“She had no prior knowledge of my intentions,” Cecil interjected quickly, holding Lionel's gaze steadily. “I ambushed her, to be entirely honest about it. And I told her, as soon as she agreed, that we would make no arrangements – no plans, no announcements, nothing – until I had spoken with you directly. I would not do that to her. I would not ask her to begin her engagement without the approval of the person she loves most in the world. That is not the kind of husband I intend to be. And I would not do that to you either. It already pains me that I had to blindside you like this, but you left me with no choice. I had to do something, Lionel. I really do love her.”
Lionel was quiet for a very long moment as he stared at Cecil, seemingly assessing him and the possible ways he would make him regret the actions he had taken. It was all Cecil could do to stare back as courageously as he could, because he knew that this was likely the single largest hurdle he would face before his marriage. And once he had overcome it, everything else would fall in place.
So whatever he had to face now was worth the fear – and potential humiliation – he needed to endure so as to be able to live out the rest of his days in bliss with his wife.
“You have a remarkable history, of saying the right thing after having done the wrong one,” Lionel stated at last.
“I am aware of it,” Cecil nodded, ensuring to look apologetic at least. “I intend to reverse that habit.”
“Intending and doing are different things.”
“They are. Which is why I am here –doing– rather than simply intending from a safe distance.”
Lionel folded his arms with a sigh, still regarding Cecil as though he were a strange creature he could not fathom, before he questioned slowly,
“Are you prepared to care for her? Properly? Not in the way your father's philosophy might have taught you – not as a matter of duty or convenience – but genuinely, for the rest of your days?”
Cecil did not hesitate; the words fell from his lips as easily as breathing. “There is nothing in the world I am more prepared to do.”
Lionel looked at him, then finally shifted his gaze to Penelope, his eyes softening a tad.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Truly?”
Penelope looked at Cecil for a moment – just a moment, but long enough that he felt it – and then back at her brother.
“He is still somewhat irritating,” she stated with a shrug.
Cecil opened his mouth in disbelief.
“And it seems as though he still intends to be occasionally insufferable,” she continued, ignoring her potential groom, who was gaping like a fish. “And he once spoke about how important it was to find a wife with a certain list of qualities that baffled me slightly and enlisted my help with the task. I was never truly rewarded for my services, and I do not think I shall ever fully forgive him for it.”
“Penelope –”
“But,” she said, and her voice shifted, losing its teasing edge and becoming something quieter and entirely certain as she stared at her brother steadily. “I simply cannot imagine my life with anyone else. Not anymore. This is what I want, Lionel.”
The remaining stiffness in Lionel's shoulders dissolved so slowly that Cecil almost missed it. He exhaled, a long, controlled breath, and looked at his sister for a moment longer with an expression that had nothing to do with Cecil at all, the look of a brother who had watched someone he loved be unhappy and was allowing himself, cautiously, to be glad that she had found happiness.
Then he looked at Cecil.
“If you hurt her,” he remarked, very quietly and with absolute sincerity, “I will not need the rifle. I will find significantly more creative methods.”
“I have no doubt,” Cecil nodded, welcoming the threat wholeheartedly, before he added, “I am sorry, for not takingbetter care of her from the beginning. I cannot take it back, but I can tell you that I am fully aware of the failure and I do not intend to repeat it. She will not have cause to doubt me again. You have my word.”
Lionel paused, regarding his friend for a long moment. Then he extended his hand. Cecil took it, and they shook, relief filling the space steadily as the tension bled out of the atmosphere.
“I will hold you to that,” Lionel declared easily, glancing at his sister again.
“I expect nothing less,” Cecil replied with certainty, smiling at his friend.
Penelope, standing between them, looked from one to the other with an expression of profound relief and something very close to joy. Cecil caught her eye over, and she smiled at him, and he felt it land somewhere in his chest with the warm certainty of something come home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Penelope quickly discovered that a wedding was an incredibly large undertaking.
She had known this in the grander scheme of things, in the way one knew that winter was cold before one had actually stood in it without a coat. She had attended enough weddings in her life to understand that they required planning. She had simply not appreciated, until now, quite how much planning – and how quickly even a modest wedding could expand in scope the moment one began making lists.
The drawing room at her house, over the past several weeks, had become something between a meeting hall and a confectioner's annexe. There were swatches of fabric pinned to the back of the settee. There were notes in Penelope's handwriting scattered across every available surface. There were three separate florists' catalogues, two of which she had already gone through and annotated, and one of which she kept meaning to get to and had so far managed to bury beneath a swatch of ivory silk.
