"Soon," he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips again. "We will speak of it soon."
Holding his words as a promise, Christina forced herself away from him, stepping up into the carriage and sitting back against the cushioned seat. Her happiness seemed to know no bounds, whirling through her to the very tips of her fingers, filling up every little space within her. The engagement, once broken, might soon be restored, might soon return to her all the love and hope she had once dreamed of.
Then, in the next breath, reality tore at the edges of her happiness. A heavy cloud spread over her like a storm gathering over a field of flowers and forcing her joy away. Lord Pennington's shadow stretched long and cold over her hopes, his cruel words setting darkness against her sunshine. Lord Coventry offered affection, care, consideration, and love, but Lord Pennington wanted only to own her, to claim her as if she were a piece of land that was to be signed over to him. Her words of courage to Lord Coventry had been steadfast and sure, her determination strong, but now, in the quiet corner of the carriage, Christina began to wonder if she had enough strength to withstand whatever Lord Pennington would throw at her to force her into his arms instead.
I will have my family and his to support me, she thought, gripping her hands together tightly in her lap. This may have happened a little more quickly than we intended, but we will be able to keep Lord Pennington at bay. I need not fear.
"Are you quite all right, my lady?" The maid — Sarah — glanced towards Christina and then looked away again. "You are a little flushed."
"It is the ice I enjoyed with Lord Coventry," Christina responded, quickly. "Thank you for your concern, however. I — "
The carriage began to slow, forcing Christina's attention to where they were. She had been thinking of Lord Coventry for so long that she had barely noticed the time slipping by her.
"We have arrived, Miss." The carriage came to a stop just at the few stone steps that led to the house, and the tiger quickly hopped down, moving to open the door and then assist them both from the carriage. Gathering her skirts, Christina made to move forward, only for a flicker of motion to her left catching her eye.
"Wait there!"
A loud command halted Christina's progress. Before the footman could intervene, a gloved hand appeared at the frame of the carriage door.
"I have business with Miss Oldham," a voice said. "I will not be a moment."
Christina's breath hitched as the footman stepped back, allowing Lord Pennington to climb into the carriage without her awareness or permission. Instinctively, she pressed herself back into the confined interior, glancing to the other side of the carriage to see Sarah cowering in fright.
"Lord Pennington, good afternoon." Doing her best to stay calm, Christina sat up as straight as she could. "Might I ask what you think you are doing, climbing into my carriage in such a way?"
But Lord Pennington did not answer with the cold threat she had expected. Instead, he settled himself opposite her with an air of studied reasonableness, smoothing one hand across his coat and offering her a smile that was warm, concerned, and entirely wrong.
"Forgive my intrusion, Christina," he began, his voice low and familiar — as if they were the closest of relations sharing a confidence over tea. "I would not have come to you like this if the matter were not urgent."
She kept her back pressed against the seat, her fingers curling into the cushion beneath her. "I see nothing urgent about climbing uninvited into my carriage."
"You are right to be cautious." He lifted both hands briefly, palms outward — the picture of a man seeking to reassure. "I am not here to frighten you. I am here because I am concerned for you, as any relation ought to be."
Christina said nothing. Her spine was rigid, her chin lifted — the posture of a woman who was performing composure because the alternative was fear, and she would not grant him fear. Not yet.
"I have observed your association with Lord Coventry." Lord Pennington's tone was gentle, almost paternal. "And I must say, as someone who cares for you and for this family, I have reservations."
"I do not recall asking for your opinion on the matter, Lord Pennington."
"No, indeed you did not." His smile thinned a fraction but held. "But sometimes, those who care for us see what we ourselves cannot. Lord Coventry is not the steadfast gentleman you believe him to be. He stepped back from you once before, Christina. A man who would cast aside a woman's affection — and I know that he did, for Sophie confided as much to your mother — is a man who may do so again."
Christina's hands tightened in her lap — but only for a moment. Sophie had promised, that first afternoon in the garden, to tell no one of the broken engagement; not her husband, and certainly not their mother. Pennington's claim was a lie, and a transparent one — the invention of a man who believed her rattled enough to accept a confidence she had no means to verify. It did not land as betrayal. It landed as revelation. He was not only using what he knew. He was fabricating what he did not, and watching her face to seewhether the fabrication would take. She resolved that he would see nothing of the sort.
"Lord Coventry and I have come to an understanding," she said, carefully. "Our affairs are our own."
"But they are not only yours," Lord Pennington replied, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped, intimate and pressing. "There is the matter of your inheritance, Christina. The fortune our grandfather left — it is meant to remain within the family. Surely you can see the wisdom in that. A match with Lord Coventry would take that fortune out of the family entirely."
There it was. Beneath the warmth and the concern, the real shape of his interest.
"My inheritance is my own to bestow as I choose," Christina answered, hearing her voice steady even as her pulse quickened. "It is not a family matter. It is mine."
Something shifted in Lord Pennington's face. The veneer of warmth cracked — just slightly, like the first fracture in ice before the whole sheet gives way. His jaw worked, and she saw the effort it cost him to smooth his expression back into pleasantness.
"I have been very patient with you, Christina." His voice was still low, but the gentleness was gone from it, replaced by something flat and instructive. "My own forbearance lacks your strength."
Christina stared at him. "I do not understand. Why have you been patient?"
Lord Pennington sighed and shook his head, the exasperation of a teacher disappointed in a slow pupil. "For you to come to your senses. For you to come to me."
