Page 22 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“It just happens naturally?” Mama rose. “I’m sure he’ll come to tease you about being an invalid. Can I fetch you anything to pass the time?”
Penelope shook her head, and her mother left. She lay back on her pillows, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. Did she make things difficult? Certainly not on purpose. The debacle last night had been a pure accident.
Still, there would be nothing to worry about if Mrs. Lockwood could keep her mouth closed. Hopefully she would reconsider, once the heat of her shock and outrage passed, and decide it was better to say nothing. No matter how overwrought Frances was, she would be a complete ninny to tell everyone Lord Atherton had courted her while he really wanted someone else. Best of all would be if Atherton and Frances somehow made up their quarrel and became engaged, but that seemed highly unlikely. She wondered what, exactly, the viscount had done; it must have been something terrible if Frances had said she never wanted to see him again. Frances had been eager to accept him when Penelope saw her at the Venetian breakfast. Perhaps he’d been rude or somehow revealed his coldhearted self, and Frances slapped his face before storming out on him. The thought cheered Penelope immensely.
Unfortunately that did nothing to ameliorate the horrible scene after. Frances couldn’t really think that Atherton was in love withher. Why, if he had been, he could have pursued her last summer in Richmond, or more recently in London. Instead he’d never given her a second glance and spent his time courting other young ladies, dancing with them and calling on them and listening to them play the pianoforte.
Penelope lurched out of bed. Wincing and swearing under her breath, she hobbled to her desk, where she took out some paper and opened her ink. Enough of Atherton; the man had caused her almost nothing but misery. Meanwhile, Olivia was in trouble and Penelope was dying to know what it really was. Why had Olivia met Lord Clary? Why had she let him hold her even as it made her cry? Penelope dashed off a note to her friend and rang for a servant to deliver it rightaway.
After that, the hours dragged. She reread all her magazines, and even her few issues of50 Ways to Sin. She had learned it was dangerous to keep them for long—her mother must have ordered the maids to look for contraband when they tidied the room—but now she had no one to pass them to. A few months ago she would have shared the issues with her sister or Joan, but they were both gone. Having no one with whom she could discuss Constance’s shocking behavior took away some of the thrill. Still, she expected to find some pleasure in the reading, and was unhappily surprised that there wasnone.
Her father came to see her, as her mother had predicted. Penelope braced herself for any hint of trouble or gossip, but Papa was in good spirits. He teased her about being out of the races, and pretended to console her on the bad luck of twisting her ankle on the stairs instead of while dancing with a handsome nobleman in want of a bride. Penelope laughed with her father, although mention of being caught and saved by a handsome lord did make her face grow hot. Shehadbeen in the arms of a devilishly handsome man who’d saved her from disaster last night, though she could hardly tell either parent aboutit.
Thankfully Olivia came that afternoon. Penelope was settled on the window seat, staring broodingly out the window at the sunlight dappling the trees in the square, when she saw her friend walking up the street. With an exclamation of relief, she hobbled downstairs as fast as she could to whisk her friend into the morning room, where she barely managed to wait until the maid had brought the tea tray and left them alone.
“What in the world were you doing, meeting that wretched man?” she burstout.
Olivia avoided Penelope’s gaze as she took a sip of tea. “Please don’t ask me that.”
“Don’t ask?” Penelope goggled at her. “After I saved you fromhim?”
“You should not have followedme.”
Penelope frowned. Part of her agreed. If she hadn’t followed Olivia, Lord Atherton wouldn’t have followedher, but then Olivia would have been left alone at Clary’s mercy. Neither outcome could really be called preferable to the other. “What would have happened if I hadn’t? Lord Clary meant to do vile and immoral things to you, didn’the?”
Olivia’s jaw tightened. “I can’t tellyou.”
“Why not?” Penelope protested. “Why did you meet him? He said you had an assignation with him—is that true?”
“No!” Olivia grimaced. “Yes. Of a sort.”
“What sort?”
The other woman took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you that, either.”
Penelope scowled in alarm. It wasn’t like Olivia to be this mysterious. “Could you tell Abby? I can write to her today and tell her to come at once—”
Olivia raised one hand. Her face was composed, but that upheld hand trembled, betraying the intensity of her feeling. “Don’t.That is, I can’t tell her any more than I can tell you, so there’s no need to bring her back to town.”
“Oh.” There was something about Olivia’s implacable expression that Penelope did not like. It left her feeling shut out and helpless, and she hated feeling helpless. It was enraging and frustrating and terrifying. “You can’t tell her, or you won’t?”
Olivia curled her hand into a fist before lowering it to her lap. She stared across the room, seeming to search for the answer for a moment. The sunlight slanting through the window cast her face into harsh relief, picking out the lines around her mouth and the faint dark circles under her eyes that made her suddenly look years older. “I won’t.”
“But why not? I won’t tell a soul. I can see you’re violently distressed—as anyone would be, if Lord Clary had any influence over them. I know I’m not sensible like Abby but I want to help.”
A wry smile twisted her friend’s mouth and she reached out to squeeze Penelope’s hand. “Youaresensible. You’re the dearest friend I could ask for, and every bit as trustworthy and clever as Abigail. But this...” She hesitated, then released Penelope’s hand. “This is my problem, and I won’t drag you into it. I never wanted you to know about it, and if Lord Clary did anything to you in retaliation, I would never forgive myself.”
“He already did,” Penelope told her. A dim voice—which sounded a great deal like her sister’s—sounded in her mind, protesting that she was about to be brazen and manipulative, but she ignored it, as she usually did. “He was angry I’d interrupted your—yourassignationwithhim.”
Olivia’s face went dead white. “What? I—I thought you left the room right behind me. What did he do toyou?”
“He grabbed me and wouldn’t let me leave the room. He said that if he couldn’t get what he wanted from you, he’d have it from me.” The protesting little voice sounded again. Penelope mentally cursed at it to be quiet; there was a greater good at stake here, and she felt it was more important to find out what trouble her friend was in. Olivia was determined to be noble and self-sacrificing, and Penelope wasn’t having that. “He shoved me into a chair, he ripped the brooch off my gown, and he seized my foot and twisted it. He’s the reason my ankle is injured.” She didn’t have to fake the shiver of revulsion that went through her at the memory.
“Oh my God.” For a moment it looked like Olivia would be ill. She set down her tea and pushed it away, so violently the cup rattled against the saucer. “Whydid you follow me?” She pressed her hands to her temple and gave a sharp shake of her head. “No, that’s unjust—I am at fault. I should have made certain you left. I was stupid, I... I was just so grateful to be free of him, I ran and—” She looked up fearfully. “Did Clary— What didhe—?”
“I kicked him between the legs, as Jamie taught me to do, and then someone else came into the room and got rid of Clary.”
“You kicked...?” Olivia’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. For one fleeting moment a smile of pure vengeful delight flashed across her face. Then her brow creased. “Who came in and sent Clary away?”
