Page 98 of Claimed By Her Forbidden Duke
“I do not need cheering up,” she lied. “I am well.”
“So you have said… quite a bit.”
Penelope blanched, but she couldn’t maintain her smile, so she turned her face away, giving in to the numbness as it spread and spread, drowning her. It kept her under even as she and Daphne made their way to The Golden Handle, a renowned, lovely tea shop that Mary had discovered with Stephen.
But as soon as she saw her friends—as soon as she saw Cecilia’s knowing smirk, knowing she would hunt for gossip, and Mary’s slow smile as if she, too, expected gossip—her stomach lurched. And then there was Arabella, her hair dark like Edmund’s, and her face kind and soft, as Penelope always hoped her own face was.
Penelope could not get rid of the image of the little girl she had pictured several days ago. The strong desire that she could be more than what she was—a spinster who was not even wanted by the man who had taken her maidenhood, who had made a bed know her shape with how often they coupled and touched and writhed together.
Her feelings drowned in that numbness, and she let them, and she forced herself to greet her friends as though nothing was wrong, for she could not find the words. They all clogged her throat, but she knew that Daphne knew.
Daphne knew something was amiss, and she would tell them soon—tell them that there was an ache in her chest that didn’t go away no matter how many times she tried to soothe it with her hand. That there was a crack running through her that had formed the moment Edmund’s voice turned colder. That she thought she knew what heartbreak felt like without ever being officially involved with Edmund.
“You sought pleasure, as did I. That is all we can and will have.”
Penelope busied herself with stirring her tea that she didn’t recall ordering. Cecilia’s keen eyes watched her, but for once her friend did not make a spectacle. Her pressed lips indicated that Penelope would not be able to stay silent for very long.
Their tea passed in a blur, one where Penelope stared down at the floral print on her teacup, and when they were done, she found herself approaching Arabella.
Or perhaps Arabella approached her. Everything was hollow, blurry.
“He has not told me the details,” Arabella murmured as their three friends went ahead. “But he has informed me that whatever you two had was over.”
Penelope collected herself and forced a smile that ached. “Yes, well, we had nothing. E-Edmund made it quite clear that there was nothing.”
“I do not believe that,” Arabella whispered. “Not from what I saw?—”
Penelope shook her head. She couldn’t bear to hear that.
In a tight voice, she said, “We ought to catch up to them.” And then she hurried after their friends, with Arabella slowly following.
* * *
“Benjamin, either say what you came to say or get out.”
Edmund’s voice cut across his study, and he spoke without ever looking up as he tore through the report about Laurel Kerry’s death. Haddon had ignored his request to speak with him. Edmund should have simply tracked him down, but he had other pressing matters—mainly discovering Reed’s whereabouts to plan his confrontation. He should have done it already. He should already be out there, storming the Poseidon warehouse, demanding?—
“I will not get out,” Benjamin snapped. “I have come to check on you because your sister is scared and worried sick, and you have shut her out as well as me. What good was it to escape from the Caribbean and return to her if you do not?—”
“Get out!” Edmund shouted, slamming his palm on his desk. He jabbed his quill at Benjamin. “Leave me be. Do not come here to accuse me.”
“Arabella sought me out this morning and begged me to talk some sense into you. You have not been sleeping? She hears you throughout the night. She says you make the walls restless with your lack of sleep. And Heavens, when did you last have a meal? You look worse than when you returned?—”
“Say another word about my return or my escape and I will throw you out myself.”
“Edmund, I come to you as a concerned cousin, that is all. I am not here to make accusations or judge you. Arabella suspects this has something to do with Lady Penelope and how dour she has been looking this past week.”
At the mention of Penelope’s name, Edmund saw red. He had to forget about her, and he had been doing a damn good job of it.
“Do not test me, Cousin, for I will not hold myself back. I am in a foul mood.”
“Go on, then,” Benjamin dared. “Strike me. Attack me. Do whatever it is to drag yourself out of lunacy. Let’s go to the boxing club in the city. Let’s spar if it means you will allow yourself to recognize that support is right here.”
Edmund said nothing, only going back to his writing.
Benjamin let out a harsh, frustrated breath and stormed up to his desk. He tore the page from Edmund’s grasp and waved it in the air.
“There is more to life than this, Cousin!” he shouted.
