Page 30 of A Tryst By the Sea
“Will you write back?” she murmured, breathing him in, memorizing his wondrous male shape. “I always wondered why you never wrote back to me, Vergilius. I know you were busy, but… I should not ask.”
Penelope’s husband stared down at her in the predawn gloom. “Write back to you?”
“All those years ago, when you had to be at the Hall, and I was still too unwell from childbed to travel from Town. I wrote to you, and my letters went unanswered.”
He looked at her as if he had no clue what she was going on about.
“Never mind,” Penelope said. “I should not have asked, and you must be going.”
He studied her, then he kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “Be well, Penelope, and if you can, be happy. Perhaps I did not answer your letters for the same reason you did not answer mine.”
He was out the door and striding up the path in the next instant, though she did not understand his explanation. At that moment, Penelope understood little except that Vergilius was leaving, her great freedom was at hand, and all she felt was devastating loss.
Penelope watched her husband until he disappeared into the elm grove, and still she stood on the cold stones, staring at the morning mist. When she stepped back inside the cottage, she was shivering, but she could not bestir herself to put the kettle on, or to do much of anything.
A marriage long over had just ended in truth, and only in the past week had she realized the magnitude of the defeat that represented. Penelope returned to the bedroom, struck by the disarray she and Gill had created the previous night.
Her dress was in a heap, one slipper peeked from beneath the bed skirt, the indent of Gill’s head still shaped the pillow. Penelope moved forward, intent on smoothing her hand over that pillow, when something solid bumped against her thigh.
Something in the pocket of her dressing gown. She did not recall that weight being there when she’d put the dressing gown on, but then, her powers of perception were not at their most acute. Gill had found the strength to leave her, and she must be grateful to him for that consideration.
She withdrew a perfect, iridescently beautiful ormer shell from the dressing gown’s pocket. This specimen was smaller than the first one Vergilius had given her, though it gleamed even more brightly.
He must have slipped the shell into her pocket as they’d parted. A memento, a treasure. Penelope climbed beneath the quilts, the shell clutched in her hand, and curled up on her husband’s side of the bed.
She held firm against all the voices clamoring in her head—the commands to soldier on, to put the past aside, to consider her blessings. On and on the lectures and sermons would go, if she allowed them to.
Instead, Penelope gripped her green ormer, clung to her pillow, and cried like a childless mother.
Chapter Seven
Gill could not ride like the demons of hell were after him, because he valued his horse. He also needed time to think, to start this new phase of grieving, and to plan. He made the journey to London in reasonable stages, and all the while, he considered options.
I’ve always wondered why you never wrote back to me.One small, passing admission, upon which his whole marriage might well have turned.
Disowning Mama would not do. That would compound the scandal of the annulment, but then, in for a penny… And he could disown Tommie and Bella, too, though Tommie would still be heir to the title. The unentailed wealth could go to Penelope’s charities, or to Penelope herself…
A packet of old letters—if they still existed—could not make much difference at this late date, but he wanted Penelope to have them, just the same. Such thoughts saw him through one turnpike after another, and by late afternoon, he was passing his hat to MacMillan.
“Where are they?” Gill asked.
“Perhaps you’d like to freshen up first, my lord. I believe the ladies have company. They are entertaining in the formal parlor.”
The formal parlor, where Penelope alone had authority to receive guests as the lady of the house. “Of course they are. How have you not tossed them bodily into the street?”
“Certain privileges are uniquely yours, my lord, though I would give a fortnight’s wages to watch the eviction, as would the entire staff. The week has been trying, especially for Cook.” MacMillan’s gaze held a hint of humor, but only a hint.
“I will make use of soap and water. The instant the guests leave, please let me know, and do not warn the ladies that I have returned.”
“Very good, sir.” MacMillan’s smile would have done a border reiver proud.
Gill used the next quarter hour to bring some order to his appearance, and to his thoughts. Something about the past week, as difficult as it had been, had fortified him. What had Penelope told him?
Be ruthless. He’d manage that much easily, butruthlessdid not meanuncivilized. A tap on the bedroom door was followed by MacMillan’s soft voice.
“The guests are gone, sir. The ladies are alone in the formal parlor.”
Alone, finishing off a lavish tea tray and planning their next raid on Gill’s finances and his consequence. Before he went downstairs, he crossed the hallway into Penelope’s suite. Her presence permeated her apartment, in the soft colors and pretty seascapes, in the scent of fresh flowers, and in the perfect balance between order and comfort. A portrait of the Summerton bride and groom hung in her sitting room, a pair of innocents who’d deserved much more loyalty from family than they’d had.
