Page 12 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“Never mind that. What did you choose?”
“I ought not to have let you buy it,” her friend said. “It was unnecessary.”
Penelope waved it off. “In thanks for overlooking my scandalous behavior. What is the book?”
Real gratitude warmed Olivia’s eyes. Often she resisted Penelope’s and Abigail’s efforts to treat her to small indulgences, no matter how hard they argued that her company was worth far more to them. “A travel book about Italy. Very decent and apt to improve my mind.”
She grinned. “One can hope.”
“It can hardly hurt.” The other woman regarded her package almost wistfully. “I’m not likely ever to see Italy, so I hope it’s an engaging account.”
“Nonsense! Someday a handsome man will sweep you off your feet and carry you away to Italy, and France, and even India for all you know.”
Olivia sighed. “It’s a lovely dream.”
“Well, why can’t it come true?” Penelope raised one hand in question.
Her companion gave a rueful laugh. “That’s what I adore about you, Pen; your constant quest for adventure and your certainty that something excitingwillhappen to you.”
“You mean like this outing?” She made a face. “That’s quite a small adventure. It’s a bit sad, really. Nothing like Lady Constance’s adventures, and she never even leaves London.”
“What do you find so appealing about... her?”
Penelope glanced over in surprise. “What do you mean? You’ve read her stories, haven’t you?”
A deep scarlet suffused her friend’s face. “One or two.”
They turned back into Bond Street. The wicked pamphlet was wrapped in plain paper, concealing the title, but it still felt daring to carry it right through the heart of fashionable London. Penelope fixed a pleasant look on her face and lowered her voice. “Then you know why. They’re shocking. They’re delicious. They’re so wicked and yet so intriguing—is that really the way of it, between a man and a woman? No one wants an unmarried girl to know, which only makes us wild to discover the truth. And besides...” She gave a guilty little shrug. “Everyone else is reading it, why shouldn’t I?”
“I doubt everyone is reading it,” murmured Olivia, still red-faced. “Doesn’t it seem a bit far-fetched to you?”
Penelope lowered her voice even more. “Joan told me they’re accurate. Even Abigail admitted it. They would tell me the truth, now that they’re married and in a position to know. And that means—”
“What?” Olivia asked when she stopped.
Penelope cleared her throat. “That means I ought to read them. They’re instructional.”
“Instructional?” Olivia gaped at her, then choked on a laugh. “You’re incorrigible, Penelope.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, although her own smile was forced. Yes,50 Ways to Sinwas even more intriguing for being accurate, but Penelope would have wanted to read them anyway. Right or wrong, they were the closest she’d come to actual passion. Combined with her growing feeling that there wasn’t a man in London she wanted to marry, Penelope thought it would be wise to learn a little something before she broke her mother’s heart and embarked on a life of sin. She might well be a spinster forever, but she needn’t be a virginal lady that long. Lady Constance seemed to have worked it all out; she managed to live among thetonin London, enjoy a talented new lover whenever she chose, and make a fortune on the retellings of her erotic adventures. If even half the people who whispered about50 Ways to Sinbehind their fans at balls were buying issues, Constance must be making more money than she could count. It all sounded thrilling to Penelope, an intoxicating mixture of freedom and indulgence.
That didn’t mean she wouldn’t welcome something more. Every time she saw her sister exchange a glance with her new husband, Penelope felt a stab of envy. As shocking and delicious as Lady Constance’s adventures were, Abigail had done one better: she’d found a man who offered her not only passion but also companionship and love. Constance herself admitted her heart was untouched by any of her lovers, which seemed a little sad to Penelope—wild and wicked and thrilling, but in the end, more lonely than not.
She gave herself a shake. Wanting more didn’t change the fact that she currently had none of those things. She wasn’t completely out of hope, but Penelope had never been good at waiting patiently. It would probably take another year or two before her mother accepted defeat and stopped making her brother, James, introduce her to gentlemen. She felt sorry for those men, who were always polite but also uninterested in her. She wished her brother would grow a spine and tell Mama that no one he knew wanted to court her, but failing that, she’d just have to wait it out. If Lady Constance kept writing, and Frances miraculously decided to reject Lord Atherton, she would probably be able to endure it.
Chapter 4
Of course, fate must have overheard her silent wish and set out to thwart it at the first opportunity. Not two days later, Frances Lockwood drew her aside at a Venetian breakfast.
“I have tremendous news,” she began, her face glowing.
Please don’t say Atherton, Penelope thought. “Indeed?”
“It is the best sort!” She gripped Penelope’s hand. “Lord Atherton has spoken to my father!”
Of course he had. Penelope kept smiling and said nothing.
“He hasn’t proposed to me yet, but oh, Miss Weston—I can scarcely breathe, thinking of it! What shall I say to him? How shall I respond? Please tell me, I am in terrible fear of making a fool of myself!”
