Page 30

CHAPTER 29

P enelope gradually became aware of the sounds of quiet sobbing.

She screwed her eyes tighter before slowly opening them.

“M-Mother?” she called out weakly.

“Oh, my poor darling!” the older woman sobbed, practically jumping up from her chair to kiss Penelope’s forehead and temple. “I’m so, so sorry... so sorry,” she continued to babble.

Her mother’s sobs elicited a lump in Penelope’s already painfully dry throat.

“D-Don’t apologize, Mother, please...” Penelope lifted a weak hand to brush away the stray locks on her face. “None of this is your fault.”

The older woman didn’t reply, only reaching for a nearby glass of water as she made a gesture with her free hand. “Are you strong enough to sit up, my darling?”

“Yes, Mother.” Penelope shuffled herself carefully, but quickly—eager to prove that there was nothing for her to worry about.

After gulping down her water, Mother immediately took the glass out of her hands and replaced it with a bowl of soup, “Eat as much as you can stomach, darling. You need to replenish your strength.”

Mother closely eyed each of Penelope’s movements, her pupils following the spoon as it dipped into the soup and was brought to her lips.

Eventually, Mother’s demeanor began to relax, and Penelope decided it was finally safe to ask, “What happened?”

“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.”

He didn’t bother to answer her, save for a polite nod of acknowledgment. As the door began to close behind him, Penelope braced herself to stew in the awkward air that had gotten left behind even after his departure.

But the sound of more voices in the hallway told her otherwise.

She strained her ear to see if she could tell who they were. A part of her feared that Uncle Winston had somehow found his way into the house.

No, she told herself, the voices sound too calm for that to be the case.

Her curiosity was soon sated when the door swung open again, but this time to reveal Mother and the Earl of Graystone.

“Jerry Gray?” Penelope beamed, sitting up straighter against the pillows at the sight of her old friend. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Oh Penny!” he answered, pressing a chaste kiss to her hand. “I’ve been meaning to come to offer my congratulations the moment I heard that your wedding preparations had already begun. And I finally had some time today but...”

His voice trailed off as his concerned eyes quickly ran over her form.

“Uncle Winston came by,” Penelope explained despite knowing that Mother had most likely already done so, “but I’m all right.”

Once again, Mother excused herself, again allowing the same footman from earlier to take over as chaperone. He took up his usual post, just outside the open doorway to afford them sufficient privacy.

Unlike her fiancé, Graystone decided to pace around the room rather than confine himself to the chair by her bedside. The silence between them was companionable and familiarly comfortable.

“I just realized...” her old friend let out a husky chuckle, “I’ve been engaged for longer, yet you'll somehow manage to get married first.”

Penelope chuckled along with him. “Come Jerry, surely by now you should know full well that I always have—and always shall—outdo you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he bit back playfully. “Just look at how well it’s working out for you so far.” He nodded towards her.

Although she knew he didn’t mean anything by it, Penelope felt the smile she had been wearing practically fall off her face, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by her companion.

“What is it?” he frowned.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” she asked him directly, seeing no point in tiptoeing around the subject.

Graystone’s absent-minded pacing ground to a halt upon hearing her question. Frustratingly, however, instead of providing an answer he simply tossed her question back at her.

“Do you?”

Penelope raised a hand to gently massage her temple. “Lord Gloushire’s a wonderful ma-”

“But not wonderful enough for you to be sure about him?” Jerry interjected.

Penelope bit her lip, pausing before she finally admitted—both to him and herself, “Yes...”

Graystone’s eyebrows shot up in what appeared to be a mix of amusement and confusion. Approaching her bed, he finally decided to take a seat. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Grayston sucked in a deep breath before assuring her,

“It is only natural for you to not be as... enthralled by him. After all, your courtship has been somewhat rushed—a fact that I believe we should all be grateful for given your original predicament with your uncle.”

Penelope fidgeted with the edge of the blanket that came up to her waist. “Yes, I just- I don’t know what has gotten into me these days,” she mumbled tiredly. “My initial plan was to marry whoever was willing as long as he wasn’t Uncle Winston. But now—for some inexplicable reason—a part of me wishes to marry someone who I actually...”

“-who you actually care for?” Graystone finished her thought for her when she trailed off.

He studied her expression as he spoke, familiar eyes not allowing her a single moment of respite. “Penny...” he exhaled her pet name softly almost as though she were a small animal that he did not wish to startle.

“Yes?”

“The primary reason I can think of for one in your shoes to suddenly become dissatisfied with marrying anyone is because one has developed an interest in marrying someone in particular.”

Her heart crashed against her ribs, a guilty blush spreading up her cheeks. She wanted to deny the charge brought against her, but Graystone knew her well enough to see right through her if she did.

“What should I do?” she squeaked out in defeat.

Graystone shifted in his seat. “That depends on who the other man is—that is, who the real object of your affection is.”

His words implied another accusation—yet another testament to how well he knew her. But he was polite enough to leave it unsaid for Penelope’s sake, it was but a means to give her the benefit of the doubt—a chance for her to prove his assumption wrong.

But when she merely continued to toy with the edge of her blanket, Graystone had little choice but to let out an exhale at the fact that he had—once again—presumed correctly.

“Penny... you swore you wouldn’t let your guard down.”

“And I didn’t!” she exclaimed. “I was prepared to reject any unwanted interest, but I-” her voice faltered momentarily, “I didn’t expect that unwanted interest to be from my side.”

“Penny!” Graystone’s voice grew frustrated for the first time since his visit began, dragging a hand over his face before lowering his voice again, “Not only is a rake like him not worth the sacrifice, but do you also mean to tell me that you’re questioning whether to marry a perfectly fine gentleman like Lord Gloushire when you don’t even know how the other man feels about you?” he hissed.

Penelope’s fingers began to tremble, unintentionally prompting Graystone to soften his approach.

“All I’m saying, Penny...” the chair creaked as her companion inched it closer, “You simply must marry Lord Gloushire.” His eyes bore into hers earnestly. “There is simply no angle from which the alternative would work bette-”

“Of course I intend to marry him!” Penelope choked out, ignoring the stinging tears that had begun to well up behind her eyes. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Her reply took Graystone aback—literally and metaphorically—as he leaned back in his chair.

“But did you just ask me if you were making a mistake?” His head tilted sideways as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Yes, I was merely asking for your opinion.” Penelope cleared her throat. “I may be a fool who allowed her heart to get the better of her, but...” her voice slowed as the weight in her chest grew, “I am not so far gone that I have completely lost sight of the reality of my circumstances.”

“That’s a relief to hear.” Her friend shot her a mischievous smile. “I was beginning to suspect that that accursed wretch’s charm was powerful enough to incapacitate even your sharp mind.”

Penelope reached for the pillow next to her and threw it at his face. “You’re still the most unhelpful man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!”

Graystone dodged the pillow with a lighthearted laugh, before clearing his throat as his expression grew more serious, “With regards to your question, Penny... you said it yourself, you don't have an alternative. In that case, rather than being a mistake, marrying Lord Gloushire is the only correct choice.”

Penelope swallowed in acceptance, Graystone’s straightforward reasoning proving undeniable and irrefutable as usual.

“Thank you...” she met his gaze, “...for the assurance. I had thought as much myself, but it is, of course, very different when someone else says so.”

“Marry him, Penny,” Graystone urged her once more, as if he hadn’t already made his point very clear. “I am certain you won’t regret it—unlike the alternative.”

“I will,” Penelope promised—not just to him, but to herself as well. “You’re right...”

“As usual,” came the smug addition.

“I thought bedside visitors were supposed to make the infirm feel better, not worse?” she huffed, her hands threatening to throw another pillow at him.

“What do you mean? You look better already.”