Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
V auxhall Gardens was not something that could be explained without seeing it firsthand. Penelope had heard all about it growing up, from breathless descriptive articles to whispers in the Ton of the scandalous pleasures to be found within. None of it, despite being the talk of the town, went on to truly describe what it meant to be within the gardens themselves. Not only was it an expansive place that was larger than anywhere Penelope had been, it was filled to the brim with all sorts of things to see and do.
Upon entering through the proprietor’s house, opening up into a long, wide path known as the Grand Walk, the company of four each received a mask to wear. According to the tickets George had managed to procure in such a short notice, all of Vauxhall was participating in a masquerade, and all the guests were meant to participate. People dressed as jesters, with diamond shaped caps and long, flappy shoes, carried the masks by the bag full, whistling a cheery tune as they searched for the one they thought to be perfect for the particular wearer.
By the time it was their turn, Penelope felt both a mix of fear and excitement, eager to see what layahead but terrified of it all the same. It had been a long time since she had been able to do something new, something she would’ve never experienced if she was still living at Egerton Manor.
Not that she meant there was regret in the spinster life.
Shaking her head, Penelope took the mask presented to her. It was a golden shade, with fabric knitted into it to create a magical looking creature. Silvery stars dotted the mask, ribbons dangling down the sides to twist within her auburn locks. The mask, luckily, only went across the eyeline, and not the entire face. Penelope hadn’t even thought about wearing a full-faced mask, and her inability to see her companions within the chaotic fun.
“Allow me, darling,” George cooed, grabbing onto her mask and tying it behind her head without waiting for the go ahead. “Splendid,” he murmured, coming to stand in front of her to position it better over her face. “Can you see?”
Penelope smiled, feeling rather adventurous all of a sudden. “How do I look?”
The breath caught in his throat, his hands still lightly grasping onto the corners of the mask, bare fingertips grazing against the top of her cheeks. Warmth rushed below her skin at the contact, his nearness fueling her excitement for adventure once more. For a moment, just a fleeting second, Penelope became overwhelmed with the possibilitythat perhaps George dared to feel the same things she felt.
As the world around them faded into insignificance, Penelope leaned forward, expecting his answer to be something outof fairytales.
George cleared his throat. “We all look rather ridiculous, don’t we?” he asked with a laugh, raising his voice to grab the attention of the Miller’s as well.
“Dear Pen,” Winnifred said, reaching forward to grasp onto her wrist, “You are always the prettiest girl at the ball, I gather.”
“Oh,” Penelope mumbled, raising a hand to her lips as red swarmed her cheeks. Never before had such a thing been said to her in such earnest. It shocked her more than embarrassed, and her immediate thought was to deny it, to tell Winnifred of her sister, Alicia, and the beauty she held, even as a growing mother. “I wouldn’t dare say that at all. Especially not if you were around.”
Winnifred grasped onto her, yanking till they were arm in arm. “You’re suddenly my bestest friend,” she exclaimed. “Did you hear that, fellas?”
George, looking rather smug all of a sudden, glanced over at Fred without a word, seemingly not wanting to be involved in the conversation. He focused his attention towards the Grand Walk, that led towards the outdoor pavilion besides the opera. An orchestra already played as the crowds gathered, many pairs beginning to dance and laugh. Across the way from the pavilion, a hot air balloon was being prepped by jester-outfitted staff.
“Let’s dance, can’t we Winnie?” Fred said, swooping to come beside them with his hand already extended, a mask fastened tightly over his eyes. “And then I’ll remind you who’s been callin’ you the durnedest pretty girl the world’s ever seen!”
Winnifred, beaming from ear to ear with a blush spreading across her sun-kissed skin, eagerly took her husband's hand, giving Penelope a wink over her shoulder. They went, hand in hand, down the Grand Walk, melting within the crowd and stealing a spot on the already crowded pavilion.
“Shall we?” George asked, his voice stiff and rigid despite the fun happening all around him.
Penelope, feeling as though George might’ve preferred a different sort of company, took his arm, hoping her hesitation wasn’t as apparent as it felt. He led her down the Grand Walk, taking his time so as to look over Vauxhall’s sights.
Lights like Penelope had never seen lit up every corner possible. Besides the hot air balloon, acrobats walked a tight rope above the audience’s heads as applause rose around them. Lines waited beside the hot air balloon, excited faces and idle chatter coming together to form a different kind of music than what the orchestra played. The Grand Walk went further than the eye could see, and had multiple different paths shooting off from it, leading to the eastern side of the gardens, where more pleasures and wonders awaited them.
As they drew closer to the pavilion, the orchestra began to play lively music, the dancers clapping along as they danced. It was a magnificent thing to see, something that wouldn’t dare touch the inside of an aristocrat’s rigidball. Penelope was eager to join in, almost stepping to the beat the closer they went. George remained rigid beside her, his arm tightly wound around her own. He watched the dancers at the same time, something passing by his face but disappearing within the moment. If he was pleased, Penelope had yet to see it.
She opened her mouth, looking up at him and moments away from asking him to dance. George’s face, rigid and cold, told her to do otherwise. Pressing her lips tightly together, Penelope looked away, turning her attention towards the Millers, who danced a splendid jig to the music.
“I hope you won’t leave me wondering for too long as to how you knew to come to this place,” Penelope finally said, unable to remain in silence beside him. “I can hardly imagine members of the Ton calling it a respectable pastime.”
George smirked. “Care to guess?”
“Perhaps,” she mused, tilting her head at him, “You heard about it in a gentleman’s club?”
“That is quite a fine guess, I’d say.”
“But not right?”
“Lord, no,” he blurted with a laugh. “The time I take advice from a man who regularly frequents a gentleman’s club, like Lew’s and Crake’s, I’d hope you’d teach me a lesson. Set the dogs on me - I’m sure that would fix me right up.”
Penelope laughed. “I didn’t know you held them at such a low regard.”
“One day,” he said, “I’ll explain, but back to the game. I’m more than curious, now.”
Holding back her smile at the sound of him saying ‘one day’ and what that could possibly mean, Penelope tapped her finger against her chin thoughtfully. “It couldn’t have been a servant.”
“Final answer?”
“A servant,” she said. “Or staff. Well, now, I -”
George pulled his arm away, holding a finger up at her in a teasing way, a mischievous smirk perking up at the corner of his lip. “Now, now, darling, I did say final answer.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’d have you know,” he began, curling his arm around her’s once more, “I was quite a different man before I left for the New World.”
Penelope raised a brow. “What does that have to do with Vauxhall gardens?”
“One of the reasons why ladies of the Ton do not find themselves in a place like this, is because it is a common…hunting ground for rakes and their ilk,” he explained. “I, myself, found means of pleasure in my youth.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you were a rake?” Penelope asked, looking up at him with a gobsmacked expression.
George eyed her. “Well, I was, but I’d like to change my answer if it made you upset.”
She could only stare for a moment, once again surprised by the man she had married weeks ago. Each day, it felt as though there would be something new, and that gave Penelope quite a thrill. Her eyes dragged over him, and the idea of a younger version of him being handsome enough to act as a rake began to make more sense than it did.
“Truly?” she asked. “You?”
George laughed, though a bit of him looked unsure. “It’s true. Penelope -”
“You should’ve warned me,” Penelope teased, “Before the townhouse is suddenly flooded with love letters, practically novels describing the life you could’ve had.”
“If you’re ever in need of a good read, I’ve got a stack by my bedside.”
“Oh,” she drawled, “Let me guess: they help you go to sleep?”
George let out a loud laugh as he threw his head back, one hand resting over his belly. When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed to twinkle, a genuine smile lingering on his lips. His eyes took in her face within an instant, his features softening to longer he stared. As he opened his mouth, eyebrows raising as if to ask her something, the orchestra paused before playing their next tune.
“Haven’t you danced yet, Pen?” Fred asked as the pair came to stand beside them, breathless and red in the face from their exercise.
Winnifred clicked her teeth, shaking her head mournfully. “She ain’t got the windblown look that she would have if she danced.” Her angry stare fell onto George. “What’s a matter with you, Georgie? Ain’t you got manners?” She smacked a hand against Fred’s back sharply before gesturing at Penelope.
“Oh, right,” Fred muttered before extending a hand forward. “C’mon, Pen. Care for a dance?”
A part of her wished to look towards George, to give him another chance at asking her for a spin. Her hesitation only lasted a second, though. He had been given plenty of time, more than enough to ask for the next dance. Despite the disappointment and heartache that twinged at her heart, Penelope gladly accepted Fred’s hand, giving him the broadest smile that she could muster.
“Mr. Miller,” she said, giving him a dramatic curtsey, “I would be absolutely delighted!”
“Careful, now,” Winnifred teased, “It ain’t that hard to win that man’s heart.”
Penelope let out a laugh as Fred guided her towards the pavilion as the orchestra began to play the next song. Air seemed to fill within her, just like the hot air balloons, and she took off, soaring across the ground with Fred leading the way. For the first time, dancing within a crowd was something to enjoy, something to anticipate. There were no judgemental members of the Ton, no faces to know or names to remember. The masks made them all one and the same, and Penelope couldn’t be more astounded by it.
“Pen,” Fred said a few moments into the dance. “You know that Georgie and I are mighty close, right?”
She nodded, almost not even paying attention as the music filled her soul.
“He tells me all sorts of things,” he continued. “And now that we’re here, he told me of your and his predicament. If you catch my meanin’.”
Penelope’s gaze shot back towards him, eyes narrowed as she spun around. “What do you mean, Fred?”
“George told me of your deal.”
“I see,” she muttered, looking over Fred’s shoulder to catch a glimpse at George, who watched them rather dutifully. “Is there something you wish to tell me about it?”
Fred sighed, a frown taking over his face despite the lively music and atmosphere surrounding them. “It ain’t nothin’ I’ve ever heard of.”
“Do they not arrange marriages in America?”
“Sure, some high and mighty families might,” he said with a shrug, his belly bouncing. “But it ain’t what the country is about. Freedom, you hear? Free will, free to choose, that sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid England does not allow the same carefree ideals for its ‘high and mighty’, as you so efficiently stated,” she said with a grin. “I do quite like that. High and mighty.”
Fred chuckled. “That ain’t the point, Pen. How about this: can you look me dead in the eyes and say you don’t want a true-blooded marriage?”
“You have such a way with words, Fred.”
“Pen,” he grumbled. “I think you don’t know your answer, so you avoid the question.”
Looking away, Penelope felt a pit begin to form in the depths of her stomach. It was frightening how Fred knew so much after knowing her for so little. Despite that gnawing feeling that told her she wasn’t being true to herself, Penelope shrugged, meeting his gaze once more with as much confidence she could muster.
“I don’t believe it has anything to do with whether or not I want a true marriage. All I wanted was to be free to live my own life, the way that I saw fit.”
Fred’s eyebrows raised so high they almost became one with his hairline. “No longer, then?”
“What?”
“You used a whole lot of past tense there, Pen. It ain’t your future no more?”
“Well, I…” Penelope’s words trailed off. She hadn’t even realized she spoke in that way. Sure, she could’ve simply blamed it on a slip of the tongue, the rambuctiousness of their surroundings affecting her ability to collect her thoughts appropriately, but something told her that there was no way she could convince Fred of that notion.
There couldn’t be a further meaning behind that, at least, not one that Penelope could see.
“Maybe there’s more for you to think about,” Fred mused, the corner of his lip curling into an amused smile.
“What more is there?”
Fred shrugged. “Well, is there somethin’ else you want?”
As the music swelled, the couples surrounding them beginning to spin around, Fred gripped onto her to do the same. They spun and spun, the world around Penelope becoming nothing more than a blur or color and sound. Her stomach, that was suddenly wound in knots, threatened to spill all over the floor as her gaze searched for a single person within the surrounding crowds.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Penelope saw him. George stood there, amidst a blur of colors, looking like a creature out of a novel. Her breath was stolen, and whether it was from the dance or him, she didn’t have a moment to care. Penelope clung to Fred as though he were her tether to reality, even though everything within her told her to run to George, run to him and demand to know what it was that he felt.
But instead, she remained there, caught between hope and dread.