Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
G eorge was beginning to unravel, unsure if he’d even recognize himself if he’d look in a looking glass. Disregarding the masks they all wore, there were far deeper, more personal reasons why he found himself unfamiliar in his own body. Just then, surrounded by pleasures beyond his imaginations, George found himself overcome with anger, heat boiling beneath his skin as though a fire had been lit below his feet. As if nothing else around him existed, nothing but Penelope.
Penelope dancing with Fred. He had a hand resting on her waist, another holding her hand. They were movements that the dance was dependent on, and every pairing followed suit without question. Despite doing it himself countless times, George stared at them, his mind writhing with the idea of them touching in such an intimate way. Not only that, but Penelope looked up to Fred with wide, open eyes, her lips pressed firmly together as she listened to the words he spoke.
No man would ever have to worry about their partner listening to them, if their partner happened to be Penelope.
Clenching his fists, George let out a heavy sigh, unable to take his stare away from them, even if it forced him to be filled with an unbridled anger. If only he had been faster, quicker to the punch in asking Penelope for a dance. He had only assumed it wasn’t what she wanted, not after he admitted to previously being a rake. Reaching up, he pressed a fist against his forehead, feeling the mask crease and press unpleasantly into his head.
“Why, Georgie, you look like a lovesick dog.”
Looking over to his right, George’s heated stare landed on Winnie. She had left him for a moment or two, but he hadn’t even noticed, too focused on the pair dancing a yard or two away from him. She’d returned with a box of sweets that were tied shut with a red ribbon.
“What’re you starin’ at?” she snapped, holding a hand protectively over the box. “Don’t get any bright ideas, sport, these are for my beloved Freddie! Don’t you think he deserves it after givin’ your bride a dance?”
“Not now, Winnie.”
“C’mon, now, Georgie, don’t be mad at me!”
He scowled. “Why not?”
“Well, I’m not the one who’s standin’ there lookin’ like the most terrible thing on God’s green earth happened.”
George sighed, deciding not to answer her any longer, not when he teetered on the edge of shouting, when he was fully aware she did not deserve it.
“Georgie,” she said as she came to stand beside him, “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just ask for the next dance?”
He glanced over at her, about to snap and lash out, but only seeing a kind friend. Letting out a deep sigh, George waited for himself to calm down before he spoke again. “Am I truly that transparent?”
Winnie laughed loudly, patting his back sympathetically. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re transparent to everyone but Penelope. Does that help?”
Frowning, he shook his head. “Not exactly.”
“Didn’t think it would.”
George laughed. “Why’d you say it, then?”
“Seemed like the moment for some advice,” she said with a shrug. “Not my fault you didn’t give me a good enough problem that asked for some good advice!”
“You don’t think this is a -” George cut himself off, holding up his hand. “You know what? Never mind. I appreciate your help, Winnie.”
“Well, well, looks like the Englishman has some sense after all!”
George laughed, knowing all the quick-wittedthings he could say but holding them in as the song came to an end. His attention snapped towards Penelope and Fred, seeing that they did not part right away. Without waiting to say another word to Winnifred, George quickly strode across the pavilion, coming beside them within an instant. They were talking in hushed tones, the noise too loud around George for him to truly pinpoint what it was that they said.
“Penelope,” he said, extending his hand to her before bowing his head. “Might I have the next dance?”
Fred, within an instant, released his hold on her, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Enjoy, Pen,” he cooed, giving her a quick wink before scooting his way across the floor to Winnie.
“Unless that isn’t what you want,” George quickly said once they were alone, suddenly aware of the fact that she hadn’t raised her face to meet his own yet. Lowering his hand, he fought against the embarrassment, moments away from shooting off in the opposite direction. “My apologies, Penelope, I thought -”
“I would like to dance with you.”
George looked back at her. “You would?”
Her voice was quiet and small, not something he would ever expect to hear from her. Slowly, she raised her face to him, sharp green eyes looking at him through hooded, long eyelashes. Everything about her, even with the mask, was incredibly alluring, drawing him in and capturing him within a second. He drew nearer to her, delicately taking her hand within his own before slipping a hand around the curve of her waist. As she waded in closer to him, the smell of her hair wafted past his face, igniting every nerve within him.
The orchestra began to play their next tune, and it was slower than before. A part of it made George felt melancholy, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Allowing his grip to grow firmer around her, George drew Penelope even nearer, till there was no more space left to give. The music carried them around the pavilion, less pairings upon the floor making it easier to move around as though they swam.
George let himself gaze down at her, meeting her stare and not daring to let it go. If there was a world going on around them, he was unbeknownst to it, not finding any need to dare to turn away from her. He was enamored by her tanned skin, looking as though the sun had left it’s phantom kiss on her. There were her eyes that were only emeralds, plucked from the deepest trenches of the earth and left within her gaze. It took everything in him to not drag a hand through her auburn locks, desperate to know what they felt like against his skin. There was so much, he realized, that he wanted far too late.
They had already been so set on their deal, so set on the opening of the stud farm and capture of a well enough cottage. Further than that: George managed to secure the perfect cottage, and after a few minor repairs, it would be ready. There was no telling when that would be, but George doubted it would be very long. Time was running out, and he still had no idea of what it was that he truly wanted.
But then, when he looked down at her, unable to tear himself away, George became sure of one thing. His heart would ache for all eternity if he had to be separated from her, the girl who never truly wanted to be his wife. Even then, before anything had been set and done, George already missed her, already felt his chest begin to cry and grow hollow from no longer having her near. There was no time left to turn back, to change everything they had agreed on. Penelope demanded there be an end date, and until she told him otherwise, George would stick to it.
The music swelled, the passion in the song resembling the own fires smoldering in his heart. The pavilion could’ve been empty all around them and George wouldn’t have known. He could only focus on dancing with her as though it would be the last time, tightening his grip on her hand and pulling her even closer to him by the hip. Her lips parted, a warm breath coating him across the lips.
He’d give anything - he’d give the entire world - to allow himself to dip down and capture her lips in a tender embrace.
As the orchestra came to an end, claps resounding across Vauxhall gardens, George wished to turn back time, to replay the moment over and over again, until it was so prominent in his mind that he could never unsee it. The music stopped, and George had to pull his arm away from her waist, though he was incredibly reluctant. He kept his hand wrapped around her own, using it to pull her arm around his.
Penelope remained quiet as she twisted her arm around his, her gaze down and focused on the floor. George sighed, beginning to lead the way back to the Millers as they ate their way through the delectable sweets box Winnie purchased.
“George,” Penelope suddenly said, her voice firmer than before.
He paused, looking down at her. “What is it?”
“Do you…regret your time with me?”
“Why would you ask such a thing?” George asked, turning to face her fully.
She shrugged. “It was merely a thought.”
“A cursed one, at that.”
Penelope scoffed. “Don’t be childish.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he snapped back.
“George -”
“Tell me what it is I did to make you ask such a thing.”
She looked away while shaking her head. “There was nothing anyone did, George.”
“Then why?”
“I do not know,” she murmured, her lips pressing tight. If there were a meaning behind her words, she refused to show it.
George sighed, moving back towards Winnie and Fred. He felt like he grew cold from the inside out, suddenly faced with the realization that Penelope might never feel the way he’d come to feel about her. As far as he knew, her future still brimmed with the possibility of independency alongside her pack of animals. There was no George in that picture.
Shoulders hunching with bitter thoughts, George pushed the image of an empty Manor out of his mind. No Penelope, no dogs. Not even Buttercup. How cold would his home become?
“At our return to the townhouse,” he suddenly said, “We must begin preparations for the ball.”
“What ball?”
“Restoration is finished at Yeats Manor,” George replied. “With the opening of the stud farm, we will commemorate it with a ball, inviting all the aristocratic members of the Ton who once doubted me. Perhaps it will be our last chance to sway them.”
“So that’s what it is about? Our deal?”
George paused, looking over at her. “Isn’t it?”
“Well, I -”
“You will need to discuss the details with Mrs. Howard,” he quickly said, unable to bare the idea of her delivering her rejection within Vauxhall gardens. He would not taint their time with heartache or anger, it was not worth it one bit, and Penelope deserved much better than that. Giving her a forced smile, he made it back to the Millers. “Might we be on our way, friends?”
Walking as a company, they made their way back down the Grand Walk, taking their final ganders over the spectacular spectacle that was Vauxhall gardens. The acrobats still danced on the tight rope, wearing outrageously bright costumes and juggling a numerous amount of things while suspended in the air. A hot air balloon was rising into the sky when they passed, a trio of people inside, looking over the edge and waving as the crowds shrunk beneath them like ants.
As they came to the exit from Vauxhall, they each left their mask with the jesters, who now wore dreadfully sad faces when guests made their way to leave. Despite it all, Penelope’s arm remained tightly wound around George’s, as though she were afraid to let go. He, feeling quite afraid himself, would revel in gratitude later that she remained holding onto him. While Winnie and Fred chattered on aimlessly about the oddities of London, George could only focus on Penelope, and how the approaching ball would act like her final farewell at the same time.
When the carriage came to them, they climbed in one by one, each pairing taking one side of the compartment. Fred rubbed his belly after eating too many sweets, and Winnie smiled fondly at him. George felt rather stiff and tense in his own seat, keeping his gaze locked on the trees passing by as they moved towards the townhouse. Halfway through the ride, he felt Penelope shift from beside him, soft breaths coming from between her lips as though she slept.
Careful not to move too much, George glanced over to see her fast asleep on his shoulder. She leaned against him fully, her lips slightly parted and angled up towards him. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, and George had watched countless sunsets light the horizon sky on fire in western America, a sight unseen by most men. And yet, Penelope drifting into a deep sleep, fully trusting him enough to lean against him, was like gazing upon an angel.
Looking up, George met Fred’s knowing stare as Winnie drifted to sleep on his own shoulder. George grew somber as the heartache he felt before came rushing back. While Fred got to take his wife to their bedroom in the evening, gladly leaving as many kisses against her skin as he would like, George would have to give up Penelope within the next week or so. Leaning his head back against the carriage seats, George wondered if Penelope would dream of him in the same way he dreamt of her each coming night.