The smile faltered on her lips.
“Pardon? I-I am keeping nothing!”
“Oh yes you are! And when was it you were going to tell me?Hm?”
“Father, I am sure I have no idea what you mean—”
“Henry,” her father said at last, his voice sharp with certainty, his mouth drawn in what might have been pride. “The boy is utterly smitten with you. I see it plain as day. And now—yes, now I understand. That glow upon your face, that sweetness in your step and the hum while you go about the house… it is him. You have returned his affections at last.”
The words dropped like stones into her chest, dragging her down, down, when only moments ago she had been soaring. Penelope’s smile fractured, her breath seizing in her lungs.
Henry.
Of course, it had to be Henry.
“I feared you would never soften toward him, but I was mistaken. Youdocare for him.”
Care. The word was a mockery. She cared for Elias as one cares for the fire that threatens to devour them—drawn to it, helpless before it, willing to burn just for the promise of warmth. She cared for the predator who had kissed her as though her very soul were something he could drink from her lips. She cared forthe monster whose hands still haunted her waist, whose parting left her laughing, breathless, aching, undone.
And Henry?
Henry was safety. Henry was duty. He was stone walls and locked doors. Henry was everything her father wanted for her, and nothing she could ever again yearn for.
Penelope’s fingers dug into her skirts, clutching tight as though by sheer force she could hold onto what Elias had given her last night—the heat of him, the reverence in his voice when he spoke her name. She had kissed ruin and called it salvation. She had tasted eternity. She had felt him—all of him. Given herself to him to keep, to ruin. What greater devotion existed outside of their… was it, love? Could she call it love?
She lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes from her father’s gaze. “Yes, Father,” she whispered, though the words sliced her own tongue to pieces.
“I am so proud of you, my dear.”
Her eyes perked up as he continued, crossing the room to sit next to her.
“You are going to be a wife. An exceptional one. Just like your mother was. Mrs. Pencrook, god rest her soul, would be proud too. And to think one day, you will be a mother. What greater joy is there?”
A wife?
A mother?
Why did that future suddenly fill her heart with clay?
Was that her future? Was all the excitement Elias had made her feel truly just fleeting?
“What if,” she started, running her hands nervously down her skirt before meeting her fathers proud gaze. “What if, Henry is not always gentle? What if…” she swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. “What if I were to wish for something else?”
“A husbands job is to teach, and trust in him that he will do that, my love. For his love for you will be present in all of his future teachings. And what else is it that you wish for? You will be a wife and a mother. This is your greatest purpose in life. It is your sacred duty.”
Her throat constricted. She wanted to scream, to tear the words from his lips before they could root themselves into her skin. A wife. A mother. Purpose. As though her soul existed only for the tethering of a ring and the labor of children.
But her lips betrayed her, parting only for silence.
Her father reached for her hand, folding her slender fingers into his broad palm. “Do not fear, Penelope. You will learn to love him. You will learn to find happiness in your duty. Every woman does. It is in your nature.”
Every woman does.
The phrase rang in her skull like a death knell. She thought of Elias then—his hands, cool and trembling with restraint. His mouth against hers, desperate as if she were the last thing in the world that could tether him. There had been no duty in that kiss. No expectation. Only want. Only ruinous, wretched want that had made her feel alive for the first time in her life. He allowed her leave to truly wish for something beyond the walls her father—no, her town had built. That all themenhad built.
Her father smiled, patting her hand as if to seal the matter. “You are blessed, Penelope. Not all women are given such a match.”
Penelope’s lashes fluttered, her breath shallow, her lips curving into something that resembled a smile but did not reach her eyes. She had never felt less blessed. She had never felt more cursed.
