This was his problem, and he did not think there was any need to upset more people than necessary.
“I appreciate that, brother. But I assure you, time will heal whatever ails me. I don’t think there is much else that can help me.” Cecil told him, rising to his feet.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Godric questioned gently.
Certainty was something Cecil thought he understood. Certainty in human nature, certainty in the way his emotions were. Certainty in how situations would end, likely in his favor.
All he had now was the pain in his head and the ache in his chest. And not an ounce of certainty.
He rose to his feet, mustering a smile as he shrugged.
“Who needs certainty any way? It serves no one. Life is meant to be lived spontaneously, anyway.”
Godric sighed, clearly resigning himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do to help Cecil.
“Safe travels,” Godric bid with a nod.
Cecil nodded, walking to the door. He was halfway out of it when he told Godric,
“Give my sister my regards and do convince her that nothing will be gained by ending my life with her hands.”
Godric chuckled. “I will.”
Cecil smiled at him one last time and left.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Morning arrived after a fitful night for Penelope.
Her body felt heavy as she dragged herself out of bed, her face feeling dry from the tears she had shed the night before. Her chest felt hollow, and she knew by how she felt it would not be an easy day to navigate.
Not wanting to think too much of her predicament, she set to work, packing her things and putting herself in order for when it was time to leave.
She could faintly hear the other guests heading down for one last breakfast before the party officially came to an end, but she had no desire to join them. Not after she had been made into a spectacle the night before.
Penelope had once been haunted by nightmares like that, having her identity exposed so publicly, with nowhere to hide. Sheimagined people would be surprised, but she never assumed she would be wholly disliked.
Jane’s face had been seared into her memory, and her heart hurt each time she recalled how her friend had left without another word. Penelope sighed, momentarily stopping her folding to give some attention to her pain.
“When will this day end?” she groaned pathetically, sinking to the floor.
The dress in her hands was the one she had worn last night. She had felt quite lovely in it, but for some reason, the lightness in her heart twisted uncomfortably when Cecil stole her away from Lord Lockwood.
The way he had looked at her, regarded her as though he had not seen anyone more special, made her insides churn with discomfort.
Because she could not believe it, could not afford to trust what he was saying, no matter how much he wished to paint it as genuine.
Because Cecil was not looking for love. He was not even looking for a companion, merely someone he could put in his home as one would furniture, just so he could carry on with his life.
It was clear that whatever they’d had in the last few days had caused there to be some confusion. Penelope was determined to forget about him.
She continued to put her things in order, startled by a knock at the door. Thinking it might be her brother, Penelope rose to her feet, not particularly eager to see him because she knew word must have reached him of her secret identity.
But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Lionel on the other side. It was Nora.
“You were not at breakfast,” her friend smiled at her, holding up a small platter laden with toasted bread, apricot jam, and a cup of tea. “I thought you might like something to eat before you were on your way.”
Penelope felt her heart thrum with appreciation for her friend, and she stepped aside so Nora could enter.
