Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
“ T ell me again, won’t you?”
Penelope sighed from her bed, still laying in her night garments, her hair a tangled mess below her head. She craved the presence of her animals - the need to hold one of them against her chest to stop her heart from racing was growing too deep to ignore. Instead, there was only her lady’s maid, Clarissa, who was too in love with love to pass up the opportunity to hear more about the ball’s success.
The truth behind the ball was something she carried deep within her heart. Sure, it proved to be a success in all its intents and purposes. George’s stud farm would have a line out the door when he began to produce foals. Most of the gentlemen interested in seeing the steeds had a particular interest in Vaun, the American stallion. To the Lords of London, Vaun was a beast from a land they never expected to visit. He was a foreign thing they were all engrossed with, eager to see what sort of power lay within him.
Much like their fascination with the American Duke himself.
Penelope turned over in bed, facing the room as Clarissa packed her things, leaving out a traveling dress for the journey back to the townhouse. No matter what, all night long and even on into the morning, every thought in Penelope’s mind led back to George. If it wasn’t about the kiss they shared, right at the foot of her bed, it was his words, or the unrecognizable expression that had clouded his face for the rest of the party. All of it ran amok in her brain as if she didn’t have any control over it.
Penelope snatched one of her pillows, pressing it over her face, trying to suffocate the memories of his lips against her own.
“You’re so funny this morning,” Clarissa mused.
Penelope grumbled. “I would not call this funny.”
“Am I annoying you, your Grace? Is that it? I’”
Lowering the pillow, Penelope sat up in her bed. “Of course not, Clarissa. Forgive me, I never meant to give that impression.”
“Oh, well, it’s quite alright if you did, your Grace,” Clarissa said with a sheepish laugh. “I’ve asked you to tell me about the ball three times in a row!”
“Four, actually.”
Clarissa paused as she folded up her gloves. “Really? It was four times?”
Penelope laughed as she willed herself to make the rest of the way out of her bed. “Do not fret over it, Clarissa, I enjoy telling you these things.”
“Do you really?”
“It feels very much like telling a sister, doesn’t it?”
Clarissa beamed as she closed the trunk. “I’ve always wanted a sister to gossip with.”
Sadness twinged at Penelope once more. She watched the lady’s maid move through the room, a light skip to her step now. She hadn’t once thought about missing Clarissa, but now that she knew that the cottage was ready to be lived in, she found herself realizing the things she’d be forced to leave behind. And the idea that it brought her despair worried her even more. Ever since George had kissed her, Penelope realized the truth that had lainwithin her all along, a truth she could not dare say aloud.
Penelope did not want to leave the life she had fallen into alongside George.
She touched her lips once more, her hand fluttering to her shoulders, where George had held her so firmly. It was more than she had ever imagined. Not only was it her first kiss, but it was something she never thought would happen with him. For someone who was so tall, who was so broad, whose hands were littered with callouses from his work in the New World, George was incredibly gentle, and she never once felt afraid when he held her. Not one bit of him would hurt her. Penelope knew that simple thought without a hint of doubt.
But how he felt about the kiss itself eluded her to that very moment. He was so lock-lipped, so sure to keep his true feelings hidden behind his masking expression, that it left Penelope questioning every word he had ever said to her. Perhaps the things he said to make her feel better were nothing more than that. Words to make her feel better, to make her go back to the ball. Her mouth opened in surprise. Perhaps…perhaps George had kissed her to sway her where he needed her to go. They were, in fact, still enmeshed in a deal, weren’t they?
“You look so sad, suddenly, your Grace,” Clarissa said as she rounded the bed, holding Penelope’s clothes for the day over her arm. “Can I brighten your mood?” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “I won’t ask you to tell me of the ball again. Promise!”
Penelope turned her face away for the fear of crying once more. George truly did want her to leave, after all. He had been trying to tell her about the letter he received when he came upon her crying. He hadn’t come to her just to come to her. Penelope’s shoulders fell even further. Squeezing her eyes shut, Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to expel the thoughts that threatened to overtake her if she wasn’t careful.
Going to the cottage and living on her own was what she wanted in the first place. It couldn’t be that hard to fall back into that mindset, to remember why she was at Yeats Manor after all. Turning back to Clarissa, Penelope gave her the widest smile she could muster.
“I believe I am hungry,” Penelope said.
Clarissa laughed. “So hungry it made you sad, your Grace! Let’s get you changed to attend breakfast.”
Penelope rose from her bed, telling herself that the moment she was able to put some distance between herself and George, she’d feel back to herself. All she needed was some perspective, to remember what was waiting for her in that snug cottage.
Perspective and distance.
The round table in which they dined at for breakfast was beautifully illuminated by the rising sun. Tall windows were behind the table, creating a cozy nook that was incredibly warm and inviting. Penelope waded in long after her companions had already begun eating, their conversation simmering into something more quiet when she took her seat. A plate of food was presented to her, but her stomach twisted at the sight of it, her eyes flicking over to glance at George. He flipped through letters absentmindedly, not raising his face to acknowledge her presence.
“Mornin’, Penny!” Winnifred suddenly perked up, taking a sip from her teacup. “Didn’ see much of you last night.”
She swallowed, keeping her eyes down. “There were lots of guests, Winnie. I don’t recall seeing you either.”
“Point taken,” she replied with a loud laugh. “Sad we’re goin’ back to the townhouse. I felt like a Queen here.”
George scoffed.
“Somethin’ to say, Georgie?”
Lifting his head from his papers, George’s eyes fell on Penelope within an instant. His lips parted, a sharp exhale leaving his mouth before he snapped his attention away. Shaking his head, the amused smirk returned to his face as he turned to Winnifred.
“Wasn’t it you who was complaining about the Manor having too many rooms?”
“Well,” Winnie cooed, “If I was a Queen, it wouldn’ matter much, now would it?”
Fred reached for his wife’s hand, snatching onto it before holding her fingers below his lips. “My darlin’ Winnie,” he drawled, pausing to press a kiss to her nails, “I’d make you a Queen forever and build a Manor even bigger than this back out west.”
George rolled his eyes.
“Now, that is how you treat a woman, Georgie,” Winnifred snapped. “Take notes.”
Once again, George’s gaze landed heavily on Penelope. She scooted around in her chair, unsure of what his stare said. When she glanced at him, he looked away like a child caught where he wasn’t supposed to be. Penelope turned her attention back to the plate, an ache burrowing itself deep beside her heart. It was as if a hole grew there, growing larger the more George pulled away from her. Or perhaps it was the other way around, and Penelope felt the sadness begin in herself the closer they came to the end date.
The end date she had insisted upon.
As ironic as it was, it left a sour taste in her mouth.
“Darlin’ Pen,” Freddie said from the other side of the round table. “You’ve got the saddest frown.”
“Don’t poke at ‘er, Freddie,” Winnie hissed, giving him a firm smack across the shoulder.
Penelope gave them a smile. “I-It isn’t out of sadness, Fred. I am merely… thoughtful.”
“Well, let it out!” he shouted. “Gonna put a hole in your head from thinkin’ too hard.”
It had to be done. If not then, at some point, and perhaps waiting would only make it worse than it already was. Penelope gathered her courage, remembering how she was once so sure of herself. Before George, the future was laid out for her. Everything was as simple as it needed to be, and she never batted an eye towards a thing like marriage. But, before George, there was no gentleman who had bantered with her. Before George, no gentleman adored her animals as much as her father once did. Before George, she thought she was the only one like her in all of London.
She lifted her head, feigning the smile on her face when devastation racked through her. “We have received news,” she said. “The cottage is ready.”
Winnie’s face didn’t hesitate to fall. She shot a stare at George, then back at Fred. Finally, her gaze landed on Penelope, a beaming smile spreading from ear to ear, dimples popping out in the sweetest way. “Dear Pen,” she murmured, “I’d hate to see you go.”
“D-Don’t look at it like that,” Penelope said, swallowing the rise of emotion in her voice. “By no means does this mean I am gone for good. You know that, right?”
The smile on Winnie’s lip twitched into something sad. “Sure,” she said, “But it just ain’t the same.”
Fred cleared his throat, wrapping an around around his arms shoulders before giving her a tight squeeze. “Penny, we’re mighty happy for you,” he quickly said. “Just know how glad we’ve been to know you, and we can only pray for more time.”
The words sunk deep into Penelope’s skin. Without even thinking, she turned, focusing her attention on George. He seemed to be in another world entirely, eyes clung to a random spot in the table. His jaw was rigid and tense, and she ached to reach for him, to hold him till he relaxed and looked like himself once more. There were so many words trembling at the edge of her lip, begging to be set free if he would just say the word. If he could look at her, even. Just the slightest bit of a sign.
Penelope’s lips parted as he turned, ever so slightly, tempting her with the hope she didn’t realize sat right above her breast. A smile twitched at her lip, readying herself to fall in his arms, to tell him it wasn’t what she wanted. Just one word, she thought to herself. Please, George.
He turned away.
Penelope exhaled, the breath she had been holding passing between them like the ghost of what their future could’ve been. Looking back across the table, she caught the stares of the Millers holding onto her, both of them watching her in a rather pitiful way. Penelope breathed deeply, and stood from the table.
“I plan to leave in two days,” she said.
George lifted his eyes, one brow raised ever so slightly. And suddenly, he smiled, tilting his head in an innocent sort of way that managed to spark butterflies in the depths of Penelope’s stomach.
“Whenever you are ready, Penelope.”
She blinked. What was she expecting? After all, George never once told her not to go. After their kiss, he gave her every reason to believe it hadn’t changed a thing. Their deal had finally finished. She was meant to reap her rewards. George was meant to run his stud farm, and make a new name for himself in London’s society. He was practically halfway there, and Penelope was still stuck at the beginning.
But then, she pictured him at the ball, so gallantly talking about his endeavors with the stud farm, and the ownership of Vaun. That steed was an incredible accomplishment, one that he’d never be able to replicate in England. Penelope softened as she watched him, returning his words with an honest smile. George deserved to part with her, to focus his future on the horses himself. Penelope wouldn’t dare to hold him back.
Hiding her disappointment behind the pride she felt for him, Penelope swallowed the tears. It was what George wanted, and she cared for him so much that she’d hand it right over to him.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “George.”