“A wise woman, your mama,” Helena said, nodding.
“I’ll be the first to admit that holding out an olive branch is not my favorite activity, but when I’ve done it,” Marianne said in philosophical tones, “it invariably works.”
Given the disaster of the evening thus far, talking couldn’t make things worse.
Penny heaved a sigh. “I’ll go speak to him.”
With impeccable timing, a footman walked past, and she snagged a flute of champagne from his tray. She swallowed first the bubbles and then her pride. After that, she went to look for her husband.
~~~
A quarter hour later, Penny approached the small balcony off the north end of the ballroom. The area was deserted as steaming new refreshments had just been brought out, luring the partygoers to the buffet tables. Marcus had not been amongst them. In fact, Penny had looked for him in all the obvious places, and he was nowhere to be found. As the servants hadn’t recalled seeing him go upstairs, the balcony was the next likely place to search.
The thick burgundy drapes were drawn, the doors left open behind them. A cool draft shivered over Penny’s skin. She pulled back one of the curtains… and her heart shot into her throat.
Marcus, standing in the cold moonlight.
He wasn’t alone.
The scene ripped into Penny like a bayonet. Cora Ashley, in Marcus’ arms, her mouth plastered to his. A jagged sound tore from Penny’s throat. Marcus jerked, his head spinning in her direction, his gaze crashing into hers.
He pushed Cora away. “Penny—”
She didn’t hear the rest. Insides splintering, she ran away—as fast and far as she could.
Chapter Sixteen
The next evening, Marcus made his way out of his club. He was drunk but not drunk enough. Guilt and self-recrimination swirled uneasily with the alcohol he’d imbibed as he waited for the footman to fetch his coat and hat.
Devil take it, what have I done?
He’d acted like a damned ass was what he’d done. He should never have agreed to meet bloody Cora Ashley on the balcony. When she’d begged him for a few minutes of his time, given him a teary-eyed Cheltenham Tragedy about her unhappy marriage, he ought to have told her to find another shoulder to cry on. But he hadn’t. Why not?
Because he’d been so twisted up with jealousy and anger over Penny’s past that he’d abandoned all good sense. Wallowing in righteous self-pity, he’d actually thought misery might make good company, and, as a result, he’d walked straight into an ambush. He hadn’t set foot onto the balcony two minutes before Cora threw herself at him. The memory made his gut recoil. He’d shoved her away immediately—but not soon enough.
Penny had arrived at that moment, witnessing everything. That shattered look on her face… His chest tightened, the knot so tight and painful he could hardly breathe.
He was a bastard through and through.
The footman arrived with his outerwear, and Marcus donned it, exiting into the wintry night. Snow was lightly falling, fat flakes that melted on his woolen greatcoat. He headed for his carriage just up the street, his thoughts whirling.
How am I going to fix this?He’d bungled things up so badly that he didn’t even know where to begin. Last night, after the guests had left, he’d tried to talk to Penny, but she’d barred the door between them. The quiet, deadly steel in her voice as she told him to leave her be had been like nothing he’d ever heard from her—not in twelve years of marriage.
His head pounding with self-hatred, with too much champagne, he’d stumbled away, passing out in his bed. When he’d come to in the morning, he’d gone straight to Penny’s chamber… only to find her already out. She hadn’t left word where she was going or when she’d be back. He’d questioned her maid up and down until the woman looked on the verge of tears.
He’d waited all day at home for Penny to return but when dusk came, there was still no sign of her. Seeing the concern on his son’s faces—probably because he’d worn a path into the Aubusson with his pacing—he’d read them a bedtime story and then took off himself to the club for a drink, unable to bear the agony of waiting any longer.
Of knowing how much he’d hurt Penny, the woman he loved more than his next breath, his cherished wife… whom he now realized he’d been punishing mercilessly. She might have betrayed him—but he’d more than returned the favor with his treatment of her. His throat thickened at the thought of her heartbroken, weeping alone somewhere; her pain was more than he could bear. He could only hope that he’d find her at home so that he could beg her forgiveness and ask her to truly start afresh with him.
He was prepared to let bygones be bygones and prayed that she felt the same.
Though the snow had stopped, the walk was slippery beneath his boots as he neared his carriage. The groom hopped down, hat pulled low and collar high against the falling snow, and opened the door for him.
“Cold night, eh, Harvey…” Marcus began.
He trailed off as he looked fully at the groom. Froze. It wasn’t Harvey. Same mustache and brown hair but different eyes, glittering and long-lashed… At that instant, white powder clouded Marcus’ vision. It filled his nose, his lungs, and, choking, he tumbled headlong into darkness.
Chapter Seventeen
