And meant it. It had taken time to arrive at that, but she had.
“It was the leastIcould do,” he echoed, with a short, self-deprecating smile. “To make some small amends for the ways I failed you. I am glad you are happy, Penelope. I mean that without reservation.”
She stared up at him, taking note of the open earnestness of his face before she smiled softly,
“I know you do. Thank you, Matthias.”
He bowed again and moved away, and she turned to find Cecil at her elbow, looking after him with an expression she knew all too well.
“He helped,” she pointed out, before Cecil could speak.
“I am aware,” Cecil mumbled, with great restraint.
“With the seating arrangements and the florist's schedule and several letters that needed to be delivered across town in very short order.”
“His contributions are noted,” Cecil replied, still in the same tone.
“Cecil.”
He looked at her.
“We owe him our gratitude,” she said, simply.
He looked at her for a moment longer, then agreed, “Yes. We do.”
The words were delivered with a graciousness that cost him something, she could tell, and she loved him more for it.
She was about to speak again when she caught, at the periphery of the room – just a glimpse, half-obscured by a cluster of guests – a figure that made the warmth in her chest go cold.
She did not think before her hand found Cecil's sleeve, clutching it urgently.
“What is it?” he said immediately, his attention shifting onto her fully.
“Nothing – I thought I saw –” She stopped and looked again, but it seemed the figure was gone – or perhaps it had never been there at all.
“My uncle,” she said quietly. “I thought I saw my uncle.”
She felt the change in him – subtle, the slight shift of muscle beneath her hand – and then he looked out over the room, calm and deliberate and completely unhurried.
“He is not here,” Cecil told her after a moment.
“You cannot know that for certain –”
“I can,” he assured with a steady expression. “Because I sent him a letter, some weeks ago. A thorough one. And I made it clear that any return to England, or any approach within the vicinity of yourself or your family, would be met with consequences that I would personally ensure. He will not come here. He will not come anywhere near you again.”
Penelope stared at him, easily recognizing the brief and cold and entirely resolute seriousness within him.
“You –” she began.
“You are my wife. There is no world in which I allow anyone who has frightened you to remain a threat.”
She looked at him, her husband, and felt the last traces of the cold dissolve entirely.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He raised her hand to his lips. “Always.”
They slipped away before the last of the guests had gone, because Cecil was not especially interested in prolonging the goodbyes, and Penelope found she agreed with him, and they arrived home to a house that was quiet and warm and entirely, beautifully theirs.
