Page 10 of A Tryst By the Sea
That talk would have pleased him, except Lady Summerton had planned a solitary holiday and had lied to ensure that result. In fact, they had both lied, which troubled Gill worse than a sore knee.
As the waiter led them to a table by the window, Gill was struck afresh by how little time alone together he and Penelope had had in their marriage. Mama tended to hover, Tommie and Bella were forever popping up to Town or down to the Hall. Gill’s parliamentary duties were taxing, and Penelope kept her hand in with any number of charitable organizations.
“Do you have a private dining room?” Gill asked the waiter.
“We do, my lord.”
“My lady,” Gill said, “the choice is yours.” Would Penelope decide to be seen publicly sharing a meal with her husband at a cozy seaside inn, or would she brave two hours alone in the same room with him, behind a closed door?
Her expression gave away nothing. “Does the private dining room have a view of the sea?”
“Yes, my lady. Up one floor, just off the south terrace.”
“That sounds lovely. Today was long and wearying, and some peace and quiet with our meal will be appreciated.”
They followed the waiter up the steps and along a corridor and were shown to a pretty little chamber that already had a fire burning on the grate. The wallpaper was lavender silk flocked with ivory fleur-de-lis, and the furnishings looked to have been chosen more for comfort than style.
“Would you preferservice à la russe or à la française?”the waiter asked, lighting a candelabrum in the middle of a small table draped with a lavender tablecloth.
“If you will set the dishes on the sideboard,” Penelope said, slipping off her gloves and laying them on the mantel, “à la françaisewill do. His lordship and I can serve ourselves.”
More discussion followed, of wines and desserts, and then Gill was alone with his wife, by her choice, twice over.
That Penelope might want to avoid the gossips in the dining room made sense, but serviceà la française—with the food brought in all at once—meant they would dine without interruptions.
The waiter departed, closing the door silently.
“You don’t mind putting up with me for the next two hours?” Gill asked.
“As I recall,” Penelope said, “you can be charming.”
Penelope went to the window, which overlooked the elm grove and had a view of the ocean beyond. Sunset streaked the eastern reaches of the sky with mauve and violet, and the breakers formed undulating lines of white surging onto the pale shore. The view had a restless quality, caught between daylight and darkness, between pretty and melancholy.
Gill joined his wife at the window, abruptly tired to his bones. “Are you scolding me because I have not been charming to you, my lady? I will exert myself to the utmost if you want witty banter and gossip, but I would really rather…” He’d rather sit with her on the terrace of the little cottage and watch the stars come out.
“My lord?”
When had Gill’s viscountess become so adept at hiding her feelings? “How are you, Penelope? You came down here to be alone, and that is not how we’ve typically weathered this time of year. You did not feel you could inform me of your plans in advance, and that concerns me.”
He thought she might come back with another brittle, ambiguous retort, but she instead cracked the window, letting in both a whiff of ocean and the faint, rhythmic sound of the surf.
“I hate this time of year.”
She spoke mildly, but for Penelope, Lady Summerton, to use the wordhatewas surprising.
“I’m not too keen on it myself. All the socializing and engagements and crowds?”
She nodded. “All I want to do is hide, except one cannot, not in spring. Sometimes, I want to talk about the past, but Bella and Mama-in-Law made it plain one does not dwell on such things. Then I will be planning some dinner or musicale for your parliamentary cronies, and your mother will mention that Bella or some cousin is expecting again…”
Gill risked taking Penelope’s hand. “Then, for just a moment, you hate Bella and Tommie and every stupidly contented couple in London.”
“In the world,” Penelope said. “Bella always means well, but she never seems to realize that her good news might bring something other than unmitigated joy to those who hear it.”
Cymbeline was—not to put too fine a point on it—somewhat insensitive. She was energetic, practical to a fault, and dear to her husband, but Gill found small doses of his sister-in-law’s company sufficient.
More than sufficient, particularly when she started haranguing him on the need to establish trusts for his nephews and set aside funds for his nieces. Tommie had inherited Lychmont, and the property was solvent, but according to Bella, the head of the family shouldsee to his heirs.
“Was Bella threatening to come up to Town with Mama?” Mama and Bella got on amazingly well, considering both were outspoken and headstrong.
