Page 87 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

“The physician says it was nothing more than a fainting spell,” Mother answered, her voice still somewhat shaky, “brought on by the tension of your uncle’s unexpected visit. He said it is also likely that your constitution is weaker than usual given how busy we’ve been with preparing for the wedding.”

“I... see.” Penelope gave an understanding nod as she took another sip of her soup, “And... do we know how Uncle Winston found out about the wedding? It was likely through the reading of the Banns, yes?”

“That does seem like the most reasonable explanation, yes.” Mother shrugged. “Or perhaps other churchgoers in our parish wrote to congratulate him on the news,” she sighed. “However, such details seem insignificant in light of everything that transpired in the garden today.”

“The doctor also said it was imperative that you exert yourself as little as possible for the next few days,” Mother added.

“Normally that would be a rather easy order to follow” Penelope chuckled, “but given that we are in the midst of preparing for a wedding...”

“Don’t even worry about that now,” Mother tutted. “The dowager duchess and I shall take care of as much of it as possible. The better you rest, the sooner you shall be able to rejoin us.”

“Yes, Mother.” Penelope sighed, not wanting to upset the older woman any more than she already had.

Mother handed her a handkerchief as soon as Penelope had finished the last of her soup.

“Now that you’ve had some nourishment,” Mother began, returning the bowl to the tray, “would it be all right if Lord Gloushire came to speak with you for just a little bit?”

“Is he here?” Penelope blinked in surprise.

“Indeed,” answered Mother. “We sent word to him as soon as the doctor left, and he arrived just over an hour ago.”

Well, Penelope could hardly turn the poor man away now. And with some help from Mother to help make herself a bit more presentable, she was finally ready to greet her fiancé.

“Oh, thank heavens you’re all right!” the viscount exclaimed the moment he set foot in the room.

Mother mumbled something about leaving the young couple to console each other in peace before making her exit, leaving a lone footman standing in the doorway facing the corridor as their new chaperone.

The viscount sank onto the same chair that Mother had used earlier.

“Getting to see you is certainly preferable to anything else the doctor prescribed,” Penelope joked, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

But the viscount paid her remark no heed. “Why didn’t you tell me that your uncle was such a fiend?”

Because then I would have to admit that I’m only marrying you to get away from him,she replied inwardly.

“I- I didn’t want to burden you,” she replied outwardly—an answer that had at least some truth in it.

Lord Gloushire’s lips pressed into a grimace. “My beloved...” he inched the chair closer to the bed, “after all this time, do you still have so little faith in me?”

“It’s not that!” Penelope exclaimed. “I just- You always have so much on your plate. I didn’t think it fair to burden you with my family’s problems.”

“Beloved, we are soon to be wed,” the viscount reminded her. “Your family is as much mine as it is yours.”

He looked down at his fidgeting fingers. “When I asked you this morning about possibly inviting him to dinner, you didn’t even-” he cut himself off with a scoff of disbelief.

After a quick exhale to regain his composure, he continued, “You didn't just make excuses, you expressly deceived me!”

“I’m sorry...” Penelope averted her gaze, “I think a part of me worried that you would call off the wedding if you found out how terrible my family is.”

“So, you truly do think so little of me after all,” the viscount sighed, bitterness evident in his tone.

Penelope wanted to object, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to prove him wrong. Several minutes of awkward silence passed before the viscount finally rose to his feet.

“It’s unfair for me to pick on you when you’re already unwell,” he stated matter-of-factly. “So I shall let you get some much-needed rest, Lady Penelope. And I hope...” his voice trailed off as he walked towards the door.

He flashed her one last look over his shoulder, “...I hope that you trust me the next time a predicament like this arises.”

“I will,” Penelope vowed. “Have a good afternoon, Lord Gloushire.”

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