“Oh, yes, yes. I will.”
Hugh watched her curiously. The vicar instructed them to face one another as he blessed the rings. He then prompted Hugh to repeat after him, “With this ring, I thee wed; with my body, I thee honor; and all my worldly goods with thee I share: In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Penelope had removed her glove before taking his hand and so he was able to slip the ring easily onto her third finger. It was the first time he’d touched her since that kiss on the day she’d arrived.
Both of them were then instructed to kneel before the altar as the priest read a blessing.
When it was over, they rose to their feet somberly. It was done.
Hugh turned away from her as the priest guided them all to the vestibule where they’d entered earlier. It was to become legal now. She signed her name Penelope Crone for the last time.
She’d yet to inform either her mother or father. It seemed not to matter so much in the face of what she’d done. Her little trout flipped about again. More than one…
* * *
Hugh had almost given in to the intimacy of the occasion. When he and Penelope were declared man and wife, a part of him had wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. He’d wanted to erase the worry from her brow.
His wrath toward her had cooled to an ever-present bitterness.
It bothered him, those occasions when it slipped, when he had a desire to make her smile or to seek out her opinion on some matter or other concerning one of his estates.
He ought not to feel any kindness or affection toward her. She was a selfish, conniving, and ruthless human being.
Margaret had been astonished when he’d broken the news to her. He did not tell her the entire truth, that the baby—babies—she carried were another man’s. Margaret would have no tolerance for his wife, ever, if she were to even suspect such a thing.
Having been sequestered in her private chambers for the past few weeks, lost in grief, she had not seen Penelope yet. As he had been doing every day since his arrival, however, Hugh joined his sister in her private sitting room in order to take tea with her. He’d been determined to find some time to be with her, to comfort her every day.
It had been soothing. Although they had several aunts and uncles and cousins, Margaret and he were all that was left of their parents.
On the evening of Penelope’s arrival, Hugh’d broken the news to his sister.
“I’m going to be away for most of tomorrow, possibly overnight.”
“But aren’t there guests in the house?” Ah, so she had been watching many of the comings and goings of the past few weeks. “Was that Penelope Crone who arrived today? I had not realized her connection with mother was close enough to merit a visit from her so soon after the funeral.”
“Mama’s cousin Matilda left this morning; Uncle Walter won’t be arriving until next week sometime.” But how to explain Penelope and the purpose of his journey. “And yes, it was Penelope who arrived this afternoon.”
“How very odd,” she said in the emotionless voice he’d grown used to since his return.
He did not wish for his sister to hate his future wife. As much as he hated Penelope right now, he would not want for there to be division within his home. “Not so very odd. We are betrothed,” he explained.
Margaret looked more interested in this statement than anything else he’d said since his return to Land’s End. “Surely, you jest. She is a bluestocking! Not that I don’t enjoy her company on occasion but really, Hugh, she is most definitely not your type. And a future viscountess? Tell me you are joking.”
Not his type? Did he have a type? He’d not ever really thought about it. He’d simply enjoyed women, all kinds of women, for most of his adult life. There was that thing he had about red hair, however…
“I am traveling to obtain a special license for us. We will marry before the week’s end.”
“You cannot marry for a full year, Hugh. You cannot have forgotten the mourning period.”
“I have not, Margaret.” His voice had been firm. “The lady’s condition demands a speedy ceremony.”
That quickly silenced her protests. “She is…?”
Hugh nodded firmly.
“Oh, Hugh.” She’d reached for the fan on a small table near bye and begun waving it in front of herself a bit frantically. “Well.”
“Yes.”
