Page 28

CHAPTER 27

“Y ou’re so wonderful for helping me with this Rebecca.” Penelope smiled, shaking out her wrist now that the last invitation had been signed. “I know you’re busy enough as it is with-”

“None of that now, lovely!” Rebecca cooed, reaching across the table to squeeze Penelope’s hand. “My heart is just overflowing with joy—both for you and for Lord Gloushire. William will tell you that I’ve been saying nothing but what a wonderful couple you are since we heard the news.”

The two of them had made quick work of the stack of invitations, all that was left now was for Lord Gloushire to sign them too, and then they would be ready to be sent off.

There was a sense of finality brought on by sorting out the invitations that had been missing during the flurry of activity these last few days that Penelope had been subjected to. Seeing her name in writing next to Lord Gloushire’s just below the wedding date, it all suddenly felt very real.

Penelope ran a finger over the dried ink on the invitation.

“What are you thinking about, Penny?” Rebecca smiled. “Is something the matter?”

Yes , Penelope wanted to answer. I’m worried that I’m making a huge mistake .

But Rebecca appeared to be more excited about the wedding than Penelope herself. So instead, she concealed the true reason for her dismay. “It’s nothing more than the typical nervousness one expects when planning a wedding,” she lied, before throwing in a truth as well. “I suspect these nerves will only worsen the closer we draw to the ceremony.”

Rebecca exhaled a dreamy sigh. “I went through a similar thing for our wedding as well. But chin up, my lovely, it shall all be worth it in the end.”

Almost on cue, the dowager duchess and Mother sauntered into the room, gleefully announcing that they had almost finalized the menu for the wedding breakfast.

The older women joined them at the morning room dining table, closely followed by Rowley, whose arms bore drafts, recipe books, and newspapers that they had evidently been using for reference.

The discussion picked up a rather dizzying pace. And despite Penelope’s best efforts to keep up, the best she could do was muster an occasional polite nod whenever she was spoken to.

“Do you think Lord Gloushire would prefer lemon or strawberry tarts?” asked the dowager duchess.

Penelope hesitated, thinking back to how Lord Gloushire had complained about the strawberry ices from before.

But that could have meant that he simply disliked strawberries as ices, not that he disliked them in general, right?

Evidently noticing her hesitance, her friend spoke up on Penelope’s behalf, “Why not both? After all, I doubt Lord Gloushire will have much appetite or opportunity to eat given all the excitement.”

“You just reminded me of my husband.” Mother chuckled, her eyes almost sparkling with fondness. “I could hardly see the altar because of how much I was crying and when I finally took my place across from him, he was as pale as a ghost.”

“Father was?" Penelope asked to confirm.

“Indeed.” Mother smiled. “If only you could have seen the way his fingers trembled as I tried to slip his wedding band onto him. All I could do was pray that I wouldn’t drop the ring in front of everyone.”

The dowager duchess delicately stifled her laugh. “I can still see him in my mind’s eye. We were all so worried he would collapse.”

“I hope your wedding wasn’t as nerve-racking, Your Grace,” Penelope interjected, still smiling at the notion of her usually self-assured father being reduced to a trembling mess.

The dowager duchess’ smile widened even further as a hint of pink tinged her cheeks. “Oh goodness, I’m afraid that my husband and I were hardly ‘present’ for our wedding. I was so busy staring into his eyes, I almost forgot to say, ‘I do’ when my turn arrived.”

Another round of airy laughter poured forth from all sides of the table. Penelope hoped that she could have memories even half as fond as her companions’ when she looked back on her own wedding day.

However, the other three women had one key advantage—they had each been completely head over heels for their grooms at the time.

Mother said that love isn’t a necessary ingredient for marriage, Penelope reminded herself, but her resolve weakened again when the other side of her heart bitterly retorted: It's an easy assertion for Mother to make given that her marriage was full of love.

Eventually, the discussion returned to its original topic of the wedding breakfast menu, but just as they were beginning to make progress, another interruption arrived.

“My apologies for interrupting your hard work...” Lord Gloushire grinned, “but may I steal my lovely fiancée for just a moment?”

With both mothers’ blessings, a footman accompanied Penelope and Lord Gloushire on their impromptu stroll around the gardens.

Their conversation began in the exact manner that all of their other conversations had been going recently: with him questioning about her day, followed by her informing him that she had been focused on the wedding preparations, then followed by her inquiring about his day so far, and so on.

“I am pleased to inform you that I received confirmation that the first reading of the Banns was successful in your parish as well, dearest,” chirped her fiancé. “Everything is proceeding as required.”

Penelope made a happy noise of acknowledgment, but her palms grew sweaty at this news—despite the fact that it was favorable—since this was where her plan to marry before Uncle Winston could stop her was most likely to fail.

But then again, in the brief period that she shared a roof with that monster, he hadn’t attended church with them even once. She just needed to hope that he wouldn’t attend the next two Sundays either and her freedom would practically be guaranteed.

“I know it's been busy, busy, busy these days,” Lord Gloushire gently patted the arm that she had linked with his, “but what if we held a small dinner between our families? It would allow us some well-deserved respite and we could even invite your uncle, the present Lord Punto-”

“No!” Penelope exclaimed before she could stop herself, bringing them to a halt where they stood.

Withdrawing her arm from his, she stuttered, “M-Mother and I intend to surprise him with the news of our wedding. He’s much advanced in years and we want to avoid troubling him with any of the wedding preparations as much as possible.”

Lord Gloushire scanned her features in puzzlement. “But won't your uncle count it as a mark of disrespect against him if we do not involve him in the-”

“Not at all!” Penelope reached for his hands again. “We were never close, you see. So, involving him as little as possible would actually be the kindest thing we can do.”

“However-”

“ Please... ” Penelope cut him off with a plea, swallowing the lump in her throat, “...my love.”

His eyes widened at her appeal, not just because of how wholehearted it was, but also because she had never once called him ‘my love’ before. Certainly, he had employed it on her several times over the course of their courtship, but she had only ever repaid him with a light blushing of her cheeks or a playful punch on his arm.

That is, until just now.

Penelope knew it was an underhanded tactic. But she was so fearful of Uncle Winston finding out that she had no choice but to stoop this low.

Based on the way Lord Gloushire’s gaze softened, Penelope already knew she had persuaded him.

“Very well, my love.” He affectionately returned the term of endearment, bringing her hand to his lips. If she had truly been in love with him, the sweetness of Lord Gloushire’s gesture would have been enough for Penelope to melt into his arms.

Penelope barely comprehended everything else her fiancé said during the remainder of their walk, distracted by concerns about whether—apart from the remaining two Sundays for reading of the Banns—there were any other occasions that put her plan at risk.

“-personally believe it to be nothing more than a waste of time,” Lord Gloushire continued to drone on, “but you know how stubborn Lord Cedarvale is, almost as bad as the Duke of Blackmoore.”

The mere mention of His Grace snapped Penelope back to full attention—and she silently prayed that the viscount hadn’t noticed.

“Stubborn,” she echoed, her mind flooding with flashes of the duke’s self-satisfied smile, his playful taunts, the tuft of hair that bounced every time he moved his head just a tad too fast, the weight of his arms on her wais-

Penelope discreetly pinched her own arm—the only truly effective method of prying herself free from the clutches of the meddlesome thoughts that seemed determined to suffocate her.

His Grace hasn’t even been home in three days. She reminded herself, He should be the furthest thing from your mind right now!

The dowager duchess didn’t seem to know when her own son would return, nor whatever business it was that he needed to tend to. But the older woman didn’t seem to mind, having thrown herself into assisting Penelope and her mother prepare for the wedding.

“Unbelievably so!” Lord Gloushire hummed in agreement in the present, continuing to ramble, “But we’ve reached somewhat of a shaky compromise, not that we have much of an alternative, of course.”

“Of course,” Penelope echoed, flashing him a weak smile upon realizing that he was really talking more to himself rather than her.

The viscount eventually escorted Penelope back indoors, deposited her in the morning room with the other women where he had initially found her, and then bid them a cheery farewell before he carried on with his day.

“It has been a few days since his last visit,” Mother remarked as she peeked through the curtain to watch his coach leave. “So he must be rather busy these days.”

“And yet...” Rebecca interjected, playfully elbowing Penelope in the side, “...he found a way to come visit our lovely Penny even if only briefly.”

“The mark of a good man.” Mother beamed, lithe fingers releasing the curtain to allow it to fall back to its original place. “Pardon me for stating the obvious, but every visit of his reminds me of what a dutiful husband he shall be.”

She was right, of course, Penelope had no doubts about it. But Penelope worried that she wouldn’t be as dutiful of a wife, especially not when her thoughts continued to drift towards-

“-isn’t that right, Penny?”

“A-Absolutely,” Penelope blurted in response in the hopes that if she replied quickly enough, they wouldn’t realize that she hadn’t been listening at all.

“It’s settled, then!” Rebecca squealed. “I shall speak to William at once! Once you return from your honeymoon, we shall be the very first to invite you to dinner!”

During a previous visit, Penelope’s fiancé had recommended a brief, quiet honeymoon in the countryside while Mother watched the children on their behalf.

“We could also bring Mother and the children along,” Penelope had offered. “That way, we won’t have to cut the honeymoon short.”

“No, no, dearest!” the viscount had opposed. “The honeymoon will be one of the rare chances we’ll have to bask in each other’s company. After that, you shall be very busy in your maternal duties, and I in my paternal and patriarchal ones.”

Over the course of their discussion, Penelope had quietly pondered whether Lord Gloushire’s insistence was borne of genuine love for her or borne from the fact that he knew it to be the right thing to do.

“Love is all-consuming.” His Grace’s voice echoed in the walls of Penelope’s mind.

‘All-consuming’ was not how Penelope would define Lord Gloushire’s feelings for her or vice versa.

As she resumed her place at the table, attempting to appear interested in the proposed plans for the wedding breakfast’s seating arrangement, Penelope’s mind showed her some mercy and finally stopped wandering.

But she knew that once all had fallen quiet, it would get right back to tormenting her once again.

All-consuming.