“Why?”
“You’ll see,” Alice replied. “It’s a surprise.”
All through washing and getting dressed, Alice could feel that Penelope had questions, but she would not answer them. Penelope chose a yellow-striped frock that clung sweetly to her bosom and swirled around her petite frame.
“Will you tell me now?” Penelope asked while fixing her hair.
“No,” Alice pulled a white pin from a drawer and slid it into her sister’s locks. “Now, come with me. Aunt, Uncle, and Eliza are all out today, which is good because I do not want to deal with the fuss.”
“In here,” Alice opened the door to the scantily used solarium and pushed the door in.
Benedict spun away from the window and the bouquet of roses in his hand drew her eye; the mix of white and red roses was utterly beautiful. His silk cravat was a study in perfection while his forest green waistcoat, which had a subtle paisley design, looked like the bush the roses were plucked from.
Confused, Penelope glanced at Alice, then back to Benedict. “What’s—what is this, my lord? Alice, you did not tell me the two of you were court—”
Swiftly, Benedict pushed the flowers against her chest. “I realize this might come as a shock, but I am here to ask for the honor of courting you.”
Penelope’s lips slipped open, then closed, then opened again. “M-my lord… I—I have no words. Aren’t you… isn’t this a bit—”
“Scandalous?” Benedict’s lips twitched. “It is, but scandals come and go. If you are concerned about myself and Miss Alice, you needn’t worry. There is no bad blood between us, and she has encouraged my proposal behind the scenes.”
“He is right, Elly,” Alice told her. “I have no ill will here. I want you to imagine that I was never even involved, because, for a truth, it never truly was. Go on, Penelope, you deserve to be happy.”
Facing Benedict, she reached for the bouquet but paused an inch from taking them. “My lord, I think you should know that…”
“The situation with Rutledge?” Benedict whispered discreetly. “I was informed of the after-effects and I simply do not care. Because I have a plan for that too.”
“You do?” Penelope’s voice was also a mere whisper now. “I—I cannot ask that of you, my lord.”
He cupped her chin and smoothed a thumb over her cheekbone, “That’s the thing; you are not asking. I only request that you trust me.”
A fragile smile curved Penelope’s lips, “I do. But I fear I may need some tea to digest this news with as well.”
“Good,” Benedict all but beamed. “We are off to Almacks. May I compliment your gown? You look as fresh and vital as spring itself.”
It was dusk when they returned to the townhome, and she spotted their aunt’s carriage turning the corner; it told her that her family had just returned.
“I think this is the best time to speak with my uncle, my lord,” Alice told him. “It might save you the time of returning.”
Drawing the window curtain aside a touch, Benedict looked out and nodded. “I… I reckon so.” He huffed in nervousness, “I never did have the confidence of my brother,” he finished with a small smile.
When the vehicle canted to the carriage gate, he descended first and assisted Alice and Penelope in alighting, and Alice clutched onto her leghorn hat as a swift breeze nearly overtook it. She cast a long look at the sky, fearing it would start raining soon, before hurrying inside.
Aunt Agatha was halfway up the stairs with Eliza a step behind her but stopped short at the commotion and turned to face the three.
“Alice—oh, my lord. I did not know you would be coming around. Shall we put some tea on and have some cake?”
“No thank you, Aunt,” she replied while gently holding the invitation Benedict had just given her. “We had enough of both at Almacks.”
Fanning her words away, Aunt Agatha tutted, “Don’t be rude now, Alice, or speak out of turn. Please, your lordship?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Thorpe, though I do appreciate your hospitality,” Benedict replied, charming as ever, before angling his head to Penelope. “I must take my leave. I do hope the two of you enjoyed the evening.”
“Without question,” Penelope smiled, her cheeks flushed. “And thank you for having us, my lord.”
A strange sound came from his throat, “For yourself and in private, I would much preferBenedict. ‘My lord’ is too… stuffed-shirt for me.”
At that, a sharp scoff emanated from the stairwell. “And why would you encourage such misbehavior, my lord?” Eliza asked snidely.
