Page 92 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

Penelope watched her mother through the reflection of the mirror, patiently waiting for the seamstress to finish pinning a portion of the dress near her lower back that was evidently a bit too loose. Then, with the seamstress’ hesitant approval, Penelope carefully lifted her skirt a bit higher so that she could descend from the stool.

“Come now, Mother...” Penelope scooped her skirt up a bit more as she carefully joined them on the sofa, “let us save some of the tears for the wedding or the guests might wonder at our lack of fervor on the day itself.”

“What do you think of your dress, pet?” the dowager duchess smiled from the other end of the sofa. “Because I believe your mother’s view is very clear.”

“It’s perfect, Your Grace,” Penelope answered. “I hardly recognized my reflection earlier.”

Her Grace’s attention was distracted by the sound of the manor’s front door creaking open.

“Is that you, Duncan dear?” she called out.

The door to the parlor had been shut to afford Penelope some privacy while she got changed.

A moment of silence elapsed before the duke’s muffled, hesitant answer came through the door, “Yes, Mother. I agreed to meet Fairhaven and Harlington, I shall return shortl-”

“Perfect!” the dowager duchess called out, straightening her skirt as she stood up from the sofa to cross the room. “Before you see them, could you please take Lady Everbrook this parcel? We need to thank her for her help with the flowers and bits last week.”

The parlor door opened, and His Grace stuck his head through the door. “Did you say parcel, Mothe-”

His eyes landed on Penelope and her weeping mother.

Penelope smiled sheepishly as an apology for the commotion and tears. But he seemed concerned with an entirely different matter.

It took a moment of the duke running his eyes over her, mouth slightly agape before Penelope remembered that she still had her wedding dress on.

And his positive response wasn’t just her imagination because a playful smile spread across the dowager duchess’ face as she handed her son the aforementioned parcel,

“Doesn’t Lady Penelope just look lovely?” she cooed.

Her question evidently snapped the duke out of his daze, and he instantly straightened up as he accepted the parcel from her. “Indeed, she does, Mother.” His tone indiscernible. “Many gentlemen would envy Lord Gloushire’s position.”

Penelope valiantly fought the blush that pushed its way up her cheeks, but it was all in vain.

“Well, perhaps if you finally stopped your foolishness and searched for a wife of your own,youwould be the one in an enviable position,” tutted Her Grace. “Isn’t that right, Lady Penelope?”

Penelope’s fingers suddenly tightened on her skirt. “Y-Yes, Your Grace,” she answered, before cheekily adding, “Although many gentlemen would certainly envy His Grace, I know I certainly wouldn’t envy his unfortunate bride.”

Her remark elicited a hearty laugh from the dowager duchess, prompting the duke to place a hand over his heart to feign being hurt. “Mother! Do you betray your own son?”

“You betrayed yourself.” The older woman clicked her tongue. “If you were more of a gentleman to Lady Penelope, then perhaps she wouldn’t have such a... frank appraisal of you.”

Another smile tugged at the duke’s lips before he returned his gaze to Penelope. “Could you... stand up, Lady Pen?” he coughed.

“Er, of course.” Penelope complied, straightening her skirt as she did. “Why, Your Grace?”

The gentleman didn’t answer right away, his wide eyes too busy studying her from top to bottom and vice versa.

“Your Grace?” Penelope asked again.

“Never mind.” He cleared his throat. “For a moment I thought your skirt was swallowing you whole and just wanted to make sure you could still stand amidst all that fabric.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re as funny as ever, Your Grace,” she retorted sarcastically.

“Duncan!” the dowager duchess chided, smacking his arm playfully. “This is exactly the sort of thing that Lady Penelope was talking about earlier.”

Having stated his piece, the duke took his leave with a mischievous bow whilst declaring that he did not wish to be late.

“Shall we resume the fitting, Lady Penelope?” the seamstress politely asked once the parlor door had fallen shut once more.

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