XXXII
HARRY never thought that a wedding ceremony could make him feel melancholy. Everything was beautiful. He had never had an eye for floral arrangements or the like (he did not know many red blooded males that did), but on this particular day, every petal stuck out. He found himself wondering how much Penelope liked the white tulips that Polly had. Then, he found himself wondering if Penelope would like an arrangement like that on her wedding day. The seriousness of the thought struck him with such force that Harry almost fell out of the pew.
He loved her. He was in love with her. Why else was he paying such careful detail to flowers? Why was he thinking of what Penelope would appreciate on her wedding day? And, God she was beautiful. Polly looked nice in her wedding gown, but she paled in comparison to Peneope's beauty in her cream bridesmaid dress. He could not take his eyes off of her. He had taken the last pew, but a few heads swiveled to look at him, whispered to their neighbors, and turned away. Even then, he could not stop gawking at her. It wasn't as if anyone believed the rumors anyhow, but one look at his eyes, and there was no denying it.
It was amazing, really. Several weeks ago, Harry had not even thought himself capable of the basest notion of amicability toward Penelope. And now? His heart beat for her. He watched Abernathy's face alight as Polly walked down the aisle, as he recited his vows, as he took her hand. He wanted to be able to do the same thing, to experience the same joy. To hell with his childish vow to stay unwed and the Duke of Fordham's lineage, this happiness was more important. And he wanted it with....
Damn it. Damn it all.
For the sake of propriety, Harry and Penelope were seated nowhere near each other. He expected nothing less. Despite the lingering stare or two, he did not create the surprise or hysteria he had been expecting. He did catch eyes with Solomon for a split second, and he hurriedly looked away. That was, of course, until Lord Beetlebub took his seat next to Harry. The lord had a familiar face that Harry couldn't quite place and a malignant smile.
"Lord Hawthorne," Beetlebub greeted. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
The woman next to him, presumably Lady Beetlebub, refused to meet Harry's eye. Harry sipped his water. "The pleasure is mine."
"I am surprised you came." And so it began. "You never attend any social events."
Harry wondered if he should mention that he had attended the Burberry's engagement hall before deciding it was in poor taste. That was where he had had a scene with Charlotte. He was also rumored to have destroyed that engagement. He could mention that he was never invited to social events, but Harry suspected that was the line Beetlebub was trying to tease out. Instead, he smiled.
"Is there a particular reason you decided to come to this wedding?"
"Is there a particular reason you decided to come to this wedding?" Harry returned.
Lord Beetlebub laughed. "No, I suppose not."
"Well, then. I suppose I am here for the same reason you are."
"I am glad you came, genuinely. I was hoping you could clear up a bit of gossip for me."
"You'll find that a lot of the gossip you hear about me is unfair and untrue," Harry said coldly.
"I'm sure. I don't know if you've heard this one, though," Beetlebub said.
"I've heard a lot of them."
"It's about you and your step-sister. Some say that the reason you might've been turned out at twenty was not because of resentments regarding your half-brother's death." Beetlebub paused meaningfully. "Some say that it was because there were...untoward advances with your stepsister."
Harry was silent. Out of all the ghastly things he'd heard about himself, none of them had involved him being a predator.
"She's a pretty thing, that Charlotte. I was just wondering if it was true."
Without another word, Harry stood up and stormed away from the banquet hall. Blood whistled in his ears. One more moment and he might've turned Lord Beetlebub's face into a crater. Harry exited the hall and went into the night. He sank down against the wall and turned his face toward the sky. There was a waning moon tonight. After a few moments he heard the crunch of boots against the grass. Harry immediately stiffened, he did not know if he could suffer that odious man again. Surprisingly, the face that greeted him was not Lord Beetlebub, it was Solomon.
"Come to fetch me?" Harry asked.
Solomon shook his head. "I'm the last person who would come to fetch you."
"And yet here you are." Harry extracted a match and his pipe from his overcoat. "I know you saw me leave."
"You never should've come here."
Harry took a long draw of his pipe and sighed out the smoke. "I wonder how you don't get tired of antagonizing me. It seems exhausting."
"I should say the same of you," Solomon snarled. "You ruined my engagement ball. You took my fiancée. Worst of all, you wouldn't let me kill you properly."
"I'm sorry I didn't let you end my life peacefully," Harry drawled sarcastically. "And anyway, Solomon, I was invited."
"It does not matter if you were invited or not. You had to have known that your presence would detract from the ceremony itself—from the people that actually matter."
"Both the bride and groom wanted me here." Harry smirked. "They insisted on it, actually."
Solomon gave a cold, bitter smile of his own. "You know Miss Stone and Mr. Abernathy, then. And yet, you expect me to believe that there is nothing between you and Penelope."
A silence followed. Harry wondered if it was appropriate to reveal how he felt about Penelope. It wasn't as if Solomon had ever believed the truth in the first place, and would probably never believe it either. "It did not start out that way," he said finally.
"Of course it didn't," Solomon said sarcastically.
"Why are you here?"
"I wanted to know if you were really stewing over Beetlebub or if you were just having a smoke."
"What difference does it make to you if I'm affected by Beetlebub or not?"
"I didn't think you could let someone so trivial pester you."
"Trivial?" Harry echoed.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten about him."
"I don't have a long memory when it comes to members of society," Harry said dryly. "Actually I try very hard to forget about all of you."
"To remember Beeblebub, you must remember Lily." Solomon sank down beside him. "Don't tell me you've forgotten her too."
Harry did remember Lily. She had been a beautiful aubergine toned girl with the softest curves he'd seen to date. Almost every boy had fawned over her during their teenage years, Solomon included. "No, I remember her."
"Then you remember the gangly, short, bug-nosed creature that would not stop chasing her."
In a second, Harry's secondary years flashed before him with fresh clarity. He remembered a boy much smaller than the rest of them, who was getting picked on. One might feel sorry for him if he didn't deserve it, but the boy in question did little to improve his situation. Harry snapped his fingers. "Bitterbug!" he exclaimed.
"I believe it was you who gave him that nickname."
"I did. He was pouty and sour." Harry took another draw from his pipe. "I was the creative one out of the two of us."
Solomon nodded. "You were."
Harry gave a double take. "Did you just compliment me?"
"It's not a compliment, Harry, it's a fact."
"A fact that adds to my character. I thought you were incapable of that."
Solomon turned to him. "I'm not incapable of anything. I am not...delusional Harry. You used to be my best friend."
Harry snorted. "I'm surprised you remember."
"Which part? That you're a terrible singer—"
"—I fared better than you on the harpsichord. Don't you forget it."
Solomon rolled his eyes. "You only knew how to screech out your words."
"And you only knew how to bang out notes on a piano."
"You were terrible at languages and literature."
"But a god at arithmetic. Where did poetry get you?"
Solomon yawned. "Into the arms of fair and lovely maidens. Where did arithmetic get you?"
"A gloriously successful business." They paused to look at each other and laugh. Harry's heart reverberated with bittersweetness.
"You were my brother, Harry."
"And you were mine." It was not sympathetic or flowery speech, it was true. Before Harry's fall from his grace, he had had friends. Zachary and Percy had been his close right hands...but his relationship with Solomon was unparalleled. At home, Harry was acutely aware that he was unloved. His brother, father, and step-mother all despised him. His grandmother had died shortly after his mother's demise. Harry was alone without a true family to call his own. As the years stretched after the late duchess' death, Harry came to recognize that Solomon was his family. He was the only one that loved Harry, who would always love him—or so he thought.
"I tried to forgive you."
"I'm sure," Harry replied dryly.
"I did. I wanted to forgive and forget...everything."
"And then?"
"I couldn't."
"I commend your effort," Harry remarked acerbically.
"Like I said, I'm not deluded."
"Meaning?"
Somewhere in the distance, a bird crowed. "I know you did not do it on purpose."
"Then why—"
"—I tried to forgive you for your mistake. But the price was too steep." Solomon suddenly pulled something from his coat. A dagger glinted brightly in the moonlight.
***
Penelope watched in her peripheral vision with unease as Harry stormed away from his table. If only she could follow him. She knew better, though. It wasn't wise to even cast an eye in his direction. If it was another occasion, perhaps not so public, she would have a good mind to tell off whoever had provoked his tantrum. But this was no ordinary occasion—it was her friend's wedding. Penelope would be damned if rumors would fly here. After a few moments, she watched Solomon rise from his seat and exit the same way. It made her a little uneasy, but Penelope shrugged off the feeling. Solomon was a man of good breeding. He wouldn't start a fight at a wedding, it was uncouth. And anyway, if the two of them could come out of a hot-blooded duel unscathed, she trusted Harry to ensure nothing happened.
"What is it like? Housekeeping?" asked one of the guests. She was trying her best to sound disinterested, but Penelope wasn't fooled.
Penelope took a generous gulp of lemonade. She could always ignore the question, but she doubted this woman would back down.The alternative was to answer the question hands-on, but that would only invite more invasive query. Penelope supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Most of the guests had politely held off on any mention of her occupation. A good thing could only last so long. "Excuse me," Penelope said decidedly. She would just have to settle on going to the powder room until she felt like braving conversation again. A few minutes after she stepped in, her mother arrived, swathed in violet. Her battle colors.
"Mama," Penelope greeted.
"Penelope," her mother returned. "That was such a beautiful wedding."
"Yes," Penelope agreed.
"It's a shame that you'll never have one like it."
"Mama, please."
"And it was only at St. Gardner's. Imagine what it would've been like at the Abbey."
"Solomon was not the man for me. You saw how he acted after our engagement ended."
Diana released a sigh. "You mean when he challenged the person who robbed him of his bride? Any respectable gentleman would've done the same."
Penelope shook her head. "He wanted blood for murder's sake."
"I would want the same."
There was a short silence. "I tried to write you a letter."
"Oh? I never received one."
"It was never sent." Penelope lifted a hand and rested it on her mother's shoulder. "The right words kept failing me."
"Penelope."
"He did not touch me!"
Diana pulled her daughter close. "It's alright."
"No, it's not. I don't want you to continue to think that I am being hurt, Mama. It isn't true."
"It will be over soon," Diana murmured. "I took care of it."
"What?" And then Penelope remembered Solomon following Harry out of the reception hall. She took off in a mad sprint outside where there were disgruntled sounds of a brawl. "Get off of him, right now!" The two of them continued to tumble as if they hadn't heard. "Solomon, stop!"
"Go away," her former betrothed barked. "This has nothing to do with you."
Harry howled in pain and Penelope saw red. Several minutes later, Penelope would be told that she ripped Solomon off Harry with her bare hands. She would be told some guests followed her outside when they watched her make a dash from the powder room, and succeeded in breaking all three of them apart. Penelope would not be able to remember any of those events, even the next morning, only the blurry rush of adrenaline that arose knowing her beloved was hurt.
When she came to, they were in a secluded part of the house, and Penelope was tending to Harry's wound.
"It's not very deep, Penelope. Really, I'm fine."
"You're hurt! He tried to kill you."
Harry grimaced. "I know."
"I'll kill him."
Harry smiled weakly. "You nearly did."
Penelope frowned at him. "I'm serious. He won't get away with this."
Harry sighed. "He's already being punished. This is the second time he couldn't go through with killing me."
"I'll call the constable first thing tomorrow morning—I'll make sure they listen to me. Or maybe I'll hire the men who burned your fields to beat him senseless."
"Don't. Please don't."
"Why not?"
"I deserve this."
Penelope gaped at him. "There is nothing you could've done to deserve this treatment."
"I killed my brother."
"It was an accident, my love. You do not deserve Solomon's malice because of a mistake."
"No, that is why Solomon hates me." He sighed. "If someone killed you accidentally, I would never stop hating them either."
"You mean..."
"Solomon was in love with my brother." The truth, weighty and incredulous, dropped like a stone in the middle of the room. He laughed bitterly. "My best friend was in love with my brother."
"Was your brother ever good to you?"
"He was a monster."
"So, how could your friend love someone who was so horrible to you?"
Harry stroked her cheek. "We cannot choose who we love. If I had my first pick, it wouldn't have been you."
"Harry..."
"I do not know the extent of it. It might've been unrequited or maybe..." He trailed off. "Anyway, I didn't know anything until Arthur was dead."
"You did not deserve that.'
"I didn't deserve that?" Tears bloomed in Harry's eyes. "I ruined everything. Before he came at me with that dagger, we laughed about old times, about what we once were for each other. He was my only family, Penelope, and I killed the person he loved most."
Penelope put the finishing touches on the bandage and pulled his head into her lap. "You didn't do anything wrong.
"That's not true," Harry wept.
"It was a cruel twist of fate, a sordid deal from God. It was not you, Harry. Even after all the abuse you suffered, you didn't mean to kill your brother on purpose." Her fingers traced slow circles into his temple. "I'm sorry that Solomon deserted you. But Harry?"
"Yes?"
She kissed the salt from his lips. "I am your family now and I will never let you go."
A/N: I'm so sorry for the inconsistency of the updates lately. I hope it was worth the wait :)