Page 76 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
Giggling, Penelope touched her slice to his, and they ate. Rich meat burst in herby flavors on her tongue, and she bit back a moan.
Edmund tucked in straight away. “So your father was an earl?”
Penelope nodded. “I did not know him, though. He passed away when I was a toddler, no more than three years old. When my mother remarried, it was a quick arrangement, more out of necessity due to my age than anything.”
“To the former Marquess of Langwaite?”
Penelope nodded. “I grew up with him as my only father, really. After being a countess, becoming a marchioness likely made my mother feel richer, but the truth is that our family does not have a great deal of wealth. We are not poor by any means, but we are not overly rich.”
“Some would say it is indecent to broach such topics over dinner,” he teased.
Penelope raised an eyebrow, sipping her wine. “I think you and I are a little past decency, no?”
She noticed the effect it had on him, and she took it as a small victory that she had managed to surprise him.
“Indeed,” he agreed, raising his wine glass to her before he drank. “Tell me more about your childhood.”
“My mother died several years after marrying the former Marquess, so although I do recall her, my memories are hazier. It has been fifteen years now, but I remember her hair, and how it shone in the light of the library window when she read. She was the one who introduced me to reading. After her death, it made me feel closer to her.”
Edmund nodded, his gaze fixed on her, interested. “You and… your brother, then. Did you get along as children?”
She nodded. “Despite our age gap, I believe he took well to suddenly having a younger sister to look after. He has always done that—looked after me. Even more so following the death of our father—well, his father, really, but the former Marquess was the only father I knew. Finley has always been there for me.”
She continued eating so she did not speak more about Finley. There was something about inviting his name into their space that she didn’t like. This place, tucked away from his knowledge, was the first thing she could keep to herself.
“What about you?” she asked. “Tell me your favorite things. Mine are books, horses, and other animals.”
“Animals?”
“Bunnies,” she clarified. “Although I have not seen any of late.”
Edmund let out a short laugh. “Well, in that case, I also enjoy reading, although I have not done a great deal of it for leisure recently. I have a horse named Altair who rides incredibly fast, but he has been a little stubborn lately due to a lack of being ridden. For obvious reasons, of course.”
Penelope bit back the urge to ask about those reasons—about his seven-year disappearance—and nodded. “Of course.”
“And I have a rather annoying cousin who I care for deeply—not that I will ever admit it to his face. But he terrifies me to death with his bravado that never quite matches his actions.”
Penelope let loose a burst of laughter as she nodded. “As is the case with many men.”
“Ah,” Edmund said, looking amused. “You are familiar with many men, then? How very scandalous, Penelope.”
The way he teased her went straight to her core, and she tamped it down. “You know full well I am not.”
His eyes flashed. “Very intimately so, I do know.”
She tried not to mull over what that meant, how he insinuated her inexperience, yet she found herself not embarrassed but hotly aware that he had taken even more care with her because of it.
“Another thing about me,” she continued, “is that although I wish to believe in love, I no longer do.”
“No?”
“You seem surprised.”
“All women love love, do they not?”
“No,” she said. “It is a lovely idea, I imagine, but not to me. I have rather resigned myself to a loveless life.”
Heavens, why did I bring up love?
