Page 32 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Abigail snorted. “I remember how well you liked Richmond when we spent the summer there. Now you want to spend the winter there as well? But this time at Montrose Hill House, where workmen are busy repairing everything from the roof to the stables.”
“I could endure,” Penelope assured her, although privately she wasn’t so certain, now that Abigail reminded her about Richmond. When their father had bought a country estate there, it had seemed like the end of the earth to Penelope, a good ten miles distant from London and as quiet as a country village. The only excitement had been Abigail’s romance with Sebastian Vane, which had involved clandestine meetings in the woods, a public argument in the middle of Richmond, a daring jaunt through the woods to solve an old mystery and recover lost treasure, and, best of all, a romantically thrilling night when Abigail fled the odious Lord Atherton’s advances and spent a night of passion in Sebastian’s arms.
Penelope was imagining that last part, as her sister had refused to tell her anything about it, but from Papa’s furious reaction both before and after Abigail returned home, she thought it must be reasonably close to the truth.
Her sister only smiled. “What’s wrong with Lord Atherton’s suggestion?”
The part about his presence. Penelope managed not to say it aloud. “Don’t you think it unlikely that people who are calling me all kinds of vile names today will welcome me with approval and respect tomorrow if only Viscount Atherton is standing beside me?”
“I doubt the gossip would reverse course that quickly, but we both know it would eventually. Especially if people thought you would marry him. He’ll be an earl one day, and not some penniless, indebted one.”
A red flush blazed up her face. “I’m not going to marry him!”
“I didn’t say that. I said people would regard you differently if theythoughtyou would marry him.” Abigail tilted her head and studied her shrewdly. “But that was quite an adamant exclamation.”
“I just don’t want you to get any ridiculous ideas,” she retorted. “Atherton is the last man on earth I would ever marry.”
“The last man?” Now Abigail gave her a look of such skepticism, Penelope flushed even hotter. “A handsome, wealthy, charming viscount. Really, Penelope? You’d rather have a bricklayer or a chimney sweep?”
She scowled and fiddled with her cup. “You know what I mean.”
Abigail was quiet for a moment. “I know that when he first came to call at Hart House, you were much more approving.”
Penelope rued the day she had ever admitted that to her sister. “That was before I knew his true character. And I only admitted then that he’s very handsome, which I have never denied.”
Her sister raised her brows. “His true character. Which facet do you mean: the bit of him that came with us to search the woods for the money Sebastian was accused of stealing, quite probably defying his father’s orders? Or perhaps you mean the bit where he let his sister confess that she actually had taken the money? That was horrible of him, I grant you. No, I know: you must mean the impulse that drove him to get a letter from Lord Stratford exonerating Sebastian, so Papa would let me marry him.” She shrugged as Penelope glared at her. “You’re not making a good argument so far.”
“He didn’t protest when his father started those evil rumors about Sebastian,” she pointed out. “And he kept the secret for years. He turned his back on a friend.”
Abigail hesitated. “It’s not as simple as all that. Sebastian has told me a great deal more about him, and I think you judge him too harshly.”
“Oh? What would pardon letting everyone think his dearest childhood friend was a thief and a murderer?” Penelope widened her eyes. “To say nothing of leaving Sebastian to crawl home after falling on his wounded knee—when Sebastian was an invited guest in his home?”
“I’m not saying he’s been above reproach in everything,” her sister countered. “But I suspect his lot hasn’t been as easy as it appears. Lord Stratford is neither a kind nor a loving father. Sebastian says he used to beat Atherton regularly.”
Penelope pressed her lips together, unwilling to feel sorry for the viscount. It was not difficult to believe Lord Stratford was a cruel father, but Atherton was a grown man; if he couldn’t stand up to his father now, what did that say about him? “He schemed to marry Frances, just a few weeks after he was courting you.”
“Thank goodness,” said Abigail, to Penelope’s astonishment. “I would have felt terrible if he’d been truly hurt.”
“Schemed,” she tried again, emphasizing the word and making it sound as noxious as possible. “He wasn’t in love with her any more than he was in love with you! What do you make of a man who would do that?”
“I would guess he’s trying to find a wife,” her sister calmly replied. “You said she was a very sweet girl; did she have other admirers?”
“Yes,” Penelope muttered after a moment.
“Does she have some connections? A dowry?”
“Yes,” she growled.
“It sounds very ordinary to me. A handsome gentleman of his age and rank will want a bride, and she sounds just the type a gentleman would prefer. What did you do to disrupt it?”
Penelope, already sulking, did not see that question coming. She gaped, then blushed, and mulishly set her chin. “Nothing.”
“Really?” said Abigail so dryly, Penelope flushed deeper red. Her face would be permanently scarlet after this conversation.
“She asked what sort of man I wanted to marry and I told her. I encouraged her to be sure Atherton cared for her before she accepted him. That’s all,” she insisted.
“And what happened?”
