They continued their journey and arrived at Ironwell Estate as the sun was beginning to set, the sprawling manor house bathed in golden light that made it look like something from a fairy tale.
Nora and Godric were waiting at the entrance to greet their guests, and Penelope felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders as Nora embraced her warmly.
“I am so glad you are here!” Nora exclaimed, pulling back to study Penelope's face. “You look flushed. Was the journey difficult?”
“Just long,” Penelope said, avoiding looking at Cecil. “But we are here now, and I am eager to see what you have planned.”
As they made their way inside, Penelope caught sight of Cecil speaking with his sister, his expression softening in a way she rarely saw. He smiled at something Nora said, a real smile that transformed his entire face.
It was a reminder that beneath the sharp wit and cynical exterior, there was someone capable of genuine affection.
Before dinner, Penelope found herself seated between Jane and Nora, speaking on the disappointing end of the courtship between Jane and Cecil. And while the subject made Penelope uncomfortable, she was grateful for the familiar company.
“I am so pleased you ended things with Cecil,” Nora told Jane, her voice low enough that only their small circle could hear. “It was unfair of him to rule out love without even giving your courtship a chance. You deserve someone who will cherish you.”
“It is all right,” Jane said quickly, glancing across the room to where Cecil sat speaking with Godric. “I have accepted his decision and I respect it. Truly. He was honest with me, even if the truth was painful.”
“Still, it was not right of him to give you an impression that your values matched,” Nora said, frowning slightly, “I should speak with him –”
“No!” Jane's eyes widened in alarm. “Please, Nora. It is done. There is no need to make things awkward. He did nothing wrong, not really. We simply wanted different things.”
Nora sighed but nodded. “Very well. But know that there are many eligible bachelors here for the duration of the house party. With any luck, anyone and everyone who wishes to find their match will do just that.”
And then she winked at Penelope, who blinked in confusion.
“What does that mean?” Penelope asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Nora said innocently, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Simply that I hope this party brings joy to everyone who attends. All kinds of joy. All kinds of matches.”
Before Penelope could press further, a servant appeared to announce that dinner was to begin soon. Nora bid her friends an enjoyable evening, promising to see them later. After a quickwave, the duchess walked away, but the mild unease she had invoked in Penelope did not go with her.
With a sigh, Penelope hoped she was merely overreacting, and Nora had not actually meant anything.
Dinner would turn out to be a boisterous affair, Penelope quickly noted as she stepped into the dining hall.
There were so many people, all of them chattering away eagerly as they took their seats for dinner, as servants set plates and cutlery. There was a stunning crystal chandelier that filled the room with bright light, and a pianist was playing music in the corner of the room.
Penelope was so captivated by the sights that she failed to notice that she was not looking where she was going. And as such, she did not notice the gentleman walking in her direction until she collided directly with him.
“Oh!” She stumbled backward, her balance failing, and a strong hand caught her elbow, steadying her with a firm grip.
“I am so terribly sorry, Miss!” The gentleman before her looked positively mortified, his cheeks flushing a deep pink that spread down his neck. “I was not watching where I was going. I was a tad distracted – a dreadful habit of mine. Are you quite all right? You did not hurt yourself?”
“I am fine,” Penelope assured him, smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled slightly from the surprise. “Truly, it was my fault as much as yours. I was not paying attention either.”
As the man released her arm, something fell from his coat pocket, landing with a soft thud on the polished floor between them.
Penelope bent to retrieve it before he could, her eyes widening as she recognized the worn leather binding, the gilt lettering on the spine.
“This is –” She turned the book over carefully, reading the title with growing delight. “Wordsworth's collection. I have a copy of this very edition at home. It is one of my most treasured possessions.”
The gentleman's face lit up with unmistakable delight, his previous embarrassment forgotten. “You do? I must say, I have long admired his work. The way he captures the beauty of nature, the simplicity of emotion – it is quite extraordinary. Most people I meet prefer Byron or Scott.”
“Yes!” Penelope found herself smiling despite herself, genuine enthusiasm bubbling up. “I particularly love 'Tintern Abbey.' The way he writes about memory and place – it is as though he is speaking directly to the reader's soul. 'And I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts.'“
“Exactly!” The gentleman stepped closer, his enthusiasm evident in every gesture. “And the imagery in 'I Wandered Lonely as aCloud' – the way he transforms something as simple as daffodils into a meditation on joy and solitude – it is pure genius. The way beauty can sustain us even in dark times.”
They continued speaking for several moments, their conversation flowing easily from one poem to the next. Penelope found herself genuinely enjoying the exchange, delighted to have found someone who shared her appreciation for the poet's work. It was rare to find someone who truly understood, who felt the same connection to the words.
