“Are you?” Lionel pressed. “Because it seems to me that you are going about this entire endeavour with the enthusiasm of a man preparing for his own execution.”
Then he snorted, a fond chuckle escaping past his lips.
“I can only imagine what Penelope would say if she were here,” Lionel joked with a lopsided grin. “We would be given quite the lecture, seeing as she always has much to say concerning such matters.”
“Ah yes,” Cecil said dryly, eager to deflect the conversation away from himself. “I have no doubt Penelope would be more than pleased to educate us both at length about the importance of affection in marriage and the evils of marrying for duty alone.”
The words came out more harshly than he had intended, carrying an edge that made even Godric raise his eyebrows. Cecil felt both of his friends’ eyes on him, curious and assessing, and he hated how small he felt for a moment.
“Actually,” Lionel said slowly, a smile playing at his lips, “I think Penelope would surprise you. She is far more pragmatic than you give her credit for. She understands duty as well as anyone.”
Cecil scoffed, reaching for the port bottle to refill his glass. “Pragmatic? Your sister despises me. She would happily see meruined if given half the chance. If there were some sort of sect dedicated to my downfall, I have no doubt that Penelope would be their coordinator. She would probably write their manifesto and hand-letter their recruitment materials.”
Lionel laughed – actually laughed, the sound carrying genuine amusement. “Penelope does not hate you, Cecil. She simply sees through you. There is a difference.”
The words settled uncomfortably in Cecil's chest, and he immediately disliked how it felt.
What did that mean? How could she see through him? What did she think of him?
He thought of all the times they had been in each other’s way, angry and loud, belittling and threatening each other without remorse. She never backed down, and he never wondered why, merely enjoying the conflict because it amused him. Now... she had caught him in a less-than-savory moment, and he had seen a different side of her.
And her reaction – the way she had looked at him with such defiance, such righteous anger, made him feel as though he needed to show some more remorse.
“Cecil?” Godric prompted gently.
“I am fine,” Cecil muttered, downing half his glass in one swallow.
On stage, the singer finished her song to polite applause. She caught Cecil's eye again, her expression hopeful, inviting. But he found himself looking away, signalling for another bottle instead.
He did not want to think about the singer. He did not want to think about Penelope either, but that seemed to be a losing battle.
“More port, Your Grace?” the server asked, appearing at his elbow with practiced efficiency.
“Yes,” Cecil muttered. “And make it quick.”
Godric and Lionel exchanged a glance that Cecil pretended not to notice.
“Are you quite certain you are well?” Godric asked. “You seem... distracted.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Cecil said, perhaps too forcefully. “Simply eager to resolve this business of finding a wife so I can return to my normal life.”
Which was not entirely false. He was focused on finding a woman who would become his duchess. But perhaps... he discovered something more interesting as well. Instinctively, he recalled the look in Penelope’s eyes as he had her against the wall, how they had practically beckoned him closer as her lips pouted defiantly.
He had wanted to taste them, to explore the body she hid beneath her pale-colored dresses. He wanted to know what her voice would sound like, breathless around his name. And he certainly wondered how she would look writhing beneath him in pleasure, her skin flushed from the heat shared between them and –
“I must have lost my bloody mind,” Cecil groaned under his breath, admonishing himself for thinking such thoughts about his friend’s sister.
He needed their business to be over and done with, as soon as possible, so things could revert to normal.
The server returned with another bottle, and Cecil poured himself a generous measure. The conversation drifted to other topics, and Cecil's mind remained elsewhere, circling back again and again to Penelope Waverly and her damnable interference in his affairs.
When Penelope found herself on an outing at the park with her brother and the Duke of Westerdale a few days after the establishment of their partnership, she made it a point of duty to avoid the latter at all costs. She had not forgiven his blackmail – was not certain she would be able to – but she did not wish to spoil the day.
Lionel had been particularly pleased that they would all get to spend some time together, and it had taken far more strengththan Penelope liked to admit for her to keep her thoughts about the present company to herself.
The day was pleasant – warm sunshine, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of flowers from the nearby gardens. Other members of thetonstrolled along the paths, ladies twirling parasols, gentlemen tipping their hats in greeting.
It could be an enjoyable afternoon if she ignored everything else.
