Discovering the Devil

S i x

The sandpapery speck of irritation Polly's first question produced now grew. "I don't think he did it."

Polly's surprise deepened. "You don't?"

"He doesn't seem like the sort of person who would commit murder."

"Like you would know."

"I'm serious. He's just...a man. I'm not even sure why people call him the Devil."

"He's a man who's committed murder," Polly pointed out.

"Allegedly. It could've been an accident for all we know. Young men come to blows all the time. It's not hard to believe that a brawl might've ended in tragedy."

"It sounds like you're giving him the benefit of the doubt." Her voice was faintly suspicious. Polly's brows quirked up knowingly.

Penelope nearly choked on her tea. First the duchess, now her. "Don't, Pol. I can't stand him."

"No one can. And yet...you're the only person that I've heard breathe a word of good about him."

"Because I'm the only person in Milford who doesn't have their head completely up their arse."

"I'm hurt," Polly crowed, pressing a hand to her chest.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "I'm just trying to see all sides."

"There's only one side. Didn't you see the rags about he and the vicar?"

Lord Hawthorne's words in the shop sounded in her head. Not all vicars are holy men. "Who knows if the vicar was telling the truth."

Polly gasped before hiding a laugh behind a cupped hand. An incredulous titter spilled between the cracks of her fingers anyway. Penelope glared at her. "Oh, Pen! If I didn't know you, I'd swear you were joking."

"Don't act like what I'm saying is so ridiculous. It's insulting. Don't you remember the nun you pinched when you were little? And when you told your mother, she denied it took place?"

"I was a little girl that needed discipline! My mother was too soft for her own good and forbade punishment of any kind. She would've killed that nun if she knew the truth. And anyway Pen, we're adults. People of the church don't just lie."

"It was just a thought," Penelope replied moodily. "When did you become so close-minded?"

"Close-minded?" Polly cried. "When did you become so open-minded?" Penelope took a long draught of tea while her friend did her best to stifle her laughter. Once it had completely subsided they fell into silence, one part fascination and another part irritation. "Christ," Polly murmured.

"And people say I'm the dramatic one."

"Oh, don't Pen. Do you remember how you acted when Andrew and I first started courting?"

Penelope did remember her reaction, and as far as she was concerned, it was justified. Andrew Abernathy was short, shy, and had no fortune to speak of. He wasn't even titled and neither was his father or the father before him. Penelope never understood how her titled, wealthy, and dazzling friend could love someone so...beneath her. But that had been years ago, and Penelope had grown bored of trying to understand it. Polly was happy and that was what mattered. "It's not the same."

"You laughed in my face. And you called him a fortune-chasing dwarf."

Penelope resisted the urge to smile at the epithet. "You're exaggerating."

"I'm not. Don't be hypocritical, Pen. It's unbecoming."

"Why are you drawing comparisons between them anyway? Andrew isn't my fiancée; Solomon is."