Chapter 17

The carriage ride back home made James think. It also made him very confused. He was under the impression that things between him and Penelope were going well. More than well, in fact. But when he came to get her, she flinched upon being touched by him. He couldn't believe it.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, his hand lingering a few inches from her elbow, almost as if he were afraid of burning her somehow with his touch.

"No, no, I'm… just tired, that's all," she said in a manner completely unlike the one she used when speaking to him during their dance.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked tenderly.

"No, thank you," she shook her head.

"Would you maybe like to go out to the terrace for some fresh air?" he suggested. "It is quite stuffy in here."

"No," she shook her head again. "I would just like to go home, please."

"Of course," he agreed immediately as that had been their prior arrangement. But he could see that something had happened. Something was wrong.

He proceeded to find his grandfather, informing him that they were returning home. Now, in the carriage, the awkward silence continued. His grandfather fell asleep, and Penelope seemed to doze on and off as the carriage rumbled over the brick roads of London streets. She would occasionally turn to him, smile silently, then focus on the carriage window again. It was obvious that something had happened. But what?

Upon arriving home, he helped her out. Then, he helped his grandfather, who whistled amusedly.

"Goodness me, that was quite the evening," Grandfather mused, walking towards the manor house. "And a long one as well… I'd best head to my chamber; good night you two."

"Good night," James added hastily, and Penelope added her own greeting immediately after.

That was when James noticed that Penelope headed after his grandfather, but he gently grabbed her by the elbow. Waiting until he was certain that they were alone, he looked at her. There was something about the way she was staring back at him, almost as if she wasn't certain if it was him or someone else.

"Penelope," he started gently, "I can see that something is not right. Talk to me."

"There is nothing to talk about," she said, sounding absent-minded and distant.

He couldn't imagine what could have happened in the hour that he was away from her. Then, he figured it out. Was it possible that some of the ladies of the ton approached her and told her about the rumors that were circling around him and his family? It was possible. Not only that, but it was probable as well.

He was afraid of that moment. He also hoped that he would have some time to work up to it, allowing her to see him for the man that he really was, so when she heard those rumors, she would be able to make up her own mind and be certain of her decision. But this was too early.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

It was obvious that if she had heard the rumors, she was reluctant to discuss them now. He wanted to tell her everything, to clarify even the smallest of misunderstandings, but he couldn't do any of that when she didn't want to listen to him. He had to be patient. He had to give her as much time as she needed, and that was the most difficult part.

"Yes," she said softly.

"I understand," he nodded, letting go of her elbow. "Just know that when you want to talk, I will be here."

She seemed as if she wanted to say something, but she changed her mind at the last minute. He allowed her to walk past him, saddened by the unexpected turn of events. He couldn't be positively certain what had happened, but he had his suspicions. It was as he had always suspected. His past would always catch up to him. He wouldn't be able to run away from it. And now, even from the grave, his father was still ruining his life.

James swallowed heavily, raking his fingers through his hair. He wondered if he had somehow, unknowingly, ruined any chance he might have had with Penelope. Would she believe him if he told her what happened?

He sighed heavily, walking into the house. He knew that sleep would not grace him with its presence, but he had to try.

* * *

"Did something happen, Your Grace?" Charlotte was the second person that evening to ask her that same question.

She wanted to give her the same answer, but curiosity was eating her up alive. She remained silent for a few moments more, watching Charlotte pull out pins from her hair one by one, focusing on the task at hand.

Penelope inhaled deeply. "I've heard some… rumors."

Charlotte stopped what she was doing, frowning at her. "You do know what rumors are, Your Grace, right?"

Penelope smiled somewhat sadly. "I do." She hesitated to continue. "But I also know that where there's smoke, there is fire."

Charlotte shook her head. "No, no, no. Rumors are empty stories created by people who are bored with their own lives, so they have to make everyone else's more complicated by making up lies about them. There is no fire there. Just an empty smoke curtain."

Penelope liked that analogy. "I know I'm not supposed to entertain them, but… I cannot help but wonder what happened."

"What happened where? And with whom?" Charlotte inquired.

"With James," Penelope admitted.

"The duke?" Charlotte echoed, her eyes widening. "Oh, you mean what happened with his family?"

"Yes," Penelope nodded. "Do you know the story?"

"I… I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I do believe that it is not my place to share it," Charlotte spoke wisely yet again, and Penelope appreciated her honesty. "I do know it. Everyone here does."

"And… is it true?" Penelope asked again.

"Remember that I told you that the duke was a good man?" Charlotte asked. Penelope just nodded. "I meant it. He has somewhat of a reputation, but what gentleman does not? Still, with that said, I do believe that such matters are best discussed between the only two people who matter, and that is you and he."

"He wanted to talk about it now," Penelope admitted. "But I… I was afraid of it."

"Why?" Charlotte wondered. "Why would you be afraid of the truth?"

"What if it's a truth that doesn't portray him in a good light?" Penelope asked, fully aware of the fact that she was making very little sense. She was discussing with Charlotte what she should have been discussing with James. He was the only one with answers for her, but she refused to hear him out.

"There is only one truth," Charlotte reminded her of a very simple fact. "We cannot change it. We can like it or not like it, but the truth is to be accepted, not liked."

Penelope sighed heavily. "How did you get so wise?" she asked.

Charlotte shrugged. "I've had my heart broken once. It… changes a person."

"Oh, Charlotte…" Penelope said softly.

She actually didn't know how to end that statement. What was there to say? A broken heart was something she knew a lot about, only her heart had never been given to a man to be broken in the first place. Hers was broken by the very same people who were supposed to love her and keep her safe. Now, it seemed that her heart was once again on the verge of breaking. Because… what if James was not the man she thought him to be? What if she had an idealized version of him inside her mind?

"It is all right," Charlotte assured. "It taught me a good lesson, and that is to always listen to the truth, even when it is painful. You see, I learned the truth, but I didn't believe it, and it made everything even more difficult. Now, I know better. That is why I am urging you to speak to him. Listen to him. And then, you will know what the truth is. You will feel it in your heart."

Penelope chuckled. "You should really write a romance novel, Lottie."

Charlotte laughed. "Oh, most certainly not. I wouldn't know what to write even if I knew how to do it in the first place."

"Everything you just said," Penelope told her. "It was exactly what I needed to hear."

"I am glad," Charlotte replied with a smile. "Now, how about we ruin this lovely coiffure of yours, so you can sleep properly?"

Something told Penelope that she would not be sleeping well that night, but she was willing to try.

"Tell me about your father, Charlotte," Penelope urged. "Tell me about the garden that you tend to for him."

Charlotte locked gazes with Penelope in the looking glass then nodded tenderly. "He says I never arrange the flower colors properly. I don't know, Maybe I just don't have a knack for colors, only for digging and burying…"

Penelope listened with a blissful smile on her face. She needed this distraction. For a moment, she could believe that she, too, had a father who cared so deeply about her. As for tomorrow, it would be a new day. A day of revealing truths, whether or not they were good.