“Of course you are. You all do. Even Victoria and Valerie had to beg. Scandal does not simply disappear.”
Penelope heard the meaning of the words even if it wasn’t articulated. Penelope’s ruined it for all of you.
A pang of guilt thrummed through her, and she tried to ignore it, knowing that she shouldn’t feel guilty. Knowing that it wasn’t her fault.
Except, it might have been.
She pushed the thought away. It wasn’t. He’d loved another.
But why hadn’t he loved her?
It was a question she’d asked herself over and over during that long-ago winter, when she’d been holed up here, in the country, reading the scandal sheets and knowing that he’d chosen someone more beautiful, more charming, more exciting than she. Knowing that he was happy, and she was . . . unwanted.
She hadn’t loved him. She hadn’t thought much at all about him.
But it smarted nonetheless.
“I’ve no intention of begging,” Olivia entered the conversation. “It’s my second season, I’m beautiful and charming, and I’ve a very large dowry. Larger than any man can overlook.”
“Oh, yes. Very charming,” Pippa said, and Penelope looked down at her plate to hide her smile.
Olivia caught the sarcasm. “Laugh all you like, but I know what my value is. I’m not going to let what happened to Penelope happen to me. I’m landing myself a true aristocrat.”
“A fine plan, darling.” Lady Needham beamed with pride.
Olivia smiled. “Thank goodness I’ve learned my lessons from you, Penny.”
Penelope could not help defending herself. “It’s not as though I chased him away, Olivia. Father ended the engagement because of Leighton’s sister’s scandal.”
“Nonsense. If Leighton had wanted you, he would have fought for you, scandal be damned,” her youngest sister said, lips pursed, a born ingénue. “But he didn’t. Want you, that is. Though I suppose he didn’t fight for you, either. And I can only imagine that he didn’t do those things because you didn’t work hard enough to keep his attention.”
Being the youngest, Olivia had never had to think much about the way her words, always a touch too forthright, might sting. Now was no exception. Penelope bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to scream, He loved another! But she knew an exercise in futility when she found one. Broken engagements were the woman’s fault, always. Even when the woman in question was your older sister, apparently.
“Yes! Oh, Olivia, only one season out and already you are so astute, darling,” Lady Needham chirped, before moaning, “And don’t forget the others.”
They had all appeared to have forgotten that she didn’t wish to marry the others. But Penelope still felt she should defend herself. “I received a proposal of marriage this afternoon if you’ll recall.”
Olivia waved one hand dismissively. “A proposal from Tommy. That’s not a good proposal. Only a henwit would think he asked because he wanted to marry you.”
One could always count on Olivia to speak the truth.
“To that end, why did he ask?” Pippa interjected, not meaning for the question to be cruel, Penelope was certain. After all, she’d asked herself—and Tommy—that very question not an hour earlier.
She would like to say, Because he loves me.
Well, that wasn’t precisely true. She’d like to say the words. But not about Tommy.
Which was why she hadn’t said yes.
In all her years, she’d never once imagined marrying Tommy.
He’d never been the one of whom she dreamed.
“It’s not important why he asked,” Lady Needham interjected. “What’s important is that he was willing to take in Penelope! That he was willing to give her a home and a name and care for her as your father has for all these years!” She leveled Penelope with a look. “Penelope, you must think, darling! When your father dies! What then?”
Lord Needham looked up from his pheasant. “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Needham waved one hand in the air as though she hadn’t time to think about her husband’s feelings, instead prodding, “He shan’t live forever, Penelope! What then?”
Penelope could not think of why this was in any way relevant. “Well, that shall be very sad, I imagine.”
Lady Needham shook her head in frustration. “Penelope!”
“Mother, I honestly have no idea what you are implying.”
“Who will take care of you? When your father dies?”
“Is Father planning to die soon?”
“No,” her father said.
“One never knows!” Tears were welling in the marchioness’s eyes.
“Oh, for God’s—” Lord Needham had had enough. “I’m not dying. And I take no small amount of offense in the fact that the thought simply rolled off your tongue.” He turned to Penelope. “And as for you, you’ll marry.”
Penelope straightened her shoulders. “This is not the Middle Ages, Father. You cannot force me to marry someone I do not wish to marry.”
Lord Needham had little interest in the rights of women. “I’ve five daughters and no sons, and I’ll be damned if I leave a single one of you unmarried and fending for yourself while that idiot nephew of mine runs my estate into the ground.” He shook his head. “I will see you married, Penelope, and married well. And it’s time you stop dickering around and accept yourself a suit.”
Penelope’s eyes went wide. “You think I’ve been dickering around?”