“I do have plans,” Penelope said tightly, glancing over at her brother to ensure he was still occupied with Jane. “Your sister is hosting a house party in a few days. Many remarkable youngladies will be in attendance. I will start scouting from the very first day and let you know who would make an ideal candidate.”
Cecil frowned, his frustration clearly mounting. “A few days is too long. I was hoping to have already started courting someone by now. At this rate, I will not be married until next season.”
“Then perhaps you should not have chosen Jane in the first place,” Penelope shot back. “If you had taken even a moment to consider what she actually wanted –”
“I did consider it,” Cecil interrupted. “I considered that she was pleasant, sensible, and would make a perfectly adequate duchess.”
“Adequate,” Penelope repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. “How romantic.”
Before Cecil could respond, a young woman appeared on the path ahead and began walking toward them. The mere sight of her filled Penelope with irritation. Unfortunately, Cecil had caught sight of her as well, and he was obviously intrigued – no doubt due to her colourful dress adorned with colourful ribbons and flowers that made her look like a mobile garden.
“What about her?” Cecil asked, gesturing subtly in the woman’s direction.
Penelope's expression soured immediately. “Cynthia Hartwell? Absolutely not.”
“Why not? Are the Hartwells not ideal –”
“Because she is an infuriating and demeaning person to be associated with,” Penelope said flatly. “She is well known in thetonas a fortune hunter – not to mention she is quite the snob. Given time, she will ensure to make your life miserable... though I cannot say I am wholly against that. You would be miserable together – which I suppose that might be fitting end for you after all.”
Penelope turned to walk away, but Cecil caught her arm, his fingers closing around her elbow.
“Help me,” he said quietly, urgently. “She will probably be more comfortable with another woman she knows. Just... introduce us properly. Make me seem less like a rake and more like a respectable duke.”
Penelope looked as though she wanted to argue, but Cynthia had already spotted them and was making her way over with determined steps.
“Your Grace,” Cynthia said, her voice high and affected as she curtsied deeply. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here. I had heard you were in town, but I confess I did not expect to have the honour of encountering you on my afternoon walk.”
“Lady Cynthia,” Cecil replied, bowing with practiced grace. “The pleasure is mine. I must say, you have such lovely eyes – they sparkle all the more because of the blue of your dress.”
It was a standard compliment, the sort of thing he had said a thousand times before to a thousand different women. But it worked.
Lady Cynthia's eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating look crossing her features. “And how were you able to notice such details, Your Grace? I did not think gentlemen paid such close attention to ladies' attire.”
Cecil smiled, deploying his most charming expression. “I have three loving sisters, Lady Cynthia. I have always known how to appreciate beauty in all its forms. They have educated me well in the intricacies of ladies' fashion.”
Cynthia seemed pleased by this answer, her demeanour softening as she fluttered her eyelashes in what was clearly meant to be a demure expression. The effect was somewhat undermined by the sharpness in her gaze.
But then her gaze drifted to Penelope, who had been standing silently to the side, and her smile turned sharp and cold.
“Lady Penelope,” she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “Still hovering about, I see. Some people do not have good manners, and it shows by the way they insert themselves into the affairs of others. But I suppose that is simply proof of how sad their lives are. When one has no prospects of one's own, one must content oneself with observing the success of others.”
Penelope stiffened, her face flushing. Cecil saw her jaw clench, saw the way her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“Lady Cynthia,” Penelope began, her voice icy, “I hardly think – “
But before she could continue, Cecil stepped forward, placing himself slightly between Penelope and Lady Cynthia.
“Actually,” he said smoothly, his voice taking on an edge of steel beneath the pleasant tone, “Lady Penelope is here at my request. I value her opinion greatly – far more than I value empty flattery and false civility.”
He cast a glance at Penelope, and when he looked back, his lips carried a smile, but there was no warmth in it. His eyes were cold, assessing. “Good day, Lady Cynthia. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your walk. Perhaps you will find someone else to practice your wit upon.”
Cynthia's mouth fell open in shock, her face going red then pale in rapid succession. She sputtered for a moment, clearly unused to being dismissed so thoroughly, but before she could compose herself, Cecil took hold of Penelope's hand and led her away.
They walked in silence for several moments, putting distance between themselves and the scene they had just left. Lionel and Jane were too far behind to have heard the exchange, still deep in their own conversation.
Finally, Penelope spoke.
“Why did you do that?” she asked quietly, almost wonderingly. “You likely ruined your chance with a potential match. She will tell everyone she knows that you were rude to her.”
