Page 51 of Her Sinful Duke

“Regular tea for me, please,” she chuckled, liking the idea.

“As you wish, my dear,” he laughed. “As you wish.”

* * *

James didn’t come for dinner either. She did not see him all day.

Penelope knew that she was supposed to just let it go. She should have marched up to her bed chamber, and she should have gone to sleep. But no. Instead of doing what she was supposed to, she was standing in front of James’ study, readying herself to knock.

Concern kept gnawing at her all day as she wondered what the reason behind this withdrawal could be. Had something happened to upset him? Was he facing troubles he couldn’t bring himself to share? With each passing moment, her worry deepened until she could no longer bear the uncertainty.

She was now standing here, summoning her courage. She paused outside his door, her hand hovering over the polished wood for a moment before she gathered her resolve and knocked gently.

“James?” she called out, her voice soft, but tinged with concern. “May I come in?”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint rustle of papers from within the study. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she heard her husband’s voice, muffled but unmistakably weary.

“Come in,” he said, his tone lacking its usual warmth and vigor.

With a heavy heart, she pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Her husband sat behind his desk, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, his features drawn and fatigued.

“Penelope,” he said upon seeing her, “is something the matter?”

“Actually, I’ve come to ask you that very same question,” she confessed, closing the door behind her. She then crossed the room to stand beside him. “You haven’t been yourself all day. Please, talk to me.”

He sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the papers scattered before him. “I’m sorry, Penelope, but I’ve been preoccupied with business matters, and I fear I’ve let it affect my demeanor. It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

But she could see through the façade, could feel the weight of his burdens pressing down upon him like a lead cloak. With a gentle touch, she reached out to take his hand in hers, offering him the comfort and support that he so desperately needed. He allowed her touch, but a moment later, he withdrew from her.

“I can see that something is troubling you,” she pleaded softly, her voice tinged with desperation.

Her husband’s gaze softened at her words, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the mask of indifference he wore. For a moment, it seemed as though he might relent, might allow her to glimpse the depths of his heartache. But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed, and his features hardened once more, his walls rising up to shield him from her reach.

“I told you it’s nothing,” he said, his voice a hollow echo of its former warmth. “There is just too much I have to handle.”

But she refused to be deterred, refused to let him retreat into the isolation of his own thoughts. With a determined resolve, she reached out to touch his cheek, her fingertips tracing the lines of his face with gentle insistence.

“Maybe I could help you somehow?” she asked.

For a moment, his resolve wavered, his eyes betraying a flicker of longing that mirrored her own. But then, with a heavy sigh, he pulled away, his expression closing off once more as he turned his gaze to the papers scattered before him.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said. “But these are things I must handle alone. Please, don’t worry yourself over me. Everything is fine.”

And with that, he withdrew into himself, leaving the lady standing alone in the silence of the study, her heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. She could tell immediately that she would not be drawing any new answers out of him. He had already told her what he had to say. If she pushed him for anything more, she would just be pushing him away from herself, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Well, all right then,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he replied hastily, as if he could not wait to get her out of his study.

Later, she was in her chamber with Charlotte busily undoing her hair and gown. As always, she sought solace in Charlotte’s comforting presence. With a heavy heart, she confided in her trusted companion, sharing her concerns and fears in a desperate bid for understanding.

“Lottie, do you know if something has happened in the household?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “The duke has not been himself all day, and I can’t shake this feeling that something is terribly wrong.”

“I’m afraid that I haven’t heard anything, Your Grace,” Charlotte replied, her voice soft with sympathy as she brushed Penelope’s hair, readying her for bed. “But I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if I do.”

Penelope nodded in gratitude. As the night wore on, she found herself tossing and turning restlessly in her bed, her mind consumed by worry and uncertainty. Despite her best efforts to find solace in sleep, her thoughts continued to circle back to her husband, their weight pressing down upon her like a suffocating blanket.

Try as she might, she could not banish the image of her husband’s troubled face from her mind nor shake the gnawing sense of dread that gripped her heart like a vice.

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