Discovering the Devil

[1]Chapter One

I

PENELOPE gazed at her ring finger with mild fascination as she held it up to the light. The ruby ring perched there twinkled delightfully in the morning rays. She tilted her hand slightly to the left then slightly to the right, trying to decide which angle best captured the bloody jewel’s beauty.

“The Duke of Burberry outdid himself,” the Countess of Verra, mother of Penelope, remarked.

Penelope dropped her fingers just as suddenly as she had raised them and went back to nibbling her biscuit. “He didn’t buy it, you know. It was an heirloom.”

“He didn’t have to give you such a beautiful heirloom,” the countess argued.

Penelope smiled. “He does if he wants me to marry him.”

“And will you?”

“Will I what?” Penelope asked innocently.

“Will you marry him?”

Penelope sighed. “I already said no, Mama. It was the duke who insisted I keep the ring and think on it.”

The countess put down her newspaper to shake her head at her daughter. “Good god, Penelope! You’re too good for even a duke?”

“I never said I was too good for anybody. I’d just like to be in love with my intended,” Penelope told her mother, a phrase that had been repeated for probably the thousandth time.

“Love isn’t instantaneous, darling. You cannot just expect it to spring out from thin air,” Diana said exasperatedly.

“I never claimed to believe love was any of those things. But, I won’t marry without it.” Her mother remained silent. Penelope slipped off the heirloom and set it on the table. It looked more beautiful set down than on her hand. How fitting. “I should put this in its box. It’s too bad. It really is a nice ring.”

“You won’t be young forever,” Diana reminded her daughter.

“If you mean my looks will fade with age, dear mama, you’re wrong. I’ll grow to be exactly like you; a great beauty always.” This wasn’t an empty compliment. Diana had aged deliciously.

Penelope, her only child, took after her completely. They both had light brown eyes framed by long, dark-brown lashes. Both mother and daughter possessed a cloud-like halo of tight, chocolate brown coils. While the countess chose to wear it styled at her nape in a coiffure, Penelope loved to pile her coils atop her head. They were both incredibly lithe with delicate features and a rich, rose mahogany complexion. The countess’s looks had always been praised, just like her daughter’s.

“That’s not what I meant,” Diana replied irritably. “These years are the best for childbearing. The older you grow, the harder it is.” Penelope didn’t dare tell her mother she saw no future where she would squeeze a squealing brat out of her most sensitive possession. Instead, she sipped her tea. “Heed my advice, Penelope, and heed it well. Love must not always precede a marriage. Oftentimes there is only fondness. Love comes with time.”

Penelope knew this. How could she not? She wasn’t a wide-eyed, naïve teenage girl; after all, her twenty-third birthday was almost within arms reach. This ridiculous lie was told to everyone around her to barely conceal the obvious—she had absolutely no intention of getting married.

Penelope had courted a great many men, and tumbled with a few too. While there had been laughter, fondness, and some deep infatuations, there had never been an attraction strong enough to convince her to give up her current life. Life within the comforts of her childhood home offered her security, happiness, and—most importantly—independence.

Penelope couldn’t rationalize giving all that up to leave her home, submit to her husband’s rule, and produce heir after heir while suffering a bothersome mother-in-law just because of a few fleeting kisses. She had dealt with many charming men, a great many handsome men, and she refused to be swayed. It made her believe that, to a certain extent, she was immune to the sickness of love that infected all the women around her.

So, on her eighteenth birthday, Penelope laughingly told herself that she would only marry if she were to fall in love. By this point, she didn’t think such a thing was possible. Penelope would have to be struck dumb (that’s what love seemed to be to her anyway—blind stupidity) before she abandoned her comfortable life for that of a married woman’s.

But she couldn’t say any of this out loud. The countess would look at her as if she was mad and then reflect on her supposed failings as a mother. So, Penelope replied, “I’ll think about it, Mama.”

“Please do.” Diana looked back at her newspaper. “It’s not so bad if you reject the duke, I suppose. It’ll be all over the gossip rags.”

“What do you care about gossip rags? Especially in this backwater town?”

“Gossip rags are read by everyone, nobility included. They’ve already written about the ′blossoming beauty of Milford’ before. Your rejection of a duke will no doubt earn you a feature again, which will further the interest of other men.” Diana winked. “Who knows? You might even catch the attention of a prince.”

Penelope scoffed, and eagerly tore into her biscuit again. She hoped a prince wouldn’t chase after her. A rejection of that scale would be the end of the rope for her mother.

“Christ,” Diana murmured.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope chirped, eager to change the subject.

“That odious Hawthorne. He’s actually taken out an advertisement in the newspaper.”

That was strange, Penelope thought. Everyone avoided Hawthorne Castle, dubbed the Underworld, like the plague. It was known that his measly band of servants were paid three times the average salary, and yet even the most destitute peasants shied away from working there. “What for?”

“A new housekeeper. Apparently the old one died.”

“He probably killed her,” Penelope said seriously, before releasing a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Diana muttered.

“Don’t be crass, Mama. He couldn’t kill anyone.”

“He is cold, contemptuous, and ugly. I believe he’s capable of anything.”

The ‘ugly’ bit didn’t sound quite right. But, then again, Penelope couldn’t recall a time she’d actually seen Hawthorne. He was more of a legend to her than a living, breathing person.

“Poor Hawthorne,” Persephone drawled.

The countess regarded her daughter in shock. “Poor Hawthorne?”

“The only woman brave enough to keep his house goes and dies, adding to conjecture and rumor. No one is going to want to fill her position now.”

“No one should.”

Ernest, the butler, materialized in front of them. “Lady Stone is here to see Miss Penelope, Your Ladyship.”

“Send her in,” Diana said.

Lady Paulina Stone entered the drawing room and curtsied at the countess before kissing her best friend on both cheeks. “Good morning,” she said brightly. Her eyes were immediately taken by the ruby on the table. “That’s gorgeous.”

“Courtesy of the Duke of Burberry,” Diana announced, “who your friend is planning to reject. Do talk some sense into her, Polly.”

“You know she has her own mind, my lady,” Paulina laughed.

“I do,” Penelope said proudly. “You must come bearing news. You were just here the other day.”

“I do,” Paulina beamed. She held out her hand. “I’m betrothed!”

“Oh!” Penelope beamed as she examined the ring with both excitement and readying criticism. It was a simple pearl on a silver band. Nothing like her ruby, Penelope thought somewhat smugly. Still, it was perfect for Polly. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Paulina drew her hand back to smile at the ring herself. “I know. I’m so happy.”

“Andrew finally worked up the nerve to ask for your hand, hm?” the countess said, regarding her daughter’s friend with a smile. “I’m very happy for you dear. I was afraid I was going to have to give him a talking-to.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” Paulina giggled.

“I would’ve. It took him far too long.”

“Two years,” Penelope agreed.

“But he’s finally done it. And we’re getting married very, very soon,” Paulina said.

“How soon?” Penelope asked.

“As soon as possible.”

“Oh, Polly.”

Paulina shrugged. “You know as well as I do that every single detail of the wedding is planned anyway.”

Penelope giggled. “Quite right.”

The countess folded up her newspaper and rose. “Well, I’d like to read this without interruption. And I know you two would like to chat alone.”

“You don’t have to leave, Lady Redwood,” Paulina cried politely.

“Of course I don’t have to.” The countess kissed Paulina on both cheeks. “Good day, my darlings.” With that, she disappeared from the drawing room.

Paulina took the countess’s empty seat. “I’m getting married,” she breathed.

“You’re getting married,” Penelope echoed.

Paulina glanced at the ruby on the table. “This is the tenth, Pen. You’re aware that this is as good as it might get, yes? He’s a duke.”

Penelope idly tapped her fingers on the table. “I’m aware.”

Her friend sighed. “When are you finally going to get married?”

“When I fall in love.”

“Fat chance,” Paulina declared. “You hate marriage.”

“I don’t hate it. I just haven’t fallen in love.”

“And when you finally do, will you embrace it? Or will you be too afraid to welcome it?”

Penelope smirked. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“No, you’re not.” Paulina studied her friend closely. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Do you actually believe true love will scare me?”

“I have no doubt it will.”

That’s ridiculous, Penelope thought. “Hmm.” She glanced out the window again. Warm weather was calling her name. “You know what we haven’t done in a while? Smoke. We should go to the lake and light a pipe.” She turned back to her friend. “Are you up for it today?”

“I can’t,” Polly said.

“Why?” Penelope raised a condescending brow. “Has Andrew prohibited it?”

Polly smiled slyly. “Guess again.”

It didn’t take her friend anything short of a minute. Penelope blinked. “A baby? Is that why Drew proposed?”

“It’s only a suspicion, my cycle has been late before. Drew doesn’t know. I haven’t told anyone but you.”

“Goodness,” Penelope breathed. “You’re going to be a mother.”

“God willing.”

“No, not ‘God willing.’ God willed it.” Penelope could see her friend’s sobbing brat already. She resisted the urge to shudder. “You’re going to have a baby.”

***

Paulina only stayed a half-hour before departing, eager to jump into the arms of her fiancé. While Penelope would’ve loved a companion, she never let going to the lake without one stop her. The lake in question was a mile or so away, and Penelope happily walked the entire way. Although it was a beautiful day, complete with sweet breezes, beads of sweat dotted Penelope’s forehead, dampened her armpits, and slid down her back. The consequences of her exertion didn’t bother or disgust her, in fact, it excited her. A swim was even more excellent when you worked for it. When she finally arrived at her destination, it was empty as usual. Still, Penelope took the precaution of looking around to make sure no one was there. No one needed to see what came next.

Most refined ladies opted for sea walking dresses when they wanted to bathe in bodies of water. Penelope was not most women. She’d worn a thin white dress just for the occasion, and happily peeled off her constrictive layers before sliding into the inviting waters. Penelope swam to the lake’s deep, cool center before flopping on her back, and floating freely. She closed her eyes, soaking in this simple bliss. How could she get married? What kind of husband would let her swim naked? As she swam back to the lake’s edge, eager to smoke her pipe, she saw an unfamiliar horse. On top of it was a man, a gentleman by the looks of it.

Hellfire, Penelope thought. Once it became obvious she was bare, Penelope would be the hottest piece of gossip in Milford, again. She didn’t mind being the talk of the town too much, she was more worried about this information reaching her mother’s ears. The inevitable lecture would be endless. As she drew closer and closer, and the water grew shallower and shallower (showing bolder hints of naked skin), Penelope irritably wondered when he would do the gentlemanly thing and ride away. Only this figure, growing more intimidating by the second, did no such thing. He only stood there on his horse staring.

Penelope’s irritation bloomed into anger. What made this man think he had the right to stare? Once she was within shouting distance, she did just that. “Why are you still here?”

“Why are you swimming naked?” the man shouted.

“Why are you watching a woman swim naked?” she returned. The nerve of him. “I’m not a whore you know, or some meaningless peasant woman. I’m the daughter of the Countess of Verra.”

“So what?”

“So, turn around and stop watching me!”

“Or what?” the odious man asked. “You’ll go cry to your mama?” Penelope was too far to see his face, but she could feel the twitch of a mocking smirk. Penelope swam harder to the water’s edge, and still the man stared on. His full figure came into view, and what a figure it was. His skin was a rich shade of ebony and large muscles bulged through his pure black suit. His hair fell in black dreadlocks, which were swirled into a bun at the nape of his neck. His eyes were a piercing black that cut straight through her. For a moment—just for a moment—she was without breath. “I think your mama will be more concerned about her daughter swimming naked than about the whims of an innocent onlooker,” he continued. His voice was deep and smooth, seeping into Penelope’s pores like honey. He raised a brow at her silence. “Nothing to say?”

Penelope’s senses returned. “You don’t know the first thing about my mama.” Her voice sounded raspy and foreign even to herself.

“I can guarantee you that your mother is more afraid of me than I am of her.”

This comment would’ve inspired a laugh under normal circumstances, but this was the farthest thing from. Penelope lips folded into a frown. “And who might you be to inspire such fear?”

“The infamous Lord Hawthorne, of course.”

His name, which had meant next to nothing until this moment, sent a shiver down her spine. “My mama isn’t afraid of anybody.”

“Oh?” He asked flippantly. “She’s one of a few, then.”

“Count me among the few that don’t tremble at the sound of your name,” she added.

“I don’t think the spoiled beauty of Milford knows how to be afraid of anything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Penelope burst out angrily.

“Just that.” His eyes rested on her own, before trailing down to the rest of her body obscured in the water. Penelope felt herself grow hot. “It’s about time you get decent, don’t you think?”

“You don’t want to tell me what to do.” Penelope almost winced at the petulance in her voice.

“What would be the point? I don’t think you’ve ever listened to someone a day in your life.”

“Turn around,” Penelope ordered. Hawthorne jerked the reins of his horse and obeyed. She quickly donned her gown, despite her sopping wetness. She usually dried in the grass. “I didn’t bring a coach.”

He turned to face her. “Oh.”

Penelope crossed her arms. “The gentlemanly thing to do is offer me a ride.”

“You can come back the same way you came.”

Earlier, Penelope had been content to do just that. However, that was before this man’s rude intrusion. A part of her wanted to inconvenience him the same way he’d done to her. “I don’t want to.”

“Pity. I know a girl like you is used to getting whatever you want whenever you want it. Let this be an example of life’s greatest lesson: it’s not always so”

The condescension in his voice, smooth and stinging, elevated Penelope’s anger. And with her raised anger, came a desire for mischief. “If you do not take me home, I will run to my mama.”

“I told you that I had nothing to fear from her,” he said patiently.

“And I told you that you know nothing about my mama. I won’t tell her about the swimming part, of course. I’ll tell her about the earl who accosted me by the lake and wouldn’t let me go. She’ll be outraged, and outraged mamas know how to throw a fit. How long do you think before the news is all over Milford?”

Hawthorne’s face hardened. “So, the spoiled lady will lie. Why didn’t I predict that?” His eyes raked over her like coals. “You forget who I am. Scandals and rumors follow me everywhere I go. Another lie from another ignorant girl does not scare me.”

“Aren’t you looking for a housekeeper?” Penelope asked haughtily. “You cannot afford another rumor or whisper of scandal, especially from the ‘beauty of Milford’“.

Hawthorne glared at her, silent. He’d been bested and he knew it.

Penelope smiled, soaking in her victory. “Either you give me a ride home or try to suffer the consequences. Which will it be?”