Page 20

CHAPTER 19

P enelope steeled herself, annoyed at how much her palms were sweating at the moment. The wind tugged at the painting in her hands, threatening to make her drop it.

And there was a very real risk that she would as Penelope had been unable to sleep since their return from last night’s ball. As a result, she found herself walking unsteadily as her head swam with last night’s developments.

But she pushed all of that away for now, tightened her grip on the painting, and pressed onwards towards the gazebo, where Mother presently sat, taking tea by herself.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” she greeted awkwardly, accidentally jolting the older woman upright.

“Penelope, dear?” Her mother returned her teacup to its saucer, “What’s wrong?”

Her question caught Penelope by surprise. “N-Nothing, Mother,” she lied. “I just wanted to bring you this.”

With just a glance, she was able to tell I was upset. I need to be more careful lest she deduce how crushed I am after…

She passed the canvas to her as she asked, “Please consider it an apology offering. Out of all the trips Father took us on, I believe you enjoyed our visit to East Brentmoor the most.”

“Oh, Penny!” Mother exclaimed. “You captured the sea exactly as I remember it!”

Penelope let out a dry chuckle at the obviously biased remark, “I can still hear the panic in your voice when Father picked up that crab with his bare hands and began showing it off.”

“Oh, don’t remind me!” shuddered her mother. “He was waving it around as though it were some sort of toy while I was completely terrified that he would blind either you or himself!”

Penelope grinned, settling into the chair next to her. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since our last discussion, Mother.” Penelope fidgeted with her hands. “And I wanted to apologize for losing my temper when you’re already going through so much.”

“Hush now, dear!” Her mother gave her hand a squeeze, “I know this has been an especially difficult time for you as well. I should be apologizing for being such a burden.”

Penelope shook her head fervently, “You have never been—and never will be—a burden, Mother.” She squeezed her hand in return, “These last few weeks have merely been… complicated—much like your marriage with Father had been.”

“I don’t know if ‘complicated’ is exactly how I would describe it…” Mother thoughtfully returned, reclining in her chair. “Yes, he had his flaws, but he had lots of wonderful qualities as well.”

“He did,” Penelope nodded in agreement, “but even you must admit that Father’s unfaithfulness did complicate your marriage to an extent...”

“It hardly felt that way to me.” Mother smiled. “He was my husband, and I loved him... imperfections and all.”

“But you deserved so much better, Mother. Can’t you see that?” Penelope frowned, but attempted to restrain herself—not wanting to start another fight. “You were the most wonderful wife to him to the end, while he betrayed your trust countless times over the years.”

“In that sense, I suppose... it was somewhat unfair,” Mother finally admitted, “but what else could I have done? No husband is perfect, so no marriage ever will be. Sometimes, one must simply be grateful for what she can get.”

Penelope mulled her words over.

“So, in other words,” she refilled Mother’s teacup for her, “you do not regret marrying father at all... despite everything ?”

“Of course not, dearest.” Her mother gently cupped her face. “After all, our marriage brought us you .”

Penelope thanked her mother for being so lovely as she returned her teacup to her. “In that case, you have greatly helped me to make up my mind.”

“About what, dear?” Mother sipped her tea.

“I have decided to get married,” she blurted out, her leg suddenly beginning to bounce as she did so.

“That’s so wonderful to hear!” Mother exclaimed in delight. “I know we haven’t had the chance to discuss much these last few weeks. But I always thought that you and the Duke of Blackmoore made such a wonderful-”

“Er, I wasn't speaking with regards to the Duke of Blackmoore, Mother,” Penelope sheepishly confessed, eliciting a confused frown from the older woman.

“I beg your pardon?” Mother blinked.

“He’s not the marrying type, Mother,” Penelope reminded her with an eye roll.

“Well, neither were you,” retorted the other woman, “so you can see why I thought he would be the best person to change your mind about the subject.”

Penelope’s hand tightened into a fist. “He’s nothing but a rake,” she silently added, Last night proved that.

Even though Penelope had vowed to be more open and forthcoming with Mother, she still couldn’t bring herself to admit out loud that she had almost confessed her attraction to His Grace under the archway last night.

That hadn’t been her initial plan, of course. Initially, she simply wanted to inform him that she intended to keep her distance from him—both because of their diverging approaches to her hunt for a husband as well as because Penelope didn’t like how comfortable she had allowed herself to grow around him since she and Mother began their stay at Blackmoore Manor.

But she faltered when he tenderly wrapped his jacket around her, as he despaired and pleaded for her to tell him what was bothering her, as he gently caressed her hands in his own—mindlessly stroking the back of her hand as they spoke.

She had almost fallen for it, almost allowed him in, almost allowed herself to admit that-

But thankfully, Lord Shawstead arrived just in time to remind her that she had foolishly walked into a trap. It was entirely possible, of course, that His Grace had no malicious intentions towards her last night—after all, he may be a rake, but it was quite unlikely he would be interested in Penelope in that way.

But as she listened to him remark on the advantages afforded by that particular bench, it reminded her how likely it was that His Grace had utilized it himself for similarly illicit exploits and it irritated her unexpectedly.

Am I jealous? she had worried, and that’s when it dawned upon her just how much danger she had carelessly put herself in—but no longer.

For even though she had thrown some of the blame on His Grace for ‘slowing down’ her quest for a husband. But upon realizing just how much she had allowed herself to fall for him, Penelope wondered whether she had been unknowingly working against herself or unintentionally holding back because a part of her reveled in the comfort that his company provided.

These and various other concerns had been rushing through her mind for most of last night, preventing her from getting the rest that she so desperately needed.

“If not the Duke of Blackmoore, then who did you have in mind?” Mother pressed, snapping Penelope out of her thoughts.

Penelope recounted how Rebecca had introduced her to Viscount Gloushire the night before. “And I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but Lord Gloushire did very clearly indicate his interest,” she added with a sheepish grin.

Mother let out a squeal of delight—the happiest noise to come out of her since Father’s passing. “Oh, Penny! My heart feels as though it might burst from excitement! What is he like? I believe I met the late Viscount Gloushire years ago, but as for his successor-”

“He’s sweet.” Penelope shrugged contentedly. “He's still quite handsome—though I can’t help but wonder how much more so he was during his prime. And... yes. That’s really all I can say for now, he’s polite and rather respectful.”

“Interesting how you don’t sound too excited about him,” Mother mused, “as opposed to whenever we discuss a certain other gentleman instea-”

“Mother...” Penelope groaned.

In response, the older woman gently patted her hand in reassurance. “I am only teasing you, Penny, dearest. Besides, love is not a ‘necessary’ requirement in the beginning. If you and Lord Gloushire really are a good match, then over time, you two may grow to love each other once you’ve settled into your marriage.”

“I suppose you’re right, Mother.” Penelope smiled.

But in truth, she did not mind if Lord Gloushire would ever grow to love her—or vice versa—all that mattered at this point was that he was willing and able to marry her.

As their conversation drifted to more mundane matters, Penelope found herself simultaneously resigned to her fate, while also relieved that she would no longer have the dread of her self-serving monster of an uncle hanging over her.

A part of her worried that she had been too harsh towards His Grace last night, but she pushed him out of her mind—she had more than enough problems as it was.

* * *

“I have enough problems as it is,” Duncan grunted, dodging Harlington’s lunge, returning with a parry of his own.

“Come now, Blackmoore!” Fairhaven whined from the sidelines of their friendly fencing spar. “You can be so selfish sometimes!”

His red-headed friend flinched as the book he had been attempting to read slid off his chest and fell onto the grassy patch next to him.

With a clang and the sound of their clothes shuffling, Duncan and Harlington’s swords disengaged. “You don’t need both of us!” Duncan gritted out. “Harls is more than capable of keeping the other guests occupied by himself.”

Harlington flashed him a smirk through the mesh of his saber mask. “I appreciate the faith, Blackmoore.,” his blade moved quickly—but Duncan’s was quicker, “but wouldn’t you agree that the original plan of three gentlemen and three ladies is a much more satisfying balance?”

Duncan saw his chance and lunged forward. But his footing faltered, and Harlington landed his final blow, bringing their bout to a rather anticlimactic end.

“You’re distracted today,” his friend remarked as Duncan tore off his mask—the gentle breeze hitting his face—only offering a low, affirmative grunt in response.

“You seemed fine at Sunbourne’s last night,” Fairhaven added, adjusting himself against the tree bark. “Meaning whatever’s bothering you must have happened afterward.”

“If that were the case...” Harlington chimed in, setting his sword and other gear next to Fairhaven on the grass, “it would have to involve someone outside of the ball... perhaps a particular lady who also happens to be staying at Blackmo-”

“It’s nothing,” Duncan growled, accepting a glass of water from a footman and swallowing a huge gulp. “I just don’t see why we must spend every waking second together, that’s all.”

“You’ve never complained before,” Harlington retorted, also accepting a glass from the footman. “Once again reinforcing my suspicions...” he added in a sing-song tone while putting on a kissing face.

Duncan let out a dry chuckle. “Why are you giving me such a tough time when Fairhaven is the one who was pining so miserably over Lady Beatrice he almost got us thrown out of Gillingham’s?”

“A-ha!” Harlington pointed an accusatory finger at him, “So you admit that you are pining, after all!”

Duncan joined his friends on the picnic blanket they had spread on the grass and let out a sigh. “It's not that,” he insisted—though his tone was less convincing than he would have liked.

He gradually recounted his final conversation with her from last night while his friends listened with utmost seriousness, “...she seems irritated with me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. How am I supposed to apologize if-”

“You fool!” Fairhaven propped himself up on his elbows. “We told you to be more careful! She’s probably fallen for you and is heartbroken that you won’t return her-”

“No.” Duncan cut him off—did he sense a hint of bitterness in his own voice? “Lady Penelope has always been well aware of my rakish nature and has chastised me for it from the very moment we met. She could never—would never—see me that way.”

His friends exchanged silent looks with each other—clearly disagreeing with Duncan, just not out loud. His lips parted to protest, but Fairhaven beat him to it.

“We could find out for sure.” Fairhaven pushed, “What if we invited her to the opera with the rest of u-”

“Don’t bother her,” Duncan warned, “She made it clear that she wants absolutely nothing to do with me from this point onwards—and that certainly extends to you lot too.”

But his objections fell on deaf ears.

A familiar mischievous glint shone in Harlington’s eyes. “If we convinced her to join us, then we could practically guarantee Blackmoore’s presence.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Duncan warned.

“You are neither her father nor her husband.” Harlington clicked his tongue as he reminded him, “If it turns out that she does indeed want to join us in the end, who are you to stop her?”

“She will not want to join us, this much I can assure you,” came Duncan's firm reply. “You’re both out of your minds if you think I will let you bother her.”

“What about a race?” Fairhaven flashed them a giddy grin. “If you get back inside before us, we’ll drop it. But if either of us beat you to it...”

A moment passed as the friends exchanged silent glances. In the next moment, all three friends had leaped to their feet and were sprinting back towards the house.