Page 32

W hen they returned from the dinner, Penelope thought to check on Odette once.

Penelope knocked lightly before entering her room. The lamps had been turned low and Odette was already tucked into bed, her blanket pulled up to her chin.

Penelope walked in, careful not to make too much noise.

“I thought you might still be awake,” she said when she noticed the girl stirring lightly in her bed.

“I am,” Odette didn’t turn her head.

Penelope came to sit at the edge of the bed, smoothing a hand over the duvet.

“It’s quite late,” Penelope said and Odette sat up in her bed.

“I know but I just could not sleep,” Odette said. “I was finishing the latest book you gave me.”

“Oh?” Penelope smiled. “And what did you make of it?”

“I liked it,” Odette nodded. “But you know that I always enjoy your recommendations. Do you think one day I’ll have read just as many books as you have?”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Penelope smiled. “In fact, I am certain that you will end up reading quite a lot more, judging by how fast you seem to go through them.”

“You cannot fault me for being a fast reader,” Odette shrugged her shoulders. “There is not much to do around here, as you know already. The books at least let me escape to a world where I do not have to follow so many rules.”

Penelope frowned.

“Did you ask him?” Odette’s next question seemed to have read Penelope’s mind. “About.. Well, you know.”

“I spoke to your father, yes,” Penelope said. She was not sure how to break the news to Odette.

“And?” She could hear the excitement in her voice.

“He... he says Fergus and Lewis must accompany us. At a distance, of course,” she added quickly, hoping it would help.

“So we’re not going alone,” Odette blinked slowly.

“No, but?—”

“You promised,” Odette interrupted, “You said you would make it happen.”

“I did try,” Penelope said softly, reaching for her hand. “And I’m not breaking my word. We’ll still go, and Isadora will join us, too. It will be lovely, I promise.”

“But it won’t be what I asked for,” Odette said, sitting up a bit more. “It never is. You say yes, but he says no, and then everything stays exactly the same.”

Penelope’s chest ached at the words, more so because of the resigned way they were said.

“He’s only trying to keep you safe, dearest. The world can be?—”

“I know. Dangerous.” Odette pulled the blanket higher, “Everyone keeps telling me that. But I was really hoping that you would convince him for a change.”

Penelope opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came at first. The girl’s disappointment was not dramatic, but rather it was quiet. It felt worse.

“Odette... I’m sorry,” Penelope sighed.

“It’s all right,” she murmured, turning onto her side. “I think I’d like to sleep now.”

Penelope remained seated for a moment longer, then slowly rose to her feet. There was nothing that could be said at this moment to make the little girl feel better, and Penelope did not wish to make false promises either.

Instead, she placed a gentle kiss on Odette’s head and whispered, “Good night, darling.”

But the girl didn’t respond. Odette’s silence hurt more than all the yelling in the world ever could.

And it felt horrible to let her down.

Penelope left Odette’s room with a weight settled inside her chest. As she passed the hallway that led to Alexander’s study, she noticed the light was still on.

She hesitated for a moment. Her heart still hadn’t quite decided what to do with itself after that kiss but she did not want to go to bed either. She knocked once—softly.

“Come in.”

She opened the door to find him sitting down by the window. He looked up, visibly surprised to see her.

“Penelope,” he said. “You have not slept?”

She stepped inside, folding her hands in front of her.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” he said, reaching for a glass of wine. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, thank you,” She hesitated at first, but then nodded. It would do her some good to get the edge off.

She took the seat across from his desk as he poured the wine, and it was only then that she noticed his state: his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, his collar slightly open, and his hair, which was usually so neatly combed, looked as though he’d run his hands through it half a dozen times.

He looked tired and entirely unlike the composed version of himself that everyone else usually saw. She cleared her throat, accepting the glass as he passed it to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and moved behind his desk, but didn’t sit down. He leaned against it instead, wine in hand.

“You’ve just come from Odette’s room,” he said.

“I have.”

He didn’t ask what was said. Somehow, he already knew it wasn’t a happy conversation.

“She’s disappointed,” Penelope said softly. “She’s trying not to be unkind about it, but she is.”

“I know.”

“She doesn’t understand it,” Penelope continued. “I’m not sure I do either.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. It was a point that they would never see eye to eye on , perhaps.

“May I ask something?”

His brow lifted slightly.

She pressed on, fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass.

“What makes you so protective of everyone close to you?” she said. “Was it always like this?”

It was a question that had been swirling inside her mind after their little argument today. He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, she feared she’d overstepped. She dropped her gaze to her wine, ready to murmur an apology. But Alexander spoke again.

“My father.”

She looked up again.

“Your father?” she said. She had not expected him to bring him up again.

“He was… a very selfish man,” he said, “Manipulative. Brilliant at it, too. The sort who always knew exactly what to say, exactly how to twist things in his favor. Perhaps that has something to do with the way I react to things now.”

Penelope sat very still. She did not quite know what to say to him.

“He used me,” Alexander continued, “for leverage, for appearances and most of all, for convenience. He controlled everything: my tutors, my friends, the hours I slept, the way I spoke at table. Everything was a calculation. Everything about me was a tool to maintain his image.”

Penelope felt her heart beating loudly inside her chest. She had not expected him to get this raw with her. He paused, staring into his glass for a moment before taking a slow sip.

“I spent most of my childhood trying not to make mistakes. Because every mistake, no matter how small, returned with consequences I couldn’t see coming.”

She wanted to reach for his hand. But she sensed he needed the space to say it uninterrupted.

“Perhaps that has something to do with why I am the way I am.”

“But I do not understand,” Penelope said finally. “If he controlled every aspect of your life, why do you then try to do the same thing with those close to you?”

“It is not the same thing.”

“But it is a sort of control,” Penelope argued.

“Penelope,” he said in a low voice. “I do not think you understand the sort of man my father was. If you did, you would not be making a comparison as crass as this.”

“Then I misspoke,” Penelope admitted to her mistake. “Tell me what sort of man he was then?”

“You know, I had gone years without talking about him,” Alexander mused. “But then you came along, and now I find myself thinking back to memories that I felt I long forgot.”

“That is how you heal,” Penelope said. “And you are safe to speak with me about anything. It will help you take off the weight you have been carrying on your chest all these years.”

“Do you wish to know why I am not like my father? And why any comparison is unfair?” Alexander said, his voice strained .

Penelope could only nod. She felt the anticipation built up inside of her, though she was also scared of what she might find out.

“I was thirteen,” he said, “And my father had started losing more than money. He was losing control then, over his reputation, his debts, and perhaps worst of all, over himself.”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the floor or anything that wasn’t her face. But his words were steady, and she knew better than to interrupt.

“There was a man. Dangerous and powerful in the way men become when they learn to wield fear better than fortune. He let my father fall deeper and deeper into debt, as if feeding him rope. Until the moment came when he pulled.”

A gasp escaped Penelope’s mouth.

“My father had nothing left,” Alexander continued. “No land and no leverage. And so he could not pay back debt he owed.”

There was a tightness in his voice . Penelope could tell this was a painful memory for him to recall.

“I had just left my fencing lesson,” Alexander started.

“But the carriage never came to pick me. I waited until the sun set, then I began to walk. It was not unusual for me to do this, and I actually liked the view on the way home. I had done it dozens of times before but this time, I never reached home.”

Penelope pressed a hand to her chest.

“What do you mean?”

“They took me from behind in the alley,” he said. “I didn’t scream. I remember having a cloth pulled over my face, and then everything went dark.”

He moved then, as if the act of staying in one place with the memory had grown too heavy. He moved to the window and stood there.

“They kept me in a basement,” he said. “I remember the smell of damp and rotten wood that invaded my senses every day. I was fed water in a rusty tin and they only gave me a single meal every other day. Cold, tasteless.”

“Alexander,” Penelope began to shake her head. She had no idea he had been carrying something so heavy with him all this time.

The thought of a boy, her husband, trapped like that made her ill.

“How long were you there for?”

“I was there for a week,” Alexander said. “No one came, nor did my father bother with paying the ransom that was demanded. He never lifted a finger, actually. I think I was the least of his worries.”

“How could a father be so cruel?” Penelope asked, unable to help herself.

Alexander shrugged his shoulders. “In the end, I was let go. I was too pathetic to be worth the trouble and I was told that starving a boy wouldn’t make the debt disappear. He put me in a cart, drove half a mile, and left me in the middle of the road.”

Alexander turned then, and for the first time, she saw the pain he had. It was carved deep into the lines of his face, no longer fresh but deeply embedded inside him.

“I walked home,” he said. “When I arrived, my father was hosting a dinner party. He looked at me once and told the butler to send me upstairs. He didn’t ask what happened. I suppose he did not want to spoil his mood by finding out.”

Penelope brought a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t hold back anymore. Her arms reached for him, and wrapped around his torso. She pressed her cheek to his chest.

It took him a moment. But then his arms came around her, too.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and her voice cracked. “Alexander. I had no idea. No one should ever have gone through that. Least of all a child.”

He didn’t answer, but the way he held her was answer enough.

“I kept the club,” he said after a long moment, “because I needed to prove to myself that I wouldn’t become him. That I could hold that world in my hands and not fall into it.”

She pulled back just enough to see his face. “And you haven’t?”

“Never gambled a day in my life,” he said. “And I never will.”

“You’re a strong man,” she whispered, and the words came out as if spoken from her very core. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. I mean that. You carry all of these horrible things with you, but you do not let it show.”

His gaze met hers, softened now in a way she hadn’t seen before.

“I admire you,” she added. “Not because you endured it, but because you refused to let it turn you into something cruel. You built something out of it. I am sorry for implying that you were anything like him.”

“You did not know,” he offered weakly. “But now that you do, know that me wanting to keep my family safe is not the same as my father. We might share a liking for control, but that is where the comparison ends.”

“There is no comparison to begin with,” Penelope went on. “I should be more understanding of you. I thought I had it hard with my own father at home, but yours makes him sound like a saint.”

“Do you think George would appreciate that argument?” T he corners of his mouth turned upwards, and Penelope could not believe how he managed to find humor even in a moment like this.

“I suppose,” she said and embraced him again. “I am here for you, Alexander. No one will ever be so cruel to you again.”

“Strange,” he muttered against her hair. “I have never had someone say they will protect me before.”

“Then I will say it,” Penelope said. “I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

“You know, I have more enemies than I have friends due to my work,” he admitted. “Are you sure you are up for it?”

“I did not stutter,” Penelope said with confidence.

In reality, Penelope did not know if that was even possible for her to do. But to the best of her abilities, she would protect Alexander however she could.

Emotionally, for one. He had a lot of healing to do, and now that he was finally opening up to her, she was going to help him along every step of the way.

When Penelope finally left, Alexander could not sleep again. He hadn’t meant to say so much to her. But it had been difficult to stop once he had started.

He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, annoyed at the persistent ache behind his eyes.

What had come over him?

He had always been careful. Emotions were to be managed, not indulged. But Penelope had so easily broken through his barriers.

And now she knew things. Things he hadn’t even spoken aloud in years.

“What am I to make of you?” he wondered out loud to himself.

Could it be—God help him—that he was beginning to feel something?

He didn’t know what to call it. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.