Pen decided on the spot that she hated Miss Letty Mountroy. She dragged up every inch of politeness from the depths of her being. “Then I congratulate you. Lucky Miss Mountroy.”
Alworth stirred moodily in his ice cream. “Hm. Yes. She doesn’t know I am going to marry her.”
Pen stared. “Heavens, she doesn’t know?”
“I haven’t proposed yet.” Alworth scratched his cheek. “I ought to talk to her father first.”
“I gather the custom is to let the lady know that one intends to marry her.” Pen propped her head on her hand. “Before that, one might also want to talk to her to see whether one actually likes her. Considering the fact that one is to spend the rest of one’s life with her.”
“It does seem like the thing to do.” Alworth frowned into his ice goblet.
“You don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about the prospect,” Pen observed. She felt something lighten inside, something like relief.
A smile flitted over his face. “Pray, what man is enthusiastic about getting shackled? And you are quite right, I am not enthusiastic. She probably isn’t either, which is excellent. Precisely what I want.”
Pen shook her head. “You’re not making any sense, Alworth. Why is this excellent?”
“It is but a business transaction,” he explained. “Therefore, it is quite good that there are no feelings involved. I like things that are simple and to the point.”
Pen was aghast. Surely, he could not mean this? She saw Alworth in an entirely new light. “What about love?” she burst forth. “How can you marry someone you don’t love?”
“Love?” A sardonic look passed over his face. “We are back at that topic, are we? I can do without it.”
“But, why?” Pen had forgotten about her ice, which was melting into a green soup.
“Nothing ever comes of it.”
“But to be married for life to a person you don’t even care for! That’s a terrible sort of fate.”
“My dear Pen. You are not, at heart, a romantic, are you?” He seemed to remember something. “But of course you are.” He pursed his lips as he studied her. “You grew up with that legendary love story.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Pen dedicated her entire attention to shovelling the melted ice into her mouth.
“Your parents.”
He was right. Her father, the British officer, her mother, the Indian princess. An impossibility. So, they eloped. They lived happily ever after, until Pen came along, who always seemed to be in the way, somehow. She was raised by Ayah, whom she adored.
Pen did not know that her face reflected her emotions like a mirror.
“Tell me. Were they actually happy, your parents?” Alworth seemed to enjoy studying her face.
Pen thought. Fact was that she’d seen very little of them. “Of course they were. At least, I think they were.”
Her mother had been ethereally beautiful. Her father dashing and handsome. She discovered to her horror that she could no longer recall their faces. Whereas she could remember her kitten Snowball very well. He’d been entirely black, with one white paw.
“Why do you not want to love your wife?” she pursued, not understanding why this bothered her so much.
She saw a look of discomfort flit over his face.
He pulled on his cravat as if it were too tight. “Emotions tend to complicate life. I prefer life to be uncomplicated and light.”
Pen digested that. It was contrary to her entire nature. She felt everything deeply. A life, a relationship without feelings, was impossible. She decided she did not really know Alworth very well if that was what he really believed in. A feeling of disappointment sank to the pit of her stomach, where it churned and fermented. Then her head snapped up.
“I am certain I love Marcus,” she informed him. Then she gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth.
Alworth’s eyes widened, then filled to the brim with a devilish light. “Do you, my boy?”
A hot wave flushed over her, and she wanted to disappear into the ground.
