Page 58 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

But thankfully, Lord Shawstead arrived just in time to remind her that she had foolishly walked into a trap. It was entirely possible, of course, that His Grace had no malicious intentions towards her last night—after all, he may be a rake, but it was quite unlikely he would be interested in Penelope inthatway.

But as she listened to him remark on the advantages afforded by that particular bench, it reminded her how likely it was that His Grace had utilized it himself for similarly illicit exploits and it irritated her unexpectedly.

Am I jealous?she had worried, and that’s when it dawned upon her just how much danger she had carelessly put herself in—but no longer.

For even though she had thrown some of the blame on His Grace for ‘slowing down’ her quest for a husband. But upon realizing just how much she had allowed herself to fall for him, Penelope wondered whether she had been unknowingly working against herself or unintentionally holding back because a part of her reveled in the comfort that his company provided.

These and various other concerns had been rushing through her mind for most of last night, preventing her from getting the rest that she so desperately needed.

“If not the Duke of Blackmoore, then whodidyou have in mind?” Mother pressed, snapping Penelope out of her thoughts.

Penelope recounted how Rebecca had introduced her to Viscount Gloushire the night before. “And I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but Lord Gloushire did very clearly indicate his interest,” she added with a sheepish grin.

Mother let out a squeal of delight—the happiest noise to come out of her since Father’s passing. “Oh, Penny! My heart feels as though it might burst from excitement! What is he like? I believe I met the late Viscount Gloushire years ago, but as for his successor-”

“He’s sweet.” Penelope shrugged contentedly. “He's still quite handsome—though I can’t help but wonder how much more so he was during his prime. And... yes. That’s really all I can say for now, he’s polite and rather respectful.”

“Interesting how you don’t sound too excited about him,” Mother mused, “as opposed to whenever we discuss a certainothergentleman instea-”

“Mother...” Penelope groaned.

In response, the older woman gently patted her hand in reassurance. “I am only teasing you, Penny, dearest. Besides, love is not a ‘necessary’ requirement in the beginning. If you and Lord Gloushire really are a good match, then over time, you two may grow to love each other once you’ve settled into your marriage.”

“I suppose you’re right, Mother.” Penelope smiled.

But in truth, she did not mind if Lord Gloushire would ever grow to love her—or vice versa—all that mattered at this point was that he was willing and able to marry her.

As their conversation drifted to more mundane matters, Penelope found herself simultaneously resigned to her fate, while also relieved that she would no longer have the dread of her self-serving monster of an uncle hanging over her.

A part of her worried that she had been too harsh towards His Grace last night, but she pushed him out of her mind—she had more than enough problems as it was.

* * *

“I have enough problems as it is,” Duncan grunted, dodging Harlington’s lunge, returning with a parry of his own.

“Come now, Blackmoore!” Fairhaven whined from the sidelines of their friendly fencing spar. “You can be so selfish sometimes!”

His red-headed friend flinched as the book he had been attempting to read slid off his chest and fell onto the grassy patch next to him.

With a clang and the sound of their clothes shuffling, Duncan and Harlington’s swords disengaged. “You don’t need both of us!” Duncan gritted out. “Harls is more than capable of keeping the other guests occupied by himself.”

Harlington flashed him a smirk through the mesh of his saber mask. “I appreciate the faith, Blackmoore.,” his blade moved quickly—but Duncan’s was quicker, “but wouldn’t you agree that the original plan of three gentlemen and three ladies is a much more satisfying balance?”

Duncan saw his chance and lunged forward. But his footing faltered, and Harlington landed his final blow, bringing their bout to a rather anticlimactic end.

“You’re distracted today,” his friend remarked as Duncan tore off his mask—the gentle breeze hitting his face—only offering a low, affirmative grunt in response.

“You seemed fine at Sunbourne’s last night,” Fairhaven added, adjusting himself against the tree bark. “Meaning whatever’s bothering you must have happened afterward.”

“If that were the case...” Harlington chimed in, setting his sword and other gear next to Fairhaven on the grass, “it would have to involve someone outside of the ball... perhaps a particular lady who also happens to be staying at Blackmo-”

“It’s nothing,” Duncan growled, accepting a glass of water from a footman and swallowing a huge gulp. “I just don’t see why we must spend every waking second together, that’s all.”

“You’ve never complained before,” Harlington retorted, also accepting a glass from the footman. “Once again reinforcing my suspicions...” he added in a sing-song tone while putting on a kissing face.

Duncan let out a dry chuckle. “Why are you givingmesuch a tough time when Fairhaven is the one who was pining so miserably over Lady Beatrice he almost got us thrown out of Gillingham’s?”

“A-ha!” Harlington pointed an accusatory finger at him, “So you admit that youarepining, after all!”

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