XXII
PENELOPE did her best not to stare at the Earl. Ever since their kiss, it had been difficult not to look at him without melting. It had been a week since they'd come back from Berkeley House. There were no rendez-vous during the day, or any meetings of any kind, they'd both decided it was too risky. They met each other at night, when they were both sure the entire house was asleep. So far, it had only been long talks in his private sitting room or his study. Tonight, Lord Hawthorne had insisted they meet in the kitchen.
"I imagine you've never made anything in your life," Lord Hawthorne said. He was wearing a nightshirt and loose trousers. Penelope made sure she was a little ways away from him. If not, she might drown in his scent.
"Of course I haven't, Sir. I've never needed too."
"Harry," he corrected. "It's 'Harry' when we are alone."
Penelope felt herself flush. "Right, Harry. Obviously, I've never had the need to cook." Her eyes surveyed the countertop where eggs, flour, and butter sat. "Is that what we're going to be doing tonight?"
"Not quite."
"What are we doing with these ingredients, then?"
"We're going to make cookies," Harry replied.
"You said we weren't cooking."
"We aren't. We're baking."
Penelope rolled her eyes. "Semantics."
"Come closer, Penelope." Penelope relished the swell of pleasure at the sound of her name. "We can't cook together with you so far away."
"I thought we were baking?"
"Semantics."
Penelope inched closer to him. He spilled flour into the bowl and added a dollop of margarine. "Pick up that egg."
"What for?"
"You're going to crack it against the pan."
Penelope blinked up at him. "Why?"
"So you can put it into the bowl." Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "I would think that bit wouldn't be explanatory."
"Don't tease me." She cracked the egg lightly against the bowl's edge and watched the yoke ooze out of its shell. "Next?"
Harry pointed to the sugar. "Put two cups of that into the bowl."
"How am I supposed to know how much two cups are?"
Harry then pointed to the silver measuring spoon hiding behind the bag of flour. "That's how."
Penelope completed his command. "And now?"
"A pinch of salt. Just a pinch."
Penelope made a face. "I've never heard of salt in cookies."
"This is the first time you've ever picked up a spoon," Harry said. "Just wait till you try them. They're divine."
Despite her skepticism, Penelope followed his directive. Harry added a generous helping of chocolate and handed her a spoon. "You're going to stir."
Penelope gently pressed the spoon into the mixture. She paused when she heard Harry laugh. "What on Earth is so funny?"
"I didn't think it was possible to struggle with something so simple."
"You can do it yourself if I'm doing such a poor job."
"No, you're not getting out of it that easily." Harry leaned in closer, and the room began to spin. He put his hand around the hand she was using to hold the spoon's handle. "I'll show you." Together, they gently turned the mixture into a delectable batter. Against her better judgment, Penelope scooped a bit of uncooked cookie with a tip of her finger, intending to get a preliminary taste. Harry intercepted her finger with his mouth and sucked it clean. Penelope watched him with bated breath. "You shouldn't do that."
"Hm?" She wasn't capable of saying any more than that. She could still feel his tongue swirling against her thumb. A shudder threatened to snake through her, but Penelope wouldn't let it.
"You shouldn't dip your hand in whatever food you're preparing." His voice was low and husky.
"I used to frequent the kitchens when I was young. I saw the cook taste his food all the time."
"You are the farthest thing from a cook, Miss Redwood."
"Penelope," she corrected.
"Penelope," he murmured. The sound of her name on his lips sent an electric shock down her spine. "Forgive me. Force of habit."
"Forgiven."
"We have to put the cookies in the oven next."
He showed her how to roll the dough into balls before setting them onto the baking tray. Afterwards, Penelope gently loaded the tray into the oven. Harry took the opportunity of her turned back to lightly press a kiss against her nape. Penelope nearly dropped the cookies. "How long will it take before it gets ready?" Penelope asked steadily, as if the kiss hadn't affected her at all.
"Forty minutes or so," Harry replied.
"Oh, that's a lifetime. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Wait. What else would you have us do?"
Penelope rolled her eyes. "I've been meaning to ask your permission about something."
"What would that something be?"
"I have a dress fitting at the modiste tomorrow."
"I don't know why I'm surprised you're still having dresses tailored."
"No, it's not for me. I'm a bridesmaid at my friend's wedding."
Recognition flashed in Harry's eyes. "Was that the same friend who came to see you weeks ago?"
"Yes." Penelope smiled. "A Paulina Stone. You would like her."
"I don't know if she would be able to say the same."
"No, she would like you too. They'd all make a pair, I think."
"Who and who?"
"The Wilhelms, Cartwrights, and Stones." Penelope wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure about Drew. He's a touch timid, that one. Otherwise, he's an alright lad."
Harry grinned. "And you don't like timid men?"
"I abhor them." Penelope paused. "For myself, anyway. He and Paulina suit."
"What if I told you that I was timid?"
"You are the farthest thing from."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm certain."
They spent the next half hour driving around the circle of Harry's supposed timidity until Penelope pointed out that the cookies were likely finished.
'You have to wait for them to cool before you eat them," Harry told her once he'd set the tray on the counter.
"I know that. I'm not a child.
"That depends on the circumstance."
Penelope's expression soured. "And what circumstance would that be?"
But Harry didn't answer. He only smiled. "You're incredibly beautiful when you pout."
Penelope's blood singed her cheeks. "Stop it."
"I'm serious."
"You still haven't answered my question."
"About my childishness."
"There goes that pout again." Harry's smile widened. "Absolutely gorgeous."
Penelope didn't think it was possible for her to get any hotter. She glanced at the cookies. "I think these have cooled enough."
"I'd give them a few more minutes."
Penelope, of course, was feeling naughty. She took a bite out of one of the cookies, anyway. It scorched the roof of her mouth, but Penelope had enough experience at poker not to give anything away.
"I know that's hot."
"It's perfect, actually."
Harry retrieved milk from the icebox and poured a glassful. "For your wounded mouth."
"My mouth is not wounded," Penelope rebutted. Still, she took a dainty sip from the glass. It was like honey.
After a few minutes, Penelope took another bite of her cookie. This time, she could taste it properly. "What do you think?" Harry asked.
"It's very good." The cookies were magnificent. "I must have a magic touch."
"You have a magic touch? I gave you all the directions."
"I did the mixing."
"We did the mixing."
Penelope shrugged. "There you go, trying to take all the credit."
A flash of white and a deep chuckle. Penelope's heart skipped a beat. "I'll let you take it this time, since you want it so badly."
Penelope opened her mouth to rebuff him when she spotted a streak of flour across his cheek. She motioned to it. "You have a bit of something here."
Harry wiped around it. "Where?" She pointed to a corner of her cheek where the flour was. Harry missed the mark by several fingers.
Finally, Penelope wiped the trail of flour away. Her heart fluttered as her finger traced the edge of his cheek. She did not want to move it. "There."
Harry dipped down and met her lips with a sweet kiss–of butter, sugar, and chocolate. "You are so irresistible," he murmured.
"Better than my divine cookies?"
"Infinitely so."
She returned the kiss. It was deeper, sweeter.
This was madness. This was perfection.
***
IT had been a lifetime since Penelope had last been at the modiste. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been in the town square. It was hard to ignore the eyes that followed her as she exited the carriage, and walked along the road. It was unnerving being a spectacle, but Penelope didn't let it show. When she entered the shop, the modiste gave her a scrutinizing glare.
"Good evening," Penelope greeted brightly. "I'm here to get measurements for a bridesmaid dress. I'm with Paulina Stone."
The woman did not make a sound. She only turned on her heel, and Penelope was meant to follow her to a designated area.
Polly grinned and kissed her on both cheeks when she saw her. "So, you're finally here."
"Only a little late, per usual." Penelope extended her smile to Polly's sisters. "Hyacinth. Catherine. It's so nice to see you."
The other Stones muttered tepid "hello's." The two of them too? Well, it wasn't as if Penelope could blame them. Penelope supposed she was lucky Polly's mother had allowed them to be in the same room with her. The younger Stones were unmarried and impressionable, it wouldn't be difficult to turn their heads. They'd both been drilled with the same nonsense, no doubt—that Penelope was haplessly dwelling with her lover. In all fairness, that bit was true now, but it hadn't been before. If Penelope was on the outside looking in, she wouldn't want to talk to her either.
"What colors are we wearing?" Penelope asked.
"White," Polly replied. "I've decided to be traditional."
Hyacinth wriggled her nose. "I thought perhaps we might wear lavender. Or baby blue."
Polly's face tightened. The implication was crystal. Penelope knew she should ignore it. This was part of the persecution. However, she'd been a secondary elder sister to Hyacinth and Catherine. Penelope didn't want to believe Hyacinth would insult her so brazenly. So, she asked, "Do you think the colors are prettier?"
Hyacinth looked her unflinchingly in the eye. "No. I just don't think it's proper that some of us are wearing white."
Penelope's breath caught in her throat. "Who on Earth do you think you're speaking to?" Polly snapped.
"I'm speaking to her," Hyacinth continued. "I don't understand—"
"--Polly, it's alright," Penelope interrupted. "Really, it's alright."
"No it's not! They can't speak to you like that. I don't care what they think."
"Are we ready for the measurements?" asked the modiste. They all turned around. Everyone had forgotten she was there.
"Yes," Polly said crisply. She pointed to Hyacinth. "Do her first."
They stewed in a charged silence as the modiste snaked her measuring tape around Hyacinth's waist. Penelope finally decided to break it. "Where are you having your wedding again, Pol? I don't think you ever told me."
"St. Gardner's," Polly replied.
"That's wonderful."
"It isn't the Abbey unfortunately," Catherine remarked. "Polly desperately wanted it, you know. Drew couldn't afford it."
"I didn't desperately want anything," Polly snapped. "All I want to do is get married."
"But you did propose St. Peter's Abbey," Hyacinth said. "And Drew said it was too much money."
"We just decided to be economical, though the two of you wouldn't know anything about being responsible, now would you?" Polly asked.
"True. I suppose we can't all have our cake and eat it," Catherine said. Her gaze shifted to Penelope. "Weren't you supposed to get married at the Abbey?"
Penelope considered ignoring the question, before thinking the better of it. She was the elder, she was supposed to be mature. "Yes."
"A duchy and a wedding," Hyacinth commented. "Some women would die for that."
"Well, she didn't want either, now did she?" Polly queried icily.
"I was just saying, dear sister," Catherine said. "I wasn't insulting anyone. I would die to be the Duchess of Burberry."
"I'm ready for the next girl," the modiste said. Catherine followed after her sister. "Such a lovely shape," murmured the modiste.
"Thank you," Catherine replied smilingly.
"I know Mr. Brooks thinks so," Hyacinth said slyly.
Penelope watched Catherine's face crumple with embarrassment. "Stop it!"
Penelope gave Polly a sideways glance. "Mr. Brooks?"
"He's been sniffing around Catherine lately," Polly explained.
"I don't know why you pretend you aren't smitten with him," Hyacinth said.
Catherine self-consciously tucked a thread of hair behind her ear. "I am not smitten with him." Oh, young love. If they were on friendlier terms, Penelope would see fit to congratulate her.
"There is nothing wrong with being smitten. As long as you aren't smitten stupid."
Catherine and Penelope caught eyes for a brief moment in the mirror. "Trust me, Pol. I would never be smitten stupid."
Penelope was the last to have her measurements taken. Hyacinth whistled. "I don't remember you being so thin. It seems as though you've lost a stone or two."
"Or three," Catherine emphasized.
"I haven't lost any weight," Penelope replied, but even she didn't know if this was true. She might've. She'd been too busy with a host of other things to care about her weight.
"Isn't she thinner, Pol?" Catherine prodded.
Polly frowned. "I don't know. Maybe a little."
"I suppose that you could attribute it to all the stress," Catherine pointed out.
"I imagine being a mistress isn't easy," Hyacinth said.
"Hyacinth," Polly ground out.
"I am no one's mistress," Penelope said patiently.
"No? You're a true housekeeper, then? Through and through?"
"Down to the very last chore."
"I don't know why you bother lying. It is just so plain," Hyacinth said exasperatedly. "And you never used to lie, Penelope, never. I had so much respect for you."
"If everyone would open their eyes, they would see the truth."
Polly attempted to snatch her sister by the hair, but Hyacinth ducked out of her grasp. "Stop it!"
"I will not stop! I..." Hyacinth glared at her disdainfully. "Just admit it. Admit that you are laying with the Devil incarnate—"
Penelope whipped around so fast the modiste nearly tripped over herself. "Don't call him that." Her glare must've been molten, because Hyacinth finally quieted. "You can call me whatever you like but I will not stand Lord Hawthorne's slander in my presence."
"Are you truly defending a man guilty of murdering his brother? Of turning out a vicar on his doorstep?"
"He did not murder his brother. And, there is more to the vicar story than you know."
"Are you really that stupid?" Hyacinth asked.
"Did you ever consider that the vicar might've been the one who was inappropriate? I think we all know how highly priests and vicars think of themselves. If Harr–If Lord Hawthorne confronted him about his indecency, the vicar would've felt slighted. That would explain why he went to the papers."
Hyacinth's eyes narrowed into horrified slits. "I have never heard anything so ridiculous."
"It's not ridiculous." Penelope shook her head. "You do not understand."
"But we understand perfectly," Catherine said coolly. "You let yourself be charmed out of your reputation by...I do not even know what to call him. You're bewitched. It's pathetic."
"He is not the Devil incarnate. He is not a murderer. He is nothing but decent," Penelope seethed. "The two of you are young and impressionable. You can't wrap your minds around the idea of someone being unfairly maligned."
"Everyone, except for Penelope, out," Polly commanded.
"But she—" Hyacinth began.
"Out!" Polly shrieked. Everyone, including the modiste, exited the room. "Their behavior was unacceptable."
"It's alright," Penelope said tiredly. "I would feel the same if I were them. They think I stupidly threw away my future for the fun of it."
"I am so sorry," Polly said. "The last people I want giving you an earful about your situation is my family."
"It is alright
"I had to stop them from berating you. But Pen..." Polly gave her friend an uneasy glance. "I had to stop you from continuing."
"Why?"
"Why?" Polly's eyebrows knitted together. "For Christ's sake, Penelope. You nearly called Lord Hawthorne by his first name!"
"I did not!"
"No, you did. I hope I'm the only one that noticed, but I doubt it. Hyacinth and Catherine are notorious gossips. By daybreak tomorrow, everyone will know how passionately you defended the Earl."
"Let them." Indignation and anger dripped from Penelope's every word. "Someone must defend him. You have no idea how much this wounds him, Pol. He is one of the most noble people in this godforsaken town, and everyone thinks the opposite." Her voice shivered with rage. "It isn't fair. He doesn't deserve any of it. If I am the only one who can defend him, so be it. God knows he deserves so much more."
Polly stared at her. Her lips were parted in shock.
"Why in God's name are you looking at me like that?"
"So it's finally happened?"
"What's happened?"
Polly grinned. "I never thought I would see the day."
Penelope's irritation deepened. "What are you talking about?"
"My best friend is finally in love."
⚜
A/N: When Hyacinth was shading Penelope I couldn't help but think of that one Family Guy episode where Meg is slut-shaming Lois and she says, "Dad, how can you be okay with Mom parading herself half-naked? It makes all women look bad." Random, I know. Of course, this brand of slut-shaming is deeper than just promiscuity.
Also, what do you like most about Harry? Personally, I *love* that he can cook.