Penelope arched a brow. “I am not sure I know what you mean.”
“Oh, you English. So prudish.”
“You owe me no explanation,” Pen said. “Your...friendship with Lord Thomas is none of my concern.”
“No indeed?” Madame LaVoie chuckled softly. “And yet I was under the impression he was one of your many suitors.”
“You are mistaken.”
The widow shrugged. “If you do choose him...” A breeze lifted the bottom of her veil, revealing another small, but vicious smile. “You should know he appreciates a lady with a firm hand.”
“Madame LaVoie”—Penelope faced the veil as if she could see through the layers of heavy gauze—“Iwould appreciate it if you do not return to Ithwick.”
“I am sure you would.”
“No matter what Lord Thomas has told you—”
“You would like to know what he told me, wouldn’t you?” She interrupted. “Well, I did not believe a word he says and nor should you. Lord Thomas is a bad boy.” She emphasized eachb.“He tells bad lies.”
“You lovers’ quarrel is no concern of mine.”
The widow turned her face toward the window, though Penelope continued to feel her gaze. “I will not trouble you at Ithwick again. I do not intend to stay in Cornwall much longer.”
Pen frowned. “I was under the impression you were unable to return home.”
“Nowyouare mistaken.” She chuckled softly. “Home. Such a quaint illusion.”
“Illusion?” How could something as important as home be an illusion? She longed for Pensteague. For her own, marvelous bed. “I am sorry for you.”
“What you callhomeis wherever I am.” Madame LaVoie leaned forward as the carriage slowed. “And make no mistake, I always rule my home.Au revoir, ma petite.”
The grey veil swished as she climbed out of the carriage. In the sunlight, the color reminded Penelope of a storm-churned sea.
Lord Thomas’s warning echoed in her ears.A storm is coming, cousin. You’d be wise to batten down the hatches.
~~~
Chev had slept little and hungered much. All his unanswered longing had vibrated in the body he’d denied.
All. Night. Long.
And the triumph of mastering his desire without humiliating himself or Penelope had eventually given way to questions he could not answer—hopes he did not know he could fulfill.
Using his leg and his left arm, he hefted another piece of wood onto the chopping block. Stepping back, he aimed and swung his ax. The impact sent spurs prickling up his arm, but the wood’s crack-and-tumble satisfied.
He grunted in approval.
Behind him, Emmaus whistled. “What did that log ever do to you?”
He glanced back—a warning.
“Easy now.” Emmaus shook his head.
Chev set one of the halved pieces of wood back onto the block.
He struck again.
“Are you splitting wood, or are you serving as executioner?”
