Page 10 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Chapter 3
“There’s simply got to be a way to stop him!”
“I don’t see one that won’t land you in trouble,” Olivia remarked.
Penelope fumed. She’d been fuming ever since the previous evening’s infuriating dance with Lord Atherton, when he baldly admitted he wasn’t in love with Frances Lockwood but meant to marry her anyway. She wished he’d never asked her to dance. Then she could have listened to Frances’s raptures about him and told herself they might be true. She could have held her tongue and simply agreed that he was handsome and danced well and was a very eligible match. That was all true, and she could tell herself that Frances had a mother and a father who were very capable of advising her on which suitor to choose.
But now, curse him, all she could think about was that he appeared to be intent on dazzling Frances into a hasty marriage without much care for how happy they would be after the wedding. Unfortunately for Atherton, Penelope had seen him do that before. Last summer she’d watched him focus that same charming smile on her sister, Abigail. She’d watched him ignore any hint that Abigail didn’t return his interest. Penelope had reached the unpleasant conclusion that Lord Atherton was either not very bright or not very honest. Since no one else seemed to think him dim-witted, it must be that Atherton had pursued Abigail for his own mysterious—and therefore vaguely nefarious—reasons. Fortunately Abby had already lost her heart to another, better man, and Atherton’s charm had bounced off her.
Poor, sweet Frances would never see through him, though. Much like Penelope’s own parents had been, the Lockwoods were plainly delighted by his courtship of their daughter. They would give her to him without a moment’s hesitation. It would only be later, when Atherton’s lack of real affection became apparent, that Frances would realize her mistake.
Unless someone... like Penelope... told her sooner.
As if she could read Penelope’s thoughts, Olivia nudged her. “It’s not your place to save her,” she admonished. “Indeed, there may be nothing terrible to save her from! Just because you don’t care for him doesn’t mean she can’t.”
She scowled and swung away from the window display Olivia had been studying. Penelope had been so caught up in her grim thoughts she hadn’t even seen the bonnets within. “I don’t want to interfere! I wish she would notice how insincere he is on her own, and I wouldn’t need to say a word. But Olivia, what if she doesn’t?”
Her friend linked her arm through Penelope’s, prodding her to resume their stroll down Bond Street. “Sometimes there’s no saving someone from what they want to do. If she wants to marry him and he wants to marry her, what can you say? You’re not her mother, nor even her sister. Your approval isn’t required.”
“I know,” she admitted on a sigh. “I don’t want to spoil her happiness! But it can’t make me pleased to see her so easily convinced.”
“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t discuss him with her.”
“That would definitely be best, but it may not be possible.”
Olivia smiled in sympathy. “Try.”
“Believe me, I will,” said Penelope fervently. “He’s the very last person I want to talk about.” They were passing Madox Street, and on a whim she paused. “May we stop in a shop down there?”
“Of course.” Olivia turned with her. “Which one?”
The bookshop was only a few doors down. It was small and had a slightly dingy air about it. If Mrs. Weston discovered Penelope had come here in search of a certain banned pamphlet, she’d be furious—but since Olivia was with her, her mother wouldn’t be suspicious at all. Olivia was so respectable and trustworthy, Mrs. Weston hadn’t even sent a maid with them.
Of course, that didn’t make this any less daring. If Mrs. Weston did find out, not only would Penelope be exiled from London for months, Olivia would no longer be trusted, either. Penelope knew all this, but recklessly set any worries aside. She needed something to distract her mind from seething over Lord Atherton’s latest attempt to dupe a kindhearted girl into marrying him, and there was nothing more distracting than50 Ways toSin.
When she indicated the bookshop, though, Olivia gave her a wary glance. “What do you want in there?”
“Nothing much.” Penelope tugged her onward as Olivia’s steps noticeably slowed.
“Penelope,” warned Olivia. “Don’t be foolish!” Penelope gave her a look, and Olivia bit her lip. “Then let me ask for it. You’ll be in such dreadful trouble if your mother discovers this...”
“I don’t care,” said Penelope, pushing open the door. At that moment, she really didn’t. London had grown dull and monotonous. Abigail was rusticating in Richmond. Joan was enjoying the beauties of Italy. Penelope was going mad with boredom; witness how upset Atherton’s courtship of Frances had made her. As much as she didn’t want to care about anything he did, she couldn’t stop herself, and it irritated her to no end. Hopefully something else, of a deliciously scandalous nature, would help her forget about him.
A bell tinkled as they went in. The bookshop was small and dim, and it smelled musty and dry. She looked around with interest, but Olivia pulled her behind a bookcase before she could see much of anything.
“Look for something else. I’ll ask forit.”
“It doesn’t much matter who asks forit,” Penelope whispered back.
“No, but if you buy something else, you can honestly tell your mother you came in search of that, and had nothing to do with the other.”
Penelope felt like cursing. If she were married or widowed, she wouldn’t have to worry about her mother’s approval, and could buy as many naughty pamphlets as she wanted. Of course, she didn’t seem in danger of being married, let alone widowed, any time soon. Before long, seventeen-year-old Frances Lockwood would probably be married, too, leaving her marooned once more at the side of every ballroom, bored and alone. Other ladies were either scandalized by Penelope’s adventurous tastes or too snobbish to associate with someone of her low birth. Gentlemen often stared at her, but the only ones who asked her to dance were friends of her brother taking pity on her, or conniving rogues who only had their eyes on her father’s money or, occasionally, down her bodice. All her mother’s instructions in propriety and decorum felt fussy and constricting, and following them hadn’t won her anything anyway. It felt like life was passing her by.
“Olivia, if my mother thinks to ask me about this, it means she’s already suspicious and I’m done for.” She raised one brow at her friend’s expression. “If she discovers you bought it for me, she’ll ban me from seeing you. It was hard enough to lose Abigail and Joan; if I can’t see you, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“How would she ever discover I bought it for you?” asked Olivia in a harsh whisper.
Penelope rolled her eyes. “How will she ever discover I bought it myself?” Her companion didn’t look reassured. “If you want to keep us both from getting in trouble, find a book of your own and distract one of the clerks. If anyone saw us come in here, by a most unfortunate chance, I can say you were looking for that book.”
