Mrs. Hughes sat back and nodded. “He may well be upset, but he loves you. Trust in that.”
Penelope shook her head. “It is not that. I know he will be angry and his anger certainly is righteous. That I can bear. Alas, the real reason I worry is his health. He is so fragile and frail. Something like this… I fear it will push him to the brink of death.” At the thought of her father’s ill health, she could not hold on to her emotions any longer. Tears filled her eyes and she let them flow, the darkness she’d held at bay overcoming her.
“What if he is so upset that he can never forgive me? What if I have killed my only living parent with my foolishness?” Sobs shook her body and she covered her face with her hands.
“Faith, Penelope. No. Do not fret. He is stronger than you think.” At once, Bridget rose and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her. She pulled her forward so Penelope’s head was resting on her shoulder.
“Besides, it was just a silly kiss. It will all be forgotten soon. It was the ale that did it, nothing else. Surely your father will understand, isn’t that so, Mama?”
Mrs. Hughes nodded as Penelope looked from one to the other through a veil of tears. She noted that all the malice was gone out of her friend’s face, and all that was there now was concern.
“Bridget is right, Lady Penelope. Once we arrive, we will explain to your father that Lord Carlton had rather too much to drink. By rights, it could be argued the fault of it all lies with Mr. Hughes, for it was he who insisted on competing for the honor of winning a kiss from a woman he has been married to for two-and-twenty years.” She shook her head at this.
“Truly, Papa ought to have just let Lord Carlton win after the fifth jug of ale. Then he would not have had so much to drink as to addle his mind to the point of confusing Penny and I.” Bridget nodded with abandon while Penelope did not quite know what to make of it all.
Her friend always had a tendency to give in to her emotions to a worrying degree, be it upset or joy, she felt everything to an extreme. Still, her anger at Penelope had been so burning hot earlier in the day that she’d been certain forgiveness was a long way in the future. But it seemed she was wrong.
“It is agreed, then,” Bridget said. “We shall exit the carriage with you at Branigan and wake His Grace. We will tell him that Lord Carlton did not manage his ale well, and thus a mishap occurred.”
“Indeed!” Mrs. Hughes agreed. “We will tell him everything and thus when he hears about it from some gabster or another, he will be prepared and not give any stock to an exaggerated report. You will see, Lady Penelope. All will be well.”
Bridget’s grip tightened on her as she smiled. “Yes, and tomorrow I am sure that Lord Carlton will call on both of us to apologize. I know he will. He is an honorable man, after all.”
Just as Penelope was beginning to feel a little better, Branigan Manor was coming into view. Her body stiffened as the carriage made its way down the long driveway and at last came to a stop. All would be well. Surely, it would. They would do just as Mrs. Hughes and Bridget planned. They’d speak to her father, calmly, and control the way he received the news. It would be well. It had to.
She forced a smile on her face, showing the two women she appreciated their support. When the carriage halted and a footman opened the door, she’d almost convinced herself that all would indeed be well.
However, the moment she stepped foot out of the carriage, she froze and all hope was extinguished as quickly as the flame of a candle in a breeze. For standing in the doorway, illuminated by the light of dozens of candles in the hall behind him, was her father.
And all it took was a look in his furious face to make Penelope understand that nothing would be well. Nothing at all.
Chapter 23
“You have ruined me! Ruined me! Who will marry me now? Nobody! I am destined to be an ape-leader! An old maid. Forever left on the shelf. Everybody will laugh at me no matter where I go.”
Penelope’s words stung. Each one was like a slap to the face and Daniel flinched further and further back until a wall behind him stopped him. The light was dim, and it was impossible to tell if it was dawn or dusk. Penelope stood before him, dressed in a primrose-colored gown, her hair cascading down her back, free of pins and restraints. There was something ethereal about her, but he could not quite figure out why. Her face most certainly was not angelic at all. It was red with anger.
“I didn’t mean it! I am sorry! It was the ale. I promise you!” His voice was tinged with desperation. “Forgive me, please.”
“Forgive you? Never. Your apologies matter little as they won’t fix my ruined reputation. I wish you had never returned here. I wish you’d never wasted another thought for Banbury or Oxfordshire. Or me.”
He trembled. Each and every word was like a dagger to his heart. Everything he ever feared to hear out of her mouth he heard now. He could not allow her to think the worst of him. No, he could not live with himself if these were the last words spoken between them.
“I am here for you! I want to make it right. I want to protect you. Please. Allow me.”
“I do not need your protection. I never have. I knew you lied when you told me you’d be back. In my heart I always knew you were not who you seemed. I always knew you were…” She turned and rushed out of the room, her gown floating behind her as if it were a veil.
He rushed after her into the hall. The floor was covered with a thick, red carpet he could not remember ever seeing before. Perhaps it was new. It felt strange beneath his feet as he ran after her.
“Penny!” He called out again but she did not stop. Her hair blew behind her and suddenly he realized how windy it was. Someone must have left a window open, peculiar, given that it was chilly outside. And inside. For a moment, he stopped and glanced out the window. Rain had set in. Drops of water banged against the windows and in the distance, lightning struck, followed by thunder. He shivered, reminded of something. Some other time long ago. When? He shook his head. It didn’t matter.
He rushed after Penelope and turned left through the archway, another part of Branigan Manor he did not remember at all from his childhood. Suddenly, the carpet beneath his feet ended and he stood on a black and white marble floor. A breeze struck him and he saw that the window was open. Penelope stood before it, her back to him.
“Penelope. Please. Look at me.”
She stood silently, looking outside and again the feeling of déjà vu crept up within him. He wanted to leave. Every fiber inside of him wanted to turn and go back to his own home. No. Back to London.
Did I not plan to leave for London? Why did I not? Why am I here at all? I should have known she would never forgive me.
