade it, no matter how much she tried, so it was easier to simply come to terms with whatever transgression she had done this time, and accept whatever punishment the abbess deemed appropriate. It made life in the nunnery bearable, if only for the time being.

Finally, after what seemed to be a small eternity, a stern voice came from inside.

“Come in.”

Penelope’s body trembled ever so slightly upon hearing it, but she bravely grabbed the handle and turned it, allowing herself in.

The door opened to the formidable figure of the abbess, seated at her writing table. Her features were sharp with beady eyes that, although small, seemed to have the power to pierce through any façade. As everyone knew, she ruled with an iron fist, imposing strict discipline and exacting punishment without hesitation for even the slightest of transgressions.

Penelope had come to realize that the abbess’ decisions were driven by a sense of duty and devotion to maintaining order and purity within the convent, rather than any concern for the well-being or happiness of the nuns under her care.

“Reverend Mother, you called for me?” Penelope said, closing the door, but just as she did so, she realized that two people were standing there, partially concealed by the door, almost as if it had been done on purpose.

It took her a moment to recognize them. After all, she had not seen them in five years. They had not aged in that very sense of the word, but they had changed. While her mother seemed less strained and more youthful looking, it was her father who appeared to have aged fifteen years in the span of only five. There were deep lines etched on his forehead and crow’s feet around his mouth and eyes despite the fact that he was not smiling. Not one bit. Not even when his eyes befell the sight of his wayward daughter.

However, a child could never forget the faces of her parents, and her mind momentarily acknowledged who they were.

Penelope felt her throat completely dry up. “Mother?” she managed to muster. “Father?”

Against all common sense, and everything she had endured at their hands, she smiled upon seeing them. That child who still believed with all the might of her little heart was happy to see them there, and she wanted to rush to them, falling into their arms. But Penelope knew better than to allow that child to the surface. That child had been bruised so many times before. She needed to protect it. So, she kept the smile, but remained cautious in an effort to try and think of the possible reason behind their visit.

After a moment, she found it. She was to take the veil soon. After all, wasn’t that what they had wanted all along? For her to become less problematic and find a purpose in life. If a woman’s purpose was not marriage and having children, then the alternative was certainly a life devoted to God. She had managed the second. Well, almost. She was only days away from it.

That must have been it. They had probably received word of it from the nunnery and arrived to congratulate her on the upcoming event. This thought comforted her. It made sense, and she preferred logic and common sense to the playful mystery of imagination. She had to keep herself protected, just like the child inside of her, lest she got hurt.

“Penelope,” her father nodded gravely, without a smile. There was a bit more warmth in the eyes of her mother, but the smile was also lacking.

“Sister Penelope,” the abbess spoke calmly, “your parents have come with some very important news.”

Penelope frowned, feeling a tightening sensation in her chest. Something was not right, but she did not know what. She turned to her parents, expecting an explanation, but they took their time. Finally, her father spoke, crushing the little hope of a happy life for which she had hoped.

“You are to return home with us immediately, for you have a wedding to attend,” he said, then added — as if it mattered not a single bit — “your own.”

CHAPTER2

The journey from the small nunnery in Scotland all the way to London was painstakingly long and even more painfully silent, for Penelope knew that her parents would not divulge anything more than they had already said.

“Is no one going to tell me anything?” Penelope asked, incredulous at the silence that reigned inside the carriage.

“This is neither the time nor the place for that conversation, Penelope,” her father spoke sternly.

“Why not?” she asked stubbornly. “You come for me after all this time, you demand I come home, you tell me that I am to get married, and you refuse to say even to whom. I… I don’t understand…”

“You are not here to understand,” her father reminded her of her place in their family. “You are to do as you are told which, up until this point, hasn’t been a very successful endeavor. Now, be quiet. It is going to be a long journey, and I would prefer to undertake it in peace.”

Upon those words, her father turned his head away from her, signaling that their conversation had come to an end, at least for the time being. As she gazed at the dark night that stretched around them, threatening to swallow the entire world, Penelope wondered what fate would befall her now.

She had no idea when she dozed off. In any case, it was for the better. Her parents refused to look at her, but they also refused to look at each other, as if ashamed of something even between themselves. Penelope had never seen them like that. At least they had always been a united front against her. Now, it was every man for himself. She had no idea whether that was better or worse.

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