XXXVII
PENELOPE could only count a few times where Polly had ever made her feel embarrassed. The number of occurrences could not even fit on one hand. Polly was her soulmate, her protector, her sister. Even when Penelope should've felt ashamed for something she'd done in front of her, the feeling would never come. Now, Penelope could not even look up from her teacup.
"You're supposed to be honeymooning, Pol," Penelope said quietly.
"It's hard to enjoy it when your beau comes asking about you," Polly replied.
"I'm sorry. He shouldn't have done it."
"Don't be sorry, not for me anyway. I'm glad he came."
"I'm not."
"What happened, Pen?"
A lump swelled in Penelope's throat. "I'm sure he's told you."
"I want to hear it from your mouth. I think we both know versions vary from person to person."
"He asked me to marry him," Penelope said stiffly. "I said no."
"I'm sorry."
"Why? I'm the one who ruined everything, it's Harry who you should be sorry for."
"I'm sorry for both of you."
"Don't be."
"You love him."
Penelope looked up from her teacup. "I can't get married."
"I know."
Penelope sighed. "No, you don't. It isn't because I'm afraid of love."
"It's because you're afraid of how love can hurt you. I understand."
"I want to be with him. I insisted that we could be together without matrimony. He wouldn't hear of it."
"He thinks that you don't want to get married because you're afraid he might hurt you."
Penelope shook her head vehemently. "I tried to tell him that wasn't the case, over and over. He wouldn't hear it."
"But...you are afraid of being hurt."
Penelope's eyes welled with tears. "I don't think anybody understands."
"I might not understand you completely Pen, but I will always be on your side."
"I wouldn't blame you if you decided not to—just this once."
"I would never shirk that responsibility," Polly said with mock-seriousness. Penelope released a feeble laugh.
"Is he alright? I mean, I know he can't be...not really. But given everything..."
There were a few minutes of thoughtful silence. "I don't think he's sleeping very well. But I'm sure you aren't either."
"Did he ask you to speak to me?"
"He did. Harry thought I was the only person that might convince you that he wouldn't hurt you."
The words splintered. Penelope buried her face in her hands. "God."
"I tried to tell him that your fear was rooted somewhere else," Polly continued. "I'm afraid he won't believe me, though. Harry has some wounds of his own."
"Yes, I know. I left him a note...I tried...I wanted him to know he was good."
"You both are."
"What am I supposed to do, Pol? How am I supposed to fix it?" Penelope swept away stray tears. "I don't even mean our relationship. He shouldn't feel this way about himself."
"Darling..."
"Please tell me what to do."
"I can't."
Penelope took a long, almost petulant sniff. "You sound like my mother."
Polly smiled. "The countess has always been a smart woman."
"She's finally wise to who Harry truly is. Although, it's too late isn't it?"
"I don't think it's too late."
Penelope laughed bitterly. "I know Andrew swept you off your feet, but you were never a romantic. How can you possibly have hope for us?"
"My inkling only has a little to do with romance. Harry is the only person you've ever loved. I don't think something like that just goes away."
"Well, it's gone."
"Pen—"
"---enough about me," Penelope interrupted. "How was your honeymoon before its unfortunate interruption?"
Penelope successfully pulled Polly into a conversation about a cottage in another village town a ways away from Milford. Of course, Penelope was only half-listening. She'd only cared about successfully diverting the topic away from herself, no matter how many times Polly tried to return to it. Eventually, her friend recognized that she could not be swayed from the subject, and after another hour, Polly bade her goodbye.
It was funny to think that Penelope had ended with everything she had wanted in the first place—save for a few exceptions (namely her reputation). After leaving the rest of her food untouched, Penelope went to her room. It hadn't felt the same since she'd returned. There was still a picture of her father sitting on her vanity in a golden frame, different from the one she had shattered the night of her engagement ball. Geraldine had gotten a new one, it seemed. She had likely attributed the broken picture to nerves—not hate.
Penelope had always wondered if her personal maid had known, but it seemed she hadn't. Personally, Penelope had wanted to throw everything of her father away a long time ago, but her mother hadn't let her. People might talk, Diana said. And what would they say? Why did it matter? Penelope rang her bell.
"Yes ma'am?" Geraldine asked.
Penelope slipped out the portrait of her and her father from the frame and delivered it into her maid's hands. "Burn this."
***
HARRY did not imagine that Polly's advice might actually come true. He didn't dare hope—it was too painful. Hope included flowers, white lace, and gold rings and he just couldn't bear the agony of aching for something that could never be his. So, he forced himself to become familiar with what was increasingly becoming a half-existence. Unlike weeks earlier when Harry had been in pain, he did not lash out at his servants or drown his sorrows in drink. Instead, he rode Nightmare everyday.
Thanks to the warm (well, it was more speculative than generous, and given Harry's reputation, he would have to settle for it) column in the rags about his character, he was beginning to receive a kinder reception from villagers. He threw himself into charity work—manual labor and the like. His sadness only settled over him in profound waves at night.
When he saw Penelope again, he thought he was dreaming. She was standing behind his desk, fitted in a dress of green silk. Her hair, usually piled neatly atop her head, or in a stern bun at her nape, floated freely in a halo around her head. Harry's heart slammed against his ribs. "I understand if you don't want to see me," she began. And her voice. God, how he'd missed her.
"And yet you came."
"Yes."
"You know I love your hair like that," Harry murmured. He couldn't help himself.
Penelope gave a small smile. "Yes."
"Did you wear it like that on purpose?"
"No." Penelope tapped her finger against her chin as if she was in thought. "Maybe."
"You mean the answer is 'yes'."
"Yes." Penelope's breathing was narrowed and slight. "I remember the night we smoked that pipe. I don't think I can ever forget that night."
"Why, because I was out of my mind?"
Penelope released a chuckle. "Only partly."
"So, there was a special reason, then?"
"Maybe. There are other nights that I don't want to forget for the same reason."
Harry stared at her. "I can't sleep."
Penelope took another step. "Neither can I."
"I don't think I meant it when I told you to leave."
Penelope's expression sobered. "Can I take you somewhere?"
"I'm not sure that I can go anywhere with you."
"It's important."
Like a mosquito to a flame, Harry drew toward her. "I don't think that there's anything left to say."
Penelope pulled toward him too. "If you agree to come with me, I think there's a way forward."
"How?"
"I want to take you to the cause of everything."
Harry raised a brow.
"I want you to meet the man who is preventing me from marrying you."
Harry blinked. "Isn't your father dead?"
"Fortunately," Penelope replied. "His grave is adequate, I think. I wouldn't let him meet you, otherwise."
"Penelope—"
"I understand if you don't want to," Penelope replied. "I haven't—"
"Of course I can," Harry replied. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay away from her even if he wanted too. Strangely enough, Harry was a bewildering mix of anxiety and anger. On one hand, he had never met the parent of a suitor (not that Penelope counted as a lover anymore). On the other hand, this was the man who had hurt the countess and damaged the woman he loved. He wished the Count was alive so he could give him a piece of what he deserved. Harry was expecting a lonesome headstone in a neglected field so he was surprised to find a large headstone in a lovely cemetery.
They both stared silently at the grave for a long minute.
"I rejected many proposals before my mother forced me to accept my first," Penelope began. "Beforehand, I used to tell everyone that I would not marry if I was not in love. And, although it was true that I had never loved any of the men I ever courted, we both know that isn't why I didn't give my hand." Penelope ground her heel into a flower in the ground as she glared at where her father lay. "I always told myself that I never loved you, but I've had a long time to think and the truth is..." Penelope's voice caught on a sob. "I think you are the first man I ever loved, Papa."
Without a second thought, Harry embraced her. Penelope melted into it for a few minutes before letting go.
"You never loved me, you never paid attention to me. I thought I took all of it in stride, I never imagined you hurt me. But you did. And then I saw you hit Mama, and it broke my heart." Penelope was dissolving fast into tears now. Harry pulled her closer. "I swore that no one would ever do to me what you did to Mama." She turned to Harry. "And then I fell in love." Harry extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and Penelope took a few moments to brush away her tears and direct her gaze once again to the deceased. "No one will ever hurt me as you did, Papa." Indeed, no one could hurt a girl who resolved that she would never be wed, Harry thought bitterly. "I am going to get married."
"What?" Harry blurted out. He couldn't help it.
"I'm going to get married," Penelope continued as if he hadn't said anything at all. "And have children, more children than you and Mama, God willing. They will never know their malicious grandfather or a father who lays a hand on their mother."
"Penelope..."
"You were beloved, Papa. Even now, everyone sings your praises. No one but a few know who you really are. Most people don't know that my future husband is not the man he is purported to be. Unlike you, he is going to make an excellent father."
"Penelope..."
"He's wise, funny, and kind and he's going to make me and the rest of our brood very happy. Mother too, once she comes around to him." Penelope leaned closer to the buried. "And this is the last time, Papa. I am never going to visit your grave again." At last, Penelope turned to Harry and extended her gloved hand. Harry stared dumbly at it. Penelope grinned bewitchingly at him. "Your hand, darling. May I have your hand?"
After a few seconds, Harry took her hand in his. "Yes," he whispered. It was all that would come out.
"Good. I've given my father a very long speech. I wouldn't want to give it all back—that would've been embarrassing."
That sentence was all the time Harry needed to collect himself and pull his beloved into a long kiss. The world seemed to fall beneath him as he was in her arms.
"So, we're getting married?" he whispered when they finally broke apart.
"We're getting married."