Page 83 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

Eventually, the discussion returned to its original topic of the wedding breakfast menu, but just as they were beginning to make progress, another interruption arrived.

“My apologies for interrupting your hard work...” Lord Gloushire grinned, “but may I steal my lovely fiancée for just a moment?”

With both mothers’ blessings, a footman accompanied Penelope and Lord Gloushire on their impromptu stroll around the gardens.

Their conversation began in the exact manner that all of their other conversations had been going recently: with him questioning about her day, followed by her informing him that she had been focused on the wedding preparations, then followed by her inquiring abouthisday so far, and so on.

“I am pleased to inform you that I received confirmation that the first reading of the Banns was successful in your parish as well, dearest,” chirped her fiancé. “Everything is proceeding as required.”

Penelope made a happy noise of acknowledgment, but her palms grew sweaty at this news—despite the fact that it was favorable—since this was where her plan to marry before Uncle Winston could stop her was most likely to fail.

But then again, in the brief period that she shared a roof with that monster, he hadn’t attended church with them even once. She just needed to hope that he wouldn’t attend the next two Sundays either and her freedom would practically be guaranteed.

“I know it's been busy, busy, busy these days,” Lord Gloushire gently patted the arm that she had linked with his, “but what if we held a small dinner between our families? It would allow us some well-deserved respite and we could even invite your uncle, the present Lord Punto-”

“No!” Penelope exclaimed before she could stop herself, bringing them to a halt where they stood.

Withdrawing her arm from his, she stuttered, “M-Mother and I intend to surprise him with the news of our wedding. He’s much advanced in years and we want to avoid troubling him with any of the wedding preparations as much as possible.”

Lord Gloushire scanned her features in puzzlement. “But won't your uncle count it as a mark of disrespect against him if we do not involve him in the-”

“Not at all!” Penelope reached for his hands again. “We were never close, you see. So, involving him as little as possible would actually be the kindest thing we can do.”

“However-”

“Please...” Penelope cut him off with a plea, swallowing the lump in her throat, “...my love.”

His eyes widened at her appeal, not just because of how wholehearted it was, but also because she had never once called him ‘my love’ before. Certainly, he had employed it on her several times over the course of their courtship, but she had only ever repaid him with a light blushing of her cheeks or a playful punch on his arm.

That is, until just now.

Penelope knew it was an underhanded tactic. But she was so fearful of Uncle Winston finding out that she had no choice but to stoop this low.

Based on the way Lord Gloushire’s gaze softened, Penelope already knew she had persuaded him.

“Very well, my love.” He affectionately returned the term of endearment, bringing her hand to his lips. If she had truly been in love with him, the sweetness of Lord Gloushire’s gesture would have been enough for Penelope to melt into his arms.

Penelope barely comprehended everything else her fiancé said during the remainder of their walk, distracted by concerns about whether—apart from the remaining two Sundays for reading of the Banns—there were any other occasions that put her plan at risk.

“-personally believe it to be nothing more than a waste of time,” Lord Gloushire continued to drone on, “but you know how stubborn Lord Cedarvale is, almost as bad as the Duke of Blackmoore.”

The mere mention of His Grace snapped Penelope back to full attention—and she silently prayed that the viscount hadn’t noticed.

“Stubborn,” she echoed, her mind flooding with flashes of the duke’s self-satisfied smile, his playful taunts, the tuft of hair that bounced every time he moved his head just a tad too fast, the weight of his arms on her wais-

Penelope discreetly pinched her own arm—the only truly effective method of prying herself free from the clutches of the meddlesome thoughts that seemed determined to suffocate her.

His Grace hasn’t even been home in three days.She reminded herself,He should be the furthest thing from your mind right now!

The dowager duchess didn’t seem to know when her own son would return, nor whatever business it was that he needed to tend to. But the older woman didn’t seem to mind, having thrown herself into assisting Penelope and her mother prepare for the wedding.

“Unbelievably so!” Lord Gloushire hummed in agreement in the present, continuing to ramble, “But we’ve reached somewhat of a shaky compromise, not that we have much of an alternative, of course.”

“Of course,” Penelope echoed, flashing him a weak smile upon realizing that he was really talking more to himself rather than her.

The viscount eventually escorted Penelope back indoors, deposited her in the morning room with the other women where he had initially found her, and then bid them a cheery farewell before he carried on with his day.

“It has been a few days since his last visit,” Mother remarked as she peeked through the curtain to watch his coach leave. “So he must be rather busy these days.”

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