Page 15 of Return of the Viscount
“He is not certain of that yet he already asked for her hand in marriage?”
“You make quick judgments, my lord,” she said coolly. “I wrote to you about Penelope’s sister, my dearest friend, who drowned in a pond near their home. Such tragedy often brings people together, and they no longer want to waste time alone.”
“Then it is good that I know these circumstances, madam. They might affect how I deal with your brother.”
“Be compassionate with him, Lord Blackthorne,” she said in a quieter voice, sinking back down into her chair.
“I do not believe compassion has helped him much, but I won’t forget that you requested it of me.”
He limped away before she could respond, closing the door behind him. She finished filling out her report to Oliver’s guardian about the daily management of the estate. But it wasn’t easy to think of business. Lord Blackthorne’s belief he knew what was best for her brother disturbed her. Was it that she herself should be able to help Oliver and couldn’t seem to find the way? Or was it that she found herself attracted to such a strong-willed man?
Chapter 4
Luncheon was a grim affair. Cecilia watched Lord Blackthorne study Oliver’s slow recovery from a night of drinking and waited for her new husband to change his mind. But he didn’t, only kept talking to Oliver about upcoming issues for the next session of Parliament, as if Oliver knew or cared.
But he should care, Cecilia reminded herself. There was no use being upset at Lord Blackthorne because he was right. Yet she wanted to believe her brother would overcome the tragedies of his young life eventually. Lord Blackthorne had obviously kept abreast of political issues through his family and friends while on the other side of the world. Oliver should be able to do the same.
After the meal, Penelope met Cecilia’s gaze and gestured with her head toward the windows, where a rare sun was shining.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” Cecilia said, coming to her feet.
It was obvious Lord Blackthorne had to struggle to stand, and Oliver seemed to do so reluctantly. She imagined his pounding head made movement painful. Why would one self-inflict such suffering? Except, perhaps, to forget for a while...
“Penelope and I have an engagement in the garden,” Cecilia continued. “Do not let us keep you from your discussion.”
Oliver’s brows lowered disapprovingly over his bloodshot eyes, but she ignored him.
Outside in the formal gardens, Cecilia found easels already waiting for them, and they placed them near a stunning view of the gurgling fountain in the foreground and autumn-tipped trees swaying behind in the park. They mixed the ground powder of their chosen paint cakes in water, chatting about color and detail and nothing in particular. But once they were briefly quiet in concentration on the scene, Penelope seemed to start speaking as if she’d been awaiting the right moment.
“Cecilia, Oliver told me he spent an evening out with his friends again last night.”
She couldn’t tell from his bloodshot, wincing eyes? Cecilia wondered.
“We’d had an engagement to walk this morning, but he slept through it. I am ... concerned about him.” She gave Cecilia the pained yet eager look of a puppy hungry for a treat.
“I know,” she answered on a tired sigh, gazing unseeing on the colors she was mixing on her palette.
“We had discussed waiting at least a year to marry, but perhaps ... setting an earlier date would help.”
Cecilia glanced at her in surprise. “You and he have discussed this? It is after all a personal matter between the two of you, and perhaps your parents.”
“I know, and no, we have not discussed it. I wanted your opinion first.” Penelope bit her lip and looked away. “I thought perhaps marriage would help him to... settle down.”
It was as if she’d heard the discussion between Lord Blackthorne and Cecilia. Or perhaps Oliver had forgotten one too many “engagements”—as if he’d forgotten their engagement to marry.
She wondered if Penelope was clinging to her fiancé, soon to be her husband, desperate to be with him, to change him. Cecilia felt a momentary twinge of dismay at the thought of Penelope’s becoming like Lady Appertan.
“Although my opinion doesn’t count—” Cecilia began.
“But you’re his sister! Of course anything you say counts!”
Cecilia smiled and touched her arm. “Thank you. But you know what I mean. Only the two of you can decide what’s best. But ... I don’t believe marriage will help settle Oliver. Only maturity, and the realization that other things are more important than his pleasure, will truly help him. You have to trust that he will gradually come to this conclusion. Most men do.” She hoped. Although she was afraid to trust Lord Blackthorne regardless of her father’s praise, she found herself saying a silent prayer that he could help her brother be a better man, a better husband.
Penelope kept her eyes downcast as she nodded. “I appreciate your opinion.”
“But regardless, I’ll stand by whatever the two of you decide.”
“Just like you stood by us when we became engaged.” Penelope smiled.
