Page 75 of To Swoon and to Spar
“But she’s made it hers,” Penvale said determinedly, feeling a pang deep in his chest as he spoke the words, as he contemplated a lifetime in which he spent only a few scattered nights each year lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves far below. He’d so quickly grown used to it, to being back in the place he’d always felt he belonged best of all, that it was like a physical pain to contemplate it being snatched away again.
But he would suffer it, for Jane.
“I have somewhere else to go,” he reminded Audley. “I’ve BourneHouse in town—I’ve a whole life here, in fact. Trethwick Abbey is the only place Jane feels truly at home. She was willing to marry a man she didn’t know just to stay there. How can I take it from her if that’s where she wants to be? And how can I force myself upon her there if she’d rather be alone?”
Audley reined in his horse abruptly, and Penvale followed suit; it was early enough that there were no other riders in sight, and they stood there on the path, regarding each other from their respective horses.
“You love her, then,” Audley said.
“I do,” Penvale said evenly.
“Violet will be pleased,” Audley said, satisfaction in his tone. “She was so certain…”
Penvale suppressed a sigh; there were few secrets among his friends, though this was his first time being the source of gossip this intriguing. He was accustomed to the others’ romantic exploits, but he always conducted his own affairs with discretion and little fuss. It wasn’t worth getting emotional over something that wouldn’t last.
He swallowed, the thought of his marriage belonging to that category hitting him like a blow to the chest.
“Can I offer you some advice, Penvale?” Audley asked abruptly, and Penvale gave a helpless, one-shouldered shrug.
“I don’t suppose I can stop you.”
“Oh, to be sure you can,” Audley replied, surprising him. “I know what it’s like to be the recipient of a lot of unwanted advice about one’s love life, if you will recall.” His tone was dry as toast, and Penvale managed a half-hearted grin in reply. “But occasionally, some of that advice was rather intelligent, you know—no doubt my lifewould be considerably easier now if I’d listened to it a bit sooner.” He inclined his head at Penvale, and Penvale realized this was an apology of sorts. He didn’t feel that he was owed one—Audley and Violet’s reconciliation the previous summer had been a bit trying for all involved, though they had resolved things so happily that one could hardly hold any sort of a grudge over the ordeal—but it pleased him to be offered one nonetheless.
“All right,” he said neutrally. “What’s your advice, then?”
“Go back to Cornwall,” Audley said simply.
Penvale paused for a beat, processing this. “But—”
“I understand why you left,” Audley said, holding up a hand to forestall any protest. “And I think your reasons were good. But you’re turning yourself into a bloody martyr without even knowing for certain that it’s what Jane wants.”
“But the ghost—”
“I know.” Audley shook his head. “I don’t pretend to know what reason there was for that ghost at the house party, and you may be entirely correct in your assumption. But I learned the hard way the danger of assuming things about the woman you’re married to, and right now you’ve just made a decision for both youandJane without even discussing it with her. It’s not what you want—and what if it isn’t what she wants, either?”
“But what if it is?” Penvale asked quietly.
Audley quirked that maddening half-smile at him once more. “Then at least you’ll know for certain.” He lifted his reins, kicking his horse back into movement. “And isn’t certainty that you’re not throwing away what could be a rather wonderful marriage worth a bit of risk?”
Penvale picked up his own reins, his blood racing faster in hisveins, Audley’s words echoing in his mind. Audley was right. He had made a decisionforJane rather than allowing her to make it for herself. She’d spent her entire life having her fortune dictated by men; what he’d just done was no better than any of the previous instances, when you came right down to it.
He had to go see her. He had to go to Cornwall.
He had to be sure.
“You’d better not leave until tomorrow, though,” Audley called over his shoulder as an afterthought. “Violet will murder you if you ruin her numbers for dinner tonight.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Penvale lied, having forgotten until this very moment about Violet’s dinner party that evening.
Tomorrow, then.
He’d go to Jane tomorrow.
Of all the scenarios Jane might have imagined upon her arrival in London, the reality proved even worse.
“A dinner party,” she muttered angrily as the carriage rattled through the streets from St. James’s Square toward Curzon Street, where the Audleys lived. “Of course he’d be at a bloodydinner party.”
Upon being informed by Smithers of her husband’s location, Jane had briefly considered waiting for his return home. But she’d arrived just at the dinner hour, meaning it would likely be a while before she might expect him, and heaven only knew if he had plans afterward. She had ridden in a carriage all the way from Cornwall; she didn’t wish to wait any longer.
