Page 60 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
Her friends were a balm, a shield against everybody around her. Within their circle, Penelope thought she would be able to see this Season through, no matter what it held.
A light country dance filled the ballroom, and soon Mary, Daphne, and Cecilia were approached by their husbands, and even Arabella was asked to dance. Penelope did not mind that night. Her dress was revealing enough; she did not need to be in the center of the ballroom, dancing, on top of that.
After shooing her friends away, Penelope retreated to the refreshments table, eyeing a slice of honey cake. She had barely reached out with the utensil to pick it up when a lady sidled up to her.
“Lady Penelope,” she greeted, her voice high with faux politeness.
“Lady Annabel,” Penelope greeted in return.
The other woman eyed the utensil and pressed her lips together. “I only came over here to give you friendly advice, if you do not mind, for I fear nobody else has,” she said. “A dress such as yours is rather… fitting, is it not? I would be rather delicate with the dessert you eat tonight. Such aremarkabledress should threaten to burst at the seams. It is already drawing a great deal of attention to a spinster such as yourself.”
Penelope did not know what to say, and could only stand there, feeling the weight of her humiliation crushing her. Her throat was tight, words not forcing their way out.
Heavens, why was she such a fool?
“I do not wish to be mean, of course,” Lady Annabel continued, her perfect, bouncing auburn curls making her look radiant. She had had many suitors, and her unmarried state was likely due to not knowing whom to choose. “I only wish to look out for you. It is sad that you are desperate enough to wear such a gown at your age. You do not wish to further humiliate yourself, do you? In all honesty, I am surprised Lord Langwaite approved such attire. He is such a fine man, is he not? I am certain he does not want his sister looking so…” she trailed off, giving a little hum. “There is a word for it, I am sure.”
Shame dug into Penelope, sliding into her collarbones, right between her shoulder blades, and spreading through her whole body until she trembled. Until her whole face burned unpleasantly, and she could only hear those words over and over, cringing. It was as if every eye was suddenly on her even if it wasn’t.
“He does not want his sister looking so…”
Penelope knew what Lady Annabel was insinuating because she had worried about it herself.
“It is sad that you are desperate enough… You do not wish to further humiliate yourself, do you?”
Penelope couldn’t breathe, and the utensil slipped from her hand, both ashamed of her dress and her craving for a lovely dessert. She was never self-conscious about such things—until that moment. Embarrassed, she stepped back, trying to escape the lady’s mean smirk.
She turned on her heel, stumbling into a dancing couple as she fled the ballroom. Nobody called after her, and she was thankful. It was as if she could outrun it all: her brother, the mean whispers, the burden the ton said she was, her own shame.
Tears stung her eyes as she ran down the main hallway in the Southgates’ townhouse and pushed open a door far enough away that she would not hear the strumming orchestra to remind her that she had an obligation to remain in the ballroom.
She heaved out a breath, pressing her back to the closed door, and found herself in a library. Shelves upon shelves of books towered over her, not as grand as her own townhouse’s collection, but still bringing a sense of comfort to her.
Exhaling shakily and forcing herself to take another lungful of air, Penelope walked further into the library, trying to steel herself and shut out the voices. The laughs, the whispers, the mean comments. Was she an embarrassment? Did she humiliate herself and her brother? Was that why Finley stopped her from speaking with suitors? Not to control her but to protect her from her own shame?
She paced back and forth, her skirt trailing across the floor as she tried to calm down her racing thoughts. The heat had drained out of her body now that she was out of sight of anybody, but the shame still didn’t leave. It was a weight on her chest, and she tried to will it away to no avail.
“Penelope?”
She stopped instantly at that voice.
Edmund.
Penelope whirled around, startled. Her eyes narrowed. “Please leave me alone.”
“I saw you flee the ballroom,” he said, not taking a step closer, but keeping his distance, leaning against the door. He’d shut them into the space together. “I came to see if you were all right.”
“That is what you said last time,” she countered without meaning to snap. “And as far as I can remember, you did not check on me at all.”
“And if I remember correctly, you left that balcony feeling marginally better.” His smirk normally would have made her blush, but she was in no mood for his teasing.
Instead, more tears of shame stung her eyes as she pointed towards the wall, indicating the ballroom beyond. “Go back to the ball, Your Grace.”
Yes, yes, that’s right. I need to put that social distance back in place. Remove the comfort so I don’t further shame myself.
“I am well.”
“Oh, we are back to titles, are we?” His voice turned hard. “You cared little for titles when you were moaning my name into my ear.”
