Page 54 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“Paint?”
“He’s an artist; quite a good one, I understand.”
And so he was. When they reached the dining room, an incredible sight greeted them. One wall had been whitewashed, in jarring contrast to the rich red surrounding walls. A tall man with untidy dark hair was on a ladder, painting a goddess whose face bore a striking resemblance to Samantha’s. That lady herself came hurrying toward them.
“You’ve come to me, when I should have come to you!” She threw her arms around Benedict, who returned her embrace, before turning to Penelope. “I do hope you can forgive me. I shall never let Benedict forget that he didn’t tell me of his own wedding!”
Penelope smiled uneasily. “He didn’t tell you?” This was not the way she remembered Samantha. Three months ago, when they last met, Samantha had been quiet and sad, relating her terrible part in the disappearance of Stratford’s money and Sebastian’s father. Now she was like a new woman, her face flushed with happiness, her eyes bright, and there was no trace of fear or stiffness in her motions.
“Not in time!” Samantha cried, swatting Benedict’s arm. “Gray, did you know Benedict was to marry?”
“No,” said the man on the ladder without turning around.
“It was a very small affair, and you were away from town.” Benedict spread his hands. “What was I to do?”
Samantha gave him a reproving look. “You could have waited.” She turned back to Penelope. “I wish you great happiness. My brother needs a woman of firm mind, and I think you’ll be very good for him.”
“Thank you,” said Penelope. “I hope to be.” That caught her husband’s attention; he raised his brows at her. Penelope ignored him. Did he think one argument would change her mind about such a fundamental thing?
“Gray, do come down now and meet your new sister-in-law,” called Samantha. Her husband waved one hand, a paintbrush between his teeth, and she sighed. “He’ll stay up there all day. Shall we go to the salon?” She linked her arm with Penelope’s and led them to a private parlor. “Tell me about the wedding. Was it beautiful?”
“Yes, lovely,” said Penelope.
“I’m so glad.” Samantha beamed. “And have you taken a house yet? It’s time Ben left the officers’ barracks.”
“Only this morning,” Benedict told her. “We were there just now, in Margaret Street.”
“So near! We must have a dinner party. Elizabeth will want to come with Turley, of course. Would your sister wish to come?” she asked Penelope. “I do hope she is well, and Mr. Vane also.”
Penelope, who had expected all of Benedict’s family to avoid any mention of the Vanes, was startled. She looked at her husband in mute appeal, but he said nothing, his expression politely pleasant and utterly opaque. “They’re both well, thank you,” she murmured.
“I’m so glad to hear it!” Samantha gave them a sparkling smile, which died away after a moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong! Nothing,” scoffed her brother. “Do you accuse all visitors this way?”
“Ben.” She sighed. “What have you done?”
He looked at Penelope for a long, fraught moment. “I told her about Father.”
“Oh dear.” Samantha’s voice dropped to a whisper and for a moment she went pale. “Is he— Has he—?”
“He banned me from the house, so there’s no worry of that.” He summoned a smile again, bright and confident. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any refreshment, do you, Samantha?”
“Of course.” With a worried expression she rang the bell and asked the servant to bring a tray. “Are you terribly shocked?”
That was addressed, very hesitantly, to Penelope. “He sounds very exacting,” she replied cautiously.
A fine shudder went through her hostess. “Yes.” There was a moment of awkward silence.
Penelope began to resent her husband a little. Why did he only tell her about his father as they were walking up to his sister’s house? Didn’t he suspect she might need a chance to absorb what he’d said? Now she felt out of place and tongue-tied, and still smarted from the feeling that she had been callous and unthinking. On no account was she going to say anything that would upset Samantha, but then what did that leave for conversation?
“I gather your parents are very different from mine,” she began, praying she wouldn’t make things worse. “In many, many ways. It’s one of my great failings to presume others might share my own feelings and perceptions, and I had made assumptions... But I shall endeavor not to act or speak thoughtlessly when I meet Lord and Lady Stratford again.”
The siblings exchanged a glance Penelope couldn’t interpret. Samantha mustered a smile. “Yes, I believe our parents are very different from Mr. and Mrs. Weston. Still, I imagine our mother was delighted to hear Benedict has settled down at last.”
Benedict relaxed. “Indeed she was! She wished us both great happiness, and begged me to bring you to call on her, my dear.”
Since Penelope remembered the countess as a cool and distant woman, she was in no hurry.
