“You know,” Lionel said, speaking loud enough suddenly in a way that told Penelope his incoming spiel was for her ears mostly, even as he looked at Cecil while he spoke, “I am starting to worry about my dear sister. She shows no interest in securing a match for herself. At this rate, she might truly live out her days as a spinster. I shall have to set aside a special fund just for her upkeep.”
Penelope whirled around, her eyes flashing with indignation. “I can hear you, brother dear. And I will thank you to keep your concerns to yourself.”
“But it is true!” Lionel protested, grinning in a way that made it clear he was enjoying needling her. “You had one season, Penelope. One! And you gave up before even giving any poor soul a chance to win your affections. Surely there was at least one gentleman who caught your eye?”
“None that were noteworthy. Given the fact that they preferred to talk about themselves most of the time. I am quite glad I made the choice to abandon such a fruitless pursuit. Are younot thankful to have me all to yourself, brother dear?” she questioned sweetly.
“Oh, certainly, sister. There is never – will never be anything l love and appreciate more. Perhaps I am simply concerned because your constant presence would mean I would have to spend my time entertaining you.” Lionel sighed, the deep exhale and pathetic glance to the side so exaggerated, Penelope could not help but snort.
“What I hear is, we will continue to live out our days as we already do. Isn’t that wonderful?” she grinned.
Lionel pouted, shaking his head slightly. “You might turn into a mean old lady. I heard a life of spinsterhood can do that to a woman.”
Penelope made a show of pausing to think, then she nodded curtly and told him sweetly. “I suppose that is a risk I am willing to take.”
Her brother laughed, reaching out to tap her nose with his finger the way he had always done when she was younger. The action spread warmth coursing through her, but it barely negated the anxiety and guilt that had begun to churn within her.
By choosing to ward off men, she had indirectly created a singular course of action for herself – to rely on her brother for as long as possible. What if Lionel eventually grew to tire of her? He had practically raised her, and she owed him so much already, and she might still be his responsibility for longer.
What if he wished to have a family of his own someday? What if he desired to settle down and start a new life? What would become of her? And would she be brave enough to let him go? Could she afford to?
This was why Cecil’s deal had left her no choice. She could not afford to disappoint Lionel more than she already had.
“Miss Fenwell!” Lionel called out suddenly, causing Penelope to look up. “What a pleasant surprise!”
True enough, Jane was approaching them, a smile on her face that gave Penelope no small relief as she embraced her friend, wanting to ensure that she was all right. As Jane offered polite greetings to the duke and marquess, Penelope studied her for a moment.
She looked well – composed, with no signs of distress lingering from the end of her courtship with the duke. Penelope was relieved, especially when Jane barely spared Cecil a second glance, her attention claimed by Lionel. The two seemed engrossed in a conversation about an upcoming art exhibit, and Penelope noticed Cecil standing off by himself.
Against her better judgment, she went to stand next to him, feeling pleased as she informed him,
“Jane seems to be doing well, despite the dissolution of your courtship.”
The duke nodded curtly, also watching Jane as she giggled at something Lionel said.
“Do remind me later to send her my congratulations within a card, and along with my well wishes,” he stated dryly.
Penelope snorted, slipping back into her usual, familiar personality that only ever reared its head around him.
“Envy is not a good look on you. Your Grace. Perhaps if you were a decent person, you would have found a better match or even moved on as well.” She shot back.
“I do not particularly care for Miss Fenwell – or about her affairs now that we are through. And need I remind you that the duty of finding my next match falls to you?” Cecil asked quietly, moving closer to Penelope so that only she could hear. “I have received no prompts from you whatsoever since you were given the task. Have you been taking your task seriously? Or have you been too busy writing letters to unsuspecting women to actually help me find a wife?”
Penelope's eyes narrowed. “I do not appreciate your tone, Your Grace.”
“And I do not appreciate having my time wasted,” Cecil countered, keeping his voice low but sharp. “Do you already have potential candidates for me to meet?”
Penelope snorted once more before sighing deeply. “Oh yes, I have a whole roster of women who would love nothing more than to be an easy way for you to fulfill your duty. Shall I arrange them in alphabetical order for your convenience? Perhaps rate them on a scale of suitability?”
Cecil moved closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “Perhaps your secret is not so important to you after all. And seeing as Lionel is only a few feet away, chatting with the very woman whose courtship you ruined, it should be very easy to tell him what he is meant to know –”
Penelope's elbow dug sharply into his side with surprising force, and Cecil doubled over with a pained grunt, his breath leaving him in a whoosh.
“You are being unfair,” she hissed, stepping in front of him as he struggled to catch his breath. “You are searching for a wife, not a mere housemaid you can hire on a whim. These things take time. You cannot simply decide you want to be married and expect me to produce the perfect candidate within days.”
Cecil straightened slowly, one hand pressed against his ribs where she had struck him.
“Do you have plans to help me at all? Or are you simply going to assault me every time I ask about your progress?”
