CHAPTER 11 #3
"Especially me. I'm the most authentically deteriorated thing on the property, with the least potential for renovation."
"That's not true," Penelope said unexpectedly. "You seem quite renovated already compared to what the gossip sheets say."
"The gossip sheets say I'm a scarred recluse who's possibly mad and definitely dangerous."
"Yes, but you're neither mad nor particularly dangerous. I find your current circumstances exceedingly unfortunate.”"
The observation, delivered with innocent directness, silenced everyone.
"Out of the mouths of babes," Edmund murmured.
"I'm professionally miserable. There's a difference."
"You jest to avoid genuine emotion," Penelope continued, apparently finding her courage. "It's what my brother does when he's uncomfortable."
"Your brother sounds like a wise man."
"He's actually quite foolish, but he means well."
Despite himself, Gabriel found himself almost warming up to the girl. "Would you genuinely like to see the gardens, or was that Edmund's attempt at social manipulation?"
"Both. I do like gardens, and Lord Hartley was definitely attempting social manipulation."
"At least you're honest about it. Come then, let's survey the horticultural disaster I've created through pure neglect."
He stood, offering Penelope his arm out of habit more than interest. She took it carefully, as if afraid he might bite.
"I don't actually bite," he told her quietly as they walked toward the French doors. "Despite what my aunt has probably told you."
"She said you were difficult but salvageable with the right feminine influence."
"And you're supposed to be that influence?"
"Oh, goodness no. I'm supposed to be practice."
Gabriel stopped walking. "Practice?"
Penelope flushed. "For when you meet someone you actually want to court. Lady Agatha thought if you could spend time with me without sending me into hysterics, you might be ready for actual society."
“Am I to understand, then, that you are my instruction in the exercise of matrimony?”
“In essence, yes. Though I fancy I am merely a humble companion appointed to improve one's address before the proper pursuit of a suitable match.”
"That's... actually rather insulting to both of us."
"I thought so too, but Father owes your aunt a considerable favor, and here we are."
They stepped out into the garden, and Gabriel noticed Clara directing two gardeners he didn't remember hiring in what appeared to be an assault on the overgrown topiary.
"Your housekeeper is very beautiful," Penelope observed.
Gabriel's jaw clenched. "I hadn't noticed."
"Now who's lying to avoid genuine emotion?"
"You're dangerously perceptive for someone so young."
"I'm eighteen, not blind. The way you look at her is quite romantic, actually."
"I don't look at her any particular way."
"You look at her like my brother looks at cake after Lent."
"That's... disturbing specific."
"But accurate?"
Gabriel couldn't help but laugh. "You're not at all what I expected from one of my aunt's protégées."
"I'm not her protégée. I'm her weapon of marital destruction, aimed specifically at your bachelorhood."
"And you're comfortable with that?"
"Of course not, but I'm eighteen with no other prospects and a father who thinks matrimony is a business transaction. Being aimed at you is better than being aimed at Lord Pemberton."
Gabriel's expression darkened. "Pemberton? That lecher is old enough to be your grandfather."
"He's also rich enough to solve my father's debt problems, which makes him a viable candidate despite his numerous moral failings and wandering hands."
"Your father would sell you to that monster?"
"My father would sell me to whoever offers the best terms. At least your aunt is offering me as a rehabilitation project rather than an actual bride."
They walked deeper into the garden, and Gabriel found himself genuinely appalled on the girl's behalf. “No lady of your standing ought to be reduced to a mere convenience, whether to hone a gentleman's address or to redeem his fortune.”
"That's kind of you to say, but we both know the world doesn't operate on what people deserve."
"No, it operates on what people take. What they fight for."
"Easy to say when you're a duke with no one to answer to."
"I have Aunt Agatha to answer to, apparently."
"Only because you're allowing her to intimidate you with the threat of legal action. You could fight her if you really wanted to."
"Fighting requires energy I prefer to preserve for brooding and self-pity."
"And for observing your housekeeper when you think no one's looking?"
Gabriel stopped walking again. "You're determined to make that observation, aren't you?"
"I'm simply noting that you've looked back at her seventeen times since we entered the garden, which seems excessive for professional interest."
"You've been counting?"
"I'm very bored, Your Grace. Your romantic tragedy is the most interesting thing to happen to me in months."
"It's not a romantic tragedy."
"A romantic comedy then?"
"It's nothing. There's nothing romantic happening here whatsoever."
Clara chose that moment to laugh at something one of the gardeners said, the sound carrying across the garden like music. Gabriel's head turned automatically toward her, and he caught Penelope smirking.
"Eighteen times," she said.