Page 13 of Love in the Time of Scandal
She took her time replying. Olivia’s advice echoed in her mind:Just because you don’t care for him doesn’t mean she can’t. It was possible, she supposed, that Lord Atherton would fall deeply in love with Frances as he got to know her, as they lived together and spent time together and had a family together. She had to take a deep breath at the thought of him taking Frances to bed and making passionate love to her. “You must respond as your heart directs,” she settled for saying. “Do you care for the gentleman enough to spend the rest of your life with him?”
Frances blinked, her perfect little mouth dropping open as if she’d never thought of anything past the wedding. “Oh. Oh my. Goodness, that does sound a bit daunting.”
“That’s why you should be absolutely certain of your regard for him, and his for you, before you accept.”
“Well, yes,” said Frances slowly, then more firmly. “Yes! I’ve never met a handsomer, more charming gentleman, I’m certain of it.”
That wasn’t what I asked. Penelope bit it back. “If you’re sure of his love, too, then you should say yes.”
Her friend’s forehead creased. “Why... I—I don’t quite know if he loves me.” She hesitated, then added as if to assure both of them, “But my mother says love is not paramount in such matches, and I should choose a man who is amiable and polite. Is that not sound advice, too?”
Penelope racked her brain for a plausible reason to excuse herself and bolt from the room. She was having an increasingly difficult time holding her tongue. “Those are indeed very admirable qualities.”
“But not the most important?” asked Frances anxiously. “Oh, I want to make the right decision!”
Ask him why he wants to marry you.“I’m sure you will.”
Frances was quiet for a moment, which was rare. “You don’t like him, do you?”
She started. Why oh why couldn’t Frances have attracted any suitor other than Lord Arrogant Atherton? “What? Er... Whatever gives you that idea?”
Frances bit her lip. “My other friends gasped with delight when I told them he’d spoken to Papa. None of them urged me to consider his affection for me. They assume it, if he intends to propose marriage.”
“Never assume anything about Lord Atherton.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. Frances’s eyes rounded in shock, and Penelope could have smacked her own face. She rushed to repair the damage. “I mean, a lady should never assume anything about any man. Choosing a husband is the most important decision she can make...” Her voice trailed off and she wished she hadn’t spoken.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” muttered Penelope. She tried to smile. “Don’t pay me any attention, I might have a headache coming on...”
“No! Please tell me.” Frances stared at her in worry. “This is the rest of my life at stake!”
Penelope took one last agonizing look around for anyone who could save her. But this breakfast was filled with drawling lords and proud ladies who would never have invited her if not for Papa’s fortune, and even that couldn’t make them speak to her. Olivia wasn’t here, her mother was off sharing a gossip with some of the less snobbish matrons, and that left Penelope to her own devices—a situation that had rarely led to anything good, even when she was really trying to behave, as she was now.
She said a quick prayer for tact. “If you don’t know his feelings for you, perhaps you should ask him. A man in love will have no hesitation in declaring himself.”
“Declaring himself?”
“Yes. You know, going down on one knee and swearing he couldn’t live without you, or some such thing.”
Frances blinked. “Oh yes, I—I see. Thatwouldbe very flattering and romantic... Is that what you expect?”
“Absolutely,” said Penelope with relish. This was much safer conversational territory. She had never hidden her preference for romance and drama and grand gestures. “I want nothing less.” A faint smile crossed her face as she pictured her imaginary lover, passionate and devoted. “A man who would fight a duel for me. A man who would die for me. A man who has no hesitation telling me he loves me, desperately and passionately, every day of our marriage.”
“That—that doesn’t sound like something most Englishmen would do,” protested Frances, her brow knit in worry.
“Then they aren’t for me,” declared Penelope. “I shall have to wait for a foreign cavalier, or a dashing privateer. No milk-and-water man for me, I want a man of passion and action. A man who won’t leave me in doubt of his feelings, but who would sweep me away for an ardent kiss, and damn the consequences.”
Frances seemed dazed. “Goodness...”
Penelope calmed down from her fervent speech, and smiled at her friend. “Now you must see why I’m relegated to the spinsters. None of these English gentlemen have the dash and passion I prefer.”
Her companion was quiet for a moment. “But how would you know such a man? Why, if a gentleman tried to sweep me away for a kiss, my mama would intervene. How can one find a passionate suitor when one always has a chaperone?”
“I don’t know,” said Penelope, uninterested in such logical details, “but a determined man would find a way.”
“Yes,” said her friend slowly, “yes, of course he would. A man in love would not be deterred.”
“Nothing would stand in his way,” Penelope agreed.
