“I suppose they blame me and my rotten heritage.”
It was Alistair’s expression as he spoke these words that alarmed Daniel greatly. His friend did not meet his eyes. In fact, he looked away, too uncomfortable to meet his gaze.
“They do blame me, yes? I am sure they do, for I am the one with the terrible reputation. I’m thought of as a cad and a dandy. A rake, on top of it all. She is loved and adored by all.”
Alistair sighed deeply and turned to him. “And it is that, her sweet and loving nature, which is proving her undoing. For there is little society loves more than the downfall of someone unexpected. It matters little if the audience that witnesses the downfall are of the high society or of much humbler origins. Everyone loves a spectacle. Such is life. So yes, they blame her.”
Daniel sat forward in disbelief. “Her? But why? It is I who acted reckless. It is I who should be considered at fault, not her.”
Alistair rose and paced the length of the room. He was dressed in a simple pair of pantaloons, a white shirt, and a green waistcoat. His hair was tucked behind his ear in a casual fashion. Dressing, grooming, and looking fit for company seemed far from his friend’s mind.
“And yet it is her they blame. You and I are men. We are expected to act rowdy and behave poorly, especially when a bit bosky from too much drink. It is the lady who is supposed to push us away, to protest, or to put us in our place. She did not, and thus she is considered to have invited your advances. I fear from what I heard, even among the servants in your own household, that her reputation is…shattered.”
Shattered. Daniel closed his eyes. This could not be. No. He could not possibly have done this to her. Could he? He pushed himself out of bed and rushed toward the armoire. He pulled on his trousers, throwing his night shirt onto the bed as he went. Alistair frowned at him.
“What is it you are doing?”
He turned to his friend. “I must go and see her. Right away.” He did not wait for Alistair to protest, which he knew he would if given the chance.
“Daniel!” He called after him. “Please do not make another rash decision.”
Alistair’s voice drifted into the background as Daniel stepped into the hall and rushed down toward the staircase. He took note of the way his servants stared at him as though he were a mirage of some sort or perhaps a ghost. He did not care. The more the servants looked at him with contempt, the quicker his feet seemed to move. When he made it to the staircase, he found himself falling into a sprint.
He ran down the stairs, leaping over the last few steps with one jump and raced out of the front door toward the stable. He was only halfway there when he spotted one of the stable hands leading his black horse, Valhalla, down the slope.
“Halt!” he hollered to the stable hand’s surprise. He rushed the young man, took the reins, and swung himself atop the horse. Lacking a saddle, he found himself momentarily unsteady. He reminded himself of his purpose.
“Hya!” He drove his heels into the horse’s side and the gelding took off, galloping through the garden and into the thicket of the woods which separated the Carlton estate from the Duke of Branigan’s. As his horse jumped over a hedge and into the woods, he knew one thing for certain: he had to get to Penelope and at once. He could not, no, he would not allow her life to be ruined by his foolishness. If there was one thing he knew for sure now, it was that he loved her. And he would do anything in his power to protect her. Anything.
Chapter 24
Penelope paced up and down the hall outside of her father’s chamber and came to a stop in front of the door. She raised a hand, ready to knock. With her hand in the air, she steadied herself. This was the third time she’d attempted to knock on her father’s bedchamber. She knew already that she could not bring herself to actually do it. She was too fearful of the condition he might be in, and how he might receive her.
It had been three days since the horrible evening at the Harvest Festival. Three days in which her father refused to speak to her. Three days spent alone, surrounded by the whispers of her own servants. People she’d known all of her life. And even they looked at her as though they did not know her.
It was a kiss. Nothing more. I understand it was not an innocent kiss. I know I allowed myself to be carried away. However, the way everyone around me is behaving makes it feel as though they think of me as some kind of trollop. For one kiss! It is not right. It is not fair.
Penny suddenly felt faint and had to hold on to the frame of the door. She had not eaten but a morsel here and there in the past three days, and had to be almost forced by the housekeeper to take a drink of tea. She found herself consumed with a misery she’d never known. She remembered feeling similar after the death of her mother, but then Daniel had arrived and she was forced out of her grief to attend to him for he was in much worse condition, having lost both of his parents at once.
This was in some ways worse. Not only did her father refuse to speak to her, but she had not seen Bridget in days. While her friend seemed to recover from the slight of not receiving the winning kiss relatively quickly, she’d distanced herself once more when it became clear that Lord Carlton was not, as expected, going to call on either of them to make his apologies. In fact, Daniel hadn’t been seen or heard from since the Festival. A part of her wished he would stay away, while yet another wanted him to show his face so she might ask him directly why he’d done what he did. She’d spent hours upon hours considering it and yet, came to no conclusion.
Surely, it was not out of true passion. He told me I was a sister to him. So then, why? Was he really so bosky he could not distinguish between Bridget and I? Or was he so fearful at the prospect of marriage that he did what he could to sabotage it?
She sighed and left her father’s bedchamber, making her way back downstairs. The housekeeper, Mrs. Swinson, passed her on the stairs. The household keys, suspended from a chatelaine around her waist, swayed and clanged together as she stopped on the stairs.
“Miss Penelope, you look frightfully pale and thin as a rail. Let me fetch you some honey bread. The cook made some fresh, it’s still warm. What do you say? And some drinking chocolate?”
Penelope smiled. Of all the servants, she’d found only Mrs. Swinson and her lady’s maid, Molly, remained loyal. They saw her without that dreaded look of judgement in their eyes.
“I am not hungry, Mrs. Swinson,” she said. The housekeeper sighed.
“It’s not always about being hungry. It’s about nourishing the body. Forgive me for being blunt. Sometimes I …” the woman paused and shook her head with a heavy sigh. Her short, brown hair was tucked under a large white cap and she wore a white apron over the simple blue round gown. “Forgive me. You sometimes remind me of my own daughter when she was a young girl, and …” The woman cast her gaze to the floor. “I wish you had your mother sometimes, Lady Penelope. I wish she were still with us.”
Penelope suppressed a sob, for this was just what she’d been thinking these past few days. If only her mother was here. Between her own longing, Mrs. Hughes, and now Mrs. Swinson’s comments, she could not help but wonder just how different her life might have been. Would she feel more comfortable being a lady of theton? Would she have recovered from her sorrows and looked toward the future with a less heavy heart? Would Daniel have been sent away at all?
Seeing her upset, Mrs. Swinson smiled at her in an encouraging manner. “Why don’t I fetch you the honey bread and you can decide if you have an appetite? Yes?”
Penelope nodded. It could not hurt and it would make the woman happy. “Very well. I will retire to the drawing room for now. Please, alert me when my father rises. Have you spoken to him at all? How is his health?”
